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“I did, too, the first time I came here. Then I found out it was the current owner’s idea of a joke. In the eighties, it was Walt’s Bar and Grill, but the native tongue of Tennessee shortened it.”
“To Barn Grill. I’ve got it.”
The sound of Tim McGraw singing “Don’t Take the Girl” drifted through the door as they stepped into an entry area with dark brown latticework walls and an aquarium that had a Day-Glo orange castle sitting on a bed of fluorescent blue rocks. The roomy restaurant was divided into two sections, with a bar at the front. Beneath a pair of fake Tiffany lampshades, a bartender who looked like Chris Rock filled a pair of beer mugs. He called out a greeting as he spotted Dean. The bar patrons turned on their stools and immediately sprang to life.
“Hey, Boo, where you been all weekend?”
“That is a fabulous shirt.”
“We’ve been talkin’ about next season, and—”
“Charlie thinks you should go to the run-and-shoot.”
They acted as though they’d known him forever, although Dean had told her he’d only eaten here twice. The instant intimacy people showed toward him made her glad she wasn’t famous.
“Ordinarily, I’d love to talk sports with you boys, but tonight I promised my fiancée I wouldn’t.” Dean draped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s our anniversary, and you know how sentimental the ladies get.”
“What anniversary is that?” the Chris Rock lookalike asked.
“Six full months since my little darlin’ hunted me down and drug me home.”
The men laughed. Dean steered her past the bar and into the rear section of the restaurant. “I drug you home?” she said. “Since when did you give up your Yankee citizenship?”
“Since I became a southern landowner. Automatically made me bilingual.”
A half wall topped with more brown latticework and a row of straw Chianti bottles divided the restaurant from the bar. He shepherded her to a vacant table and held out a chair. “Those ol’ boys at the bar? One’s a county judge, the big man’s the high school principal, and the bald guy’s an openly gay hairdresser. I love the South.”
“It’s a good place to be an oddball, I’ll grant you that.” She reached across the red vinyl tablecloth for the cracker basket and grabbed a packet of saltines. “I’m surprised they’ll serve you. Nita Garrison must have slipped up.”
“We’re outside the town limits, and this is one property she doesn’t own. There also seems to be a general ‘what she don’t know won’t hurt her’ attitude.”
“Are you really going to sic your lawyer on her?”
“I’m not sure. The good news is, I’ll win. The bad news is, it’ll take months.”
“I’m not painting Tango.”
“Damn right you aren’t.”
She discarded the stale saltine. Even though it was Monday night, three-quarters of the tables were full, and most of the occupants were studying her. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. “This seems like a big crowd for a Monday.”
“No place else to go. On Monday nights it’s either the Barn Grill or Bible study at Second Baptist. Or maybe Tuesday is Second Baptist. The Bible study schedule in this town is more complicated than the Stars’ offensive line stunts.”
“You like it here, don’t you? Not just the farm. Small town life.”
“It’s different.”
The waitress appeared with the menus. Her thin, sour face immediately twisted into a simpy smile for Dean. “My name’s Marie, and I’ll be your server tonight.”
Blue wished somebody would pass a law that made it illegal for a person who worked in a place with Tabasco bottles on the table to introduce herself.
“Real nice to meet you, Marie,” Redneck Dean drawled. “What’s good tonight?”
Marie ignored Blue to recite the specials just for him. Dean settled on the
barbecue chicken with a side salad. Blue chose the fried catfish, along with something called “dirty potatoes,” which proved to be a concoction of mashed potatoes, sour cream, and mushrooms smothered in gravy. While she lapped it up, Dean ate his chicken without the skin, added only a small pat of butter to his baked potato, and refused dessert, all the time chatting amiably with the assorted townspeople who interrupted his meal. He introduced her to everyone as his fiancée. When they finally had a moment alone, she addressed him over a big, gooey serving of mud pie. “How are you going to explain our broken engagement after I leave?”
“I’m not. As far as this town’s concerned, I’m staying engaged until there’s a good reason for me not to be engaged.”
