The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,44

neon sign hanging over the front window. Someone had spray-painted an E over the A in Hall.

Motorcycles lined the left side of the parking lot, three rows deep. On the opposite side of the building, a cluster of teenage boys hung out, smoking cigarettes. Every once in a while, one would point toward the bikes, and their conversation became animated.

She glanced at the door, recognizing the paper taped to the wood. They served alcohol. Only people twenty-one years and older permitted inside the establishment.

Taking her keys out of the ignition, she grabbed her phone and purse. She pushed through the door before she realized what she was doing.

An overweight man wearing a familiar leather vest with a WAKOM patch lifted his chin behind the counter. "There's an opening on table three if you want to get in on a game."

"Uh, no..." She approached the counter and slid onto a stool. "Can I have a hamburger and fries?"

"Sure thing." The employee walked toward the back door.

She swiveled on the barstool and gazed at the loud, rough crowd. These were the kind of people she was used to being around. She understood their way of life and the way they communicated.

A bubble of excitement she hadn't felt in a long time filled her chest. Maybe the place would change her future a second time. Being here gave her the hope that somehow, her life would get better.

Being here made the loneliness subside.

A middle-aged biker approached the counter and banged his fist down. "Hey, Rubble, get me a fucking drink."

Marla turned around and braced her elbows on the counter.

"Where the fuck are you? I'm up next and need a drink," bellowed the biker.

Marla slid off the stool, walked around the counter, and looked at the man. "What do you drink?"

The biker's gaze narrowed, and he cocked his head, not knowing what to make of her jumping in where Rubble obviously worked. "Whiskey and coke."

"Ice?"

"Hell, no."

She smiled. The man would never know how comforting it was to be barked at.

It took her twenty seconds to find what she needed, and poured the drink into the glass in front of him. As he reached for it, she said, "You'll owe Rubble."

"Fair enough."

He turned to leave, and she said, "But I'll take a tip."

His cheek twitched in amusement, and he returned to her, holding up his arm and waving off the men at the table calling his name to finish his turn. "You're a bossy little thing."

She raised her brows and crossed her arms, waiting.

He flipped her a twenty-dollar bill. She grinned. Bikers were easy to handle. Much easier than trying to keep her temper while dealing with average citizens with overdue payments at the feed store.

She stepped over and put the cash on the till, setting a mug upside down on top in case it blew off, and Rubble wondered why he was short a few dollars.

Now, he'd get a little extra. A whisky and coke couldn't be that expensive.

Turning, she almost ran into Rubble. He frowned at her, holding a plate with a hamburger and fries piled on top.

Her stomach growled, remembering how wonderful the food tasted when she was starving at ten years old.

"Mine?" She smiled.

He nodded.

She took the plate from his hands, grabbed a ketchup bottle on the counter, walked around the end, and found an empty stool. Eating slowly, she enjoyed every bite. Every dip of her fry in ketchup.

Rubble probably wasn't a cook here when she was here last time, but he was good. The food tasted exactly as she remembered.

"You know your way around a kitchen." Rubble eyed her from a few feet away. "You're not scared of the men."

She shrugged, finished chewing, and swallowed. "I know bikers."

"That so?"

Now was as good of a time as ever to finish what she came here to do. She set her hamburger down and brushed off her hands.

"Are you hiring?" she asked.

"Depends." He lowered his chin and studied her. "Can you keep the customers in line when there's twenty of them yelling at you?"

She broke out in a grin that warmed her chest. "In my sleep."

"How many drinks do you know how to make?"

Without hesitating, she shrugged. "Only the important ones. As long as you have beer, whiskey, rum, I can satisfy any man here."

Rubble nodded in appreciation. Like, she'd thought, bikers were easy.

"Then, you're hired. Start tomorrow. Come in at six o'clock and work until we close at two in the morning. You'll be in charge of all drink orders and