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“He probably wants to spruce it up a bit, make a good first impression with everybody,” Trey replied and turned to leave.
Hank grumbled behind him, “Closing the doors ain’t the way to go about it.”
PART TWO
The thunder rumbles.
The storm’s drawing near.
Now this Calder will see
He has something to fear.
Chapter Thirteen
Miles from anywhere, the town of Blue Moon hugged the sides of the two-lane highway that sliced through it. Born in the early days, when cattle was king, it had boomed with the invasion of homesteaders to the area and withered, like their crops, when the region’s drought cycle came. The grain elevator that had once stood as a testament to those days had been torn down some years ago when it became apparent it was no longer structurally safe.
For years Blue Moon had clung to existence by catering to the local ranchers and the odd traveler. Few had much hope for its future. Yet it boomed again when Dy-Corp arrived and established an open-pit mining operation to extract the coal that lay beneath the grasslands. The population mushroomed seemingly overnight; old structures were bulldozed, and new buildings sprang up in their place. The influx of new blood once again turned the town into a bustling, thriving community.
But the coal supply was finite. When it ran out, Dy-Corp locked the gates, leaving its workers without jobs and with no prospects for new ones. A mass exodus ensued, once again making the streets and buildings of Blue Moon mostly deserted.
And, again, the town was little more than a wide spot in the highway, anchored on one side by a combination gas station, grocery store, and post office called Fedderson’s. On the other side stood a two-story structure that had gone by various names: Jake’s Roadhouse, Sally’s Café, and most recently, Harry’s Hideaway.
Already the building had been stripped of the sign that had spelled out its former name in gaudy green neon. Workers crawled around on its roof, laying new shingles, while more scraped at the chipped and cracked paint on its siding.
Another crew was busy inside. Only one man stood idle, but his sharp eyes were alert for any hint of slacking by the others. Standing an inch under six feet, he wore a white T-shirt that revealed his bulging biceps and the insignia of the Marine Corps tattooed on the left one. His brown hair sported a butch cut that allowed its few strands of gray to merge with the white of his scalp. With his military-correct posture and stern-jawed features, Gordon Donovan looked every inch exactly what he was—a former Marine Corps sergeant who knew how to follow orders as well as give them.
This was the new owner of the restaurant and bar.
The door to the rear office opened, and a bleached blonde in high heels and shorts lolled against its frame, jaw working as she cracked the gum in her mouth. “Hey, Donovan,” she called in a loud and bored voice. “You’re wanted on the phone. It’s long-distance.”
Jaw ridged in anger, he crossed the intervening space with long strides. When she turned sideways to let him pass, he seized her wrist and gave it a savage twist, indifferent to the fear that leaped into her eyes.
“You stupid slut,” he growled the words, his voice pitched low, intended for her hearing only. “I never told you to answer the damned phone. I said to call me if it rang.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology was barely more than a scared whimper.
He pushed his face close. “Don’t ever touch my private line again, or your ass is grass. You got that, sweetie.” Lips curling, he gave her wrist an extra twist, drawing a tiny outcry from her and a quick nod. “I can’t hear you.” Threat was in his low taunt.
“Yes sir.” Pain trembled through her voice. “I’ll never do it again. I swear.”
“Damn right you won’t. Now get.” He jerked her out of the doorway and sent her stumbling into the now-vacant bar area. “And don’t go strutting around the workers. Not till payday.”
Staring after her, Donovan waited until he saw her start for the stairwell door that led to the rooms on the second floor. After a quick visual check of the workers, he stepped inside the small office, closed the door, and locked it. Only then did he cross to the desk and pick up the receiver lying atop its precisely organized surface.
“This is Donovan,” he said, crisp-voiced, and lowered his muscled frame into the desk’s companion chair.
“Who was that woman who answered?” Rutledge’s familiar voice was on the other end of the line, just as he had anticipated.
“Sorry, sir. It was one of the girls. I’ve already made sure it won’t happen again.” He offered no excuse, aware that none were acceptable.
“See that it doesn’t,” came the terse reply. “What progress have you made?”
“About all I can, until I get this place open and have some traffic through here. There isn’t much to learn from the people here in Blue Moon. Like I told you, it’s one step away from being a ghost town.”
“How soon before you open?” There was an underlying tone of irritation at the delay.
“It’ll be another week at least.” Donovan ran a disparaging glance over the dingy office. “You bought yourself a pigsty.”
