work for him, too?” Dan asked facetiously.
“Tell you what, you stay out of trouble, you might work out.” Then Paul slapped him on the back.
Dan worked on Saturday as well; they were pressed for time on the big house. But the crew supervisor told everyone to knock off at two in the afternoon and be back Monday morning bright and early.
Dan had less than forty-eight hours to get a few things done. He had to do some laundry, buy some nonperishable food he could keep in his camper shell, and he should see what he could find out about renting a room, apartment or small house. But first, he was due a beer. He might be able to accomplish more than one chore by stopping in that little bar in Virgin River. The guy who owned the place might know if there was anything to lease in the area. Just on principle, Dan didn’t want to ask his new boss.
He walked into the bar and a couple of seconds later Jack came out from the back.
“Aw, Jesus Christ,” Jack said. “You again.”
Dan took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Aw, man—you’re the one. Paul hired you!” Jack stepped up behind the bar, hands on his hips. “He said he hired a big guy who wore a funny-looking cowboy hat. Guess he doesn’t know a Shady Brady when he sees one.”
Dan just shook his head and gave a half smile. “You hold some kind of grudge or something? What’d I ever do to you?”
“Just seems like when you’re around, there’s some kind of trouble.”
“Yeah, and sometimes when I’m around, someone needs a lift. Didn’t I pick you up off a dirt road in the middle of a wildfire? Jesus, some people have no gratitude. Can I get a beer or are you going to glare at me all day?”
“You got clean money this time? I don’t take money that smells like fresh-cut cannabis.”
“Didn’t you get the word? I’m rehabilitated. I work construction, and that’s all.”
Jack lifted one eyebrow. “You went to jail?”
“For a while, yeah. Paul didn’t tell you?” Jack shook his head. “How about that,” Dan said. “He’s a gentleman, too.”
Jack pulled a cold Heineken out of the cooler, remembering the man’s preferred brew, popped the cap and put a chilled glass on the bar. “Listen, he’s a good man. He works hard, he’s honest, he treats people right. He’s a family man and has good friends around here. Real good friends. You better not screw with him.” Jack nodded at the beer. “You need a Beam to go with that?” It was usually a boilermaker—Heineken and Jim Beam.
Dan smiled. “No thanks, this is fine. Look, buddy, all I want to do for your friend is construction. He gave me a job. I need a job.” He put out his hand. “Dan Brady.”
“Brady?” Jack asked with a laugh. “Had to be Brady.”
“Interesting, huh?” He put the hat on the bar. “My signature.”
Jack hesitated a moment before he put his hand out and shook Dan’s. “Jack Sheridan.”
“Yeah, I know. Now, can we move on? No reason we have to go head to head every time we see each other. I’m hoping to live here. At least for a while.”
“Why here?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“I’m not likely to run into any old business associates in here.” He grinned. “The bartender won’t take stinky money.”
“You saying we understand each other?” Jack asked.
“I never had a problem understanding you, pal. Fact is, if this were my bar, I wouldn’t have taken my money either. But that’s all in the past. And I need some information, if you have it.”
“We’ll see,” Jack said.
“First of all, I’m bedding down in a camper shell and it’s fine, but I thought you might know of something to rent around here.”
Jack knew of a number of possibilities. Luke Riordan had six cabins on the river, recently updated. There was a couple in town who let out a room over their garage from time to time. And Jack had his cabin in the woods. But there was a vast difference between giving the man a job and watching him work and inviting him to spend the night. “Sorry,” Jack said. “That’s the thing about these mountain towns. Rentals and property sales come up so seldom, Paul’s company is doing well. People have to build from scratch or remodel.”
Dan watched Jack’s eyes as he said this and he knew he wasn’t getting the whole truth. He didn’t blame the guy. It was going to take a while to prove he wasn’t a low-life criminal. He knew there’d be a price when he made the decision to enter the marijuana trade. Right now he could probably get assistance from someone still growing, but Dan didn’t want to go that route. He meant it when he said that was in the past.
“Okay,” Dan said, “I get that. And like I said, I’m not uncomfortable. I park at a rest stop at night. There’s hot water and facilities. What are your hours of operation? I’m looking for an occasional hot meal and a packed lunch to take on the job.”
“We can handle that for you. I’m usually here by six-thirty and Preacher lives on the property. He has the coffee on by six. We stay open till about nine at night, later if someone asks us to stay open. If you let Preacher know in advance, he can have a packed lunch ready for you in the early morning. If you need any—” The phone rang in the kitchen. “Give me a second. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” Dan said.
While Jack was gone, Dan wondered, just curiously, if the till was locked. Would Jack Sheridan leave him alone in the bar with a money drawer open? Did he trust him a little bit, or not at all? He wouldn’t blame Jack if it took him some time to warm up to Dan—after all, this was the first hour of the first day they had a legitimate relationship. But Dan and Jack had history. Lots of history. And it wasn’t all so good.
The first time they’d crossed paths, Dan had to get the local midwife to help him with a birth gone bad at an illegal grow site. That midwife was Jack’s woman, and that whole episode went over like a turd in a punch bowl. The next time they came into contact, Dan had actually rear-ended that same midwife, and she was nine months pregnant. Again, not an auspicious beginning for their friendship.
But then he’d redeemed himself. Dan was in the area when some local men were searching for Preacher’s wife, who’d been abducted by her homicidal ex-husband. It hadn’t been Dan’s plan to save the day, but the rest of these louts couldn’t hack it and someone had to act. So Dan whopped the ex-husband on the head with his flashlight, knocked him cold and facilitated rescue.
Then there was the forest fire last summer. By the sheerest coincidence, Jack was sitting by the side of the road, hurt and dehydrated, as Dan was making his escape from a couple of lunatic growers. He picked Jack up and got him to safety.
Jack had apparently forgotten the good parts. Or decided they weren’t good enough.
Shortly after that fire, there had been a warrant for Dan’s arrest and that’s when he’d turned himself in. By virtue of being highly cooperative, he’d
