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“What can I get you, sweetheart?”
The waiter had a large silver mustache and wore a stetson. Even though Millie had worked with horses her whole life, she’d never met anyone who looked as cowboy-y as this guy.
“Beer?” Maybe by saying just one word, she’d manage to hide her accent.
“Gonna need to see some ID for that, sugar.”
Well. She needn’t have bothered trying to hide her nationality. The ID would reveal that in just a moment.
Millie fumbled in her pink rucksack, before fishing out her purse and pulling out her passport. The barkeep raised an eyebrow as she showed him the page with her photo, date of birth, and address.
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Yes. I’m on an adventure.”
Ugh, Millie, why do you have to speak like a wide-eyed kid all the time?
“An adventure, huh? Can’t say we get many folks on quests out here. You got family in these parts?”
“Nope. I’m starting work at Littlecreek Ranch. Do you know it?”
The barman’s expression changed to one of intense curiosity. “I do. They been taking on workers up there for a while. Interesting. Good to meet you.” He held out a hand. “Name’s Robert, but folks call me Bob. Always nice to meet a neighbor.”
A sweet country song started to play on the jukebox in the corner of the bar. The song was quiet, barely competing with the sound of the ceiling fan which swooshed lazily around, forcing a light breeze over Millie.
“Aren’t we ten miles from the ranch?” Millie asked.
“Right. Neighbors. There’s a lotta space in Montana,” Bob said, smiling again. “Kinda changes what a neighbor is.”
“In Windsor, where I’m from, there’s probably about a million people within ten miles of my house.” As soon as Millie said that, she knew it was a gross over-exaggeration. She’d always done that ever since she was a kid.
“Sounds intense.”
“I suppose.”
“Let me get you that beer. Welcome to Littlecreek.” He tipped his hat and walked to the bar. He seemed friendly, and definitely interested in what she had to say. Littlecreek was a small town, mostly populated by ranchers and farmers. No doubt it was unusual to see a new face in the bar.
Millie’s eyes played over the other characters in the bar. The cowboys-per-meter-square rate in here was absurdly high. Men with long waxed coats, stetsons, and solid-looking boots were all around. There were women, too, with similar rugged attire. She felt embarrassed by her own outfit. She’d tried to prepare for the country, but still managed to end up dressed in mostly pink from head to foot. At least she was wearingtoughpink clothes.
Even though she’d been in the states for a couple months, the vibe at this place was different from everything else she’d experienced.
“Here you go,” the barman said, placing a tall glass of beer down on the table in front of her. “Good to know that the new owner of the ranch hasn’t banned his employees from drinking alcohol.”
“Thankfully not,” Millie said, taking a sip. It wasn’t that she was dependent on alcohol. It was more that she found everything a little easier with a drink inside her. Her anxiety tended to get so high when she was sober that she found herself thinking of booze like medicine.
The thought of having to quit made her feel anxious in itself.
You’ve got a problem and you know it. It was alcohol that got you into this crazy situation in the first place.
She shushed the insistent inner voice in her head by taking another gulp of beer.
“Used to be good customers of mine, the North brothers. But since that new feller took over the place, they barely been in here. And when they do come in, they seem different. Specially Chuck. Like he’s got a cactus up his ass.”
Millie stifled a laugh. “There’s an image.”
“Maybe they’ve replaced drink with another habit. Something worse.”
Bob seemed to be probing a little bit, trying to see if Millie had any insider info on the ranch. No doubt he was just a curious neighbor, but Millie got the sense that it might be better not to share too much with him. A little gossip could be a dangerous thing.
