Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery #2) - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,8

old rocking chair, smoking a cigarette. “How are you today, Bart?” Sullivan called.

“Just fine. The sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow,” the old man said with a smile that was missing a couple of teeth.

Bart’s life was simple, and that suited him. If Sullivan was being honest, he envied that about him. If all Sullivan had to worry about was the sun rising and setting, life would be easy. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Bart waved him off and took another sip from his coffee cup before puffing on his cigarette.

Sullivan was on the road soon after. River Rock’s streets were never busy, especially compared to the streets of Boston. It had taken some time getting used to a big city. Sure, Sullivan had spent a lot of time in Denver while in college, but Boston felt like a world away from River Rock. The people were different, the smells, the scenery. Nothing felt the same, and for a long time, Sullivan had preferred that.

When he finally reached River Rock’s downtown, he pulled over at the curb in front of a 2-hour parking sign and got out. Downtown River Rock held none of the riches of a big city, but it doubled in charm. Quaint brick storefronts hugged the street. Owners decorated their shop’s doors, drawing in the visitors who came for the views of the Colorado mountains, the western country life, and the quiet countryside. All the things Sullivan had been more than happy to leave behind in his early twenties.

Now, as he crossed the road, he felt more at home than he ever did in Boston, but it surprised him how much had changed here. Not the familiar scents of a mix between fresh-cut flowers and sunshine, but the modernized stores. Long gone were all the old shops Sullivan remembered. He came to a stop outside River Rock’s police station. Years back, the police had taken ownership of the old courthouse on Main Street with its big white columns in front. Inside the station, the space had been modernized, with the reception desk at the front, near the waiting room, where he found the receptionist, Phillis, working. She had black-dyed hair, a face full of wrinkles, and bright nail polish and lipstick.

She whistled, setting her phone back on the receiver. “My word, Sullivan Keene. It’s been a long time since you’ve been home.”

She’d worked there for as long as Sullivan could remember and was well past retirement age. He smiled at her. “It’s been far too long.”

“Indeed,” Phillis said. “What can I do for you today?”

“Is the chief in?”

“He is,” Phillis reported. “Here, I’ll buzz you in. Go on back and see him. He’s in the same office.”

Seven years ago, Sullivan had spent a lot of time at the station. Not from getting in trouble. John Taylor, the chief of police, had taken him in at sixteen when Ronnie had declined to step up as Sullivan’s guardian due to his busy work schedule. Sullivan had lived with John until he headed off for college.

On his way down the hallway, Sullivan waved to a few cops looking his way. He finally stopped outside the corner office. “Still working too late, I see,” he said by way of greeting.

The chief’s head snapped up. “Well, well, so the gossip around town is actually right this time. You’re back?”

Sullivan nodded. “I am. Just for a month.”

John rose and came around the desk to give Sullivan a rough hug. “It’s damn good to see you.”

“You too,” Sullivan said, stepping out of the embrace. John and Sullivan talked often, and he always came to Denver whenever Sullivan had a game. He’d always been more of an uncle to Sullivan than Ronnie had even been. Even more of a father figure than Kurtis. “Listen, I can’t stay long. I’m meeting Hayes for drinks. Can we catch up over breakfast?” With the chief, it was always meeting over breakfast. His days were too busy for anything else.

John nodded. “There’s a great little place a block down called The Kitchen. Shoot me your schedule, and we’ll fit it in.”

“Will do.” Sullivan moved to the door then glanced back. “You know it’s a little after seven o’clock, right?”

The chief swatted at the air. “Work is work. Enjoy those drinks, Sullivan.”

Thoroughly dismissed, Sullivan shook his head with a laugh then headed back outside. He headed back down Main Street until he slowed in front of the bar with the KINKY SPURS signage. Suddenly, A kid ran toward him.

“Sully.