chère in that deep southern accent. The word meant dear or darling in French and sounded so sweet.
“But you weren’t working in my bar.” She took a deep breath and said, “But what the hell? Sugar and I’ve had our arguments before and we got past them, and she did tell us to take care of you. I was about to put an ad in the paper for a part-time bartender. Friday and Saturday nights. Opening to closing. That’d be eighteen hours a week, ten dollars an hour, and you keep all your tips. And, chère, I really like that you don’t drink. Last part-time help I had was plastered by the time he went home every evening.”
Jolene did the math in her head. Depending on tips, of course, that would pay the utilities and keep her in food. Hopefully someone would see the potential in the inn and buy it before long.
She leaned over and hugged Dotty. “Thank you. I’ll be here Friday half an hour before opening to help you get things ready, and I’ll do the cleanup after hours, too.”
“Now tell me again, chère, where did you work and how long? Since Bruce died and I had to take over the whole nine yards of runnin’ this place, time gets away from me,” Dotty said.
“Ten years at the Twisted Rope out in West Texas. I can handle myself and the customers. You can call my previous employer if you need a reference,” she answered. “So you and Bruce ran this together?”
“Yep, he inherited it from his father. Sugar, Lucy, and Flossie almost had a heart attack when we decided to run it ourselves.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I think the whole bunch of them kind of lost respect for me, but hey, we made more money in this little shack than we ever did workin’ our asses off in office jobs.”
“People will always find a place to drink and party,” Jolene said.
“Let’s celebrate a new partnership with New Year’s dinner. I’ve got a pot of black-eyed peas going in my apartment, and I hate to eat alone. Follow me,” Dotty said.
This job is sure starting out different, she thought as she followed Dotty across the barroom floor. Her boss at the Twisted Rope had been a grumpy old man who owned three bars. He’d never invited her to dinner, given her a Christmas bonus, or even told her she was doing a good job. He paid her on Saturday nights, simply handing her the envelope with her paycheck in it. But comparing him to Dotty was like comparing apples to goats. Dotty had been Aunt Sugar’s friend since they were little girls. Her other boss had been a stranger, even after ten years.
They went through a storeroom and into another room. As the aroma of food filled the place, Jolene tried to take in the whole residence with one glance, but it was impossible. Sunshine flowed from a skylight into a small living room that could have been featured in Southern Living. The smell of beans and bacon wafted in from the galley kitchen off to one side. A doorway opened up into a bedroom that showed off a bright floral comforter on a queen-size bed.
“Oh, my, this is beautiful,” Jolene said.
“It used to be a big empty space, but Bruce and I turned it into an apartment. Made sense since we were here so much of the time. It was safer than driving all the way to Tyler at that time of morning, plus it saved gas and time. I’ve got the traditional meal—black-eyed peas cooked up with lots of bacon, greens with bacon, steamed cabbage, plus some sliced tomatoes and corn bread. Lucy and Flossie were supposed to be here, but they both have a hangover. Poor things never have been able to hold their liquor.” She set the table for two as she talked.
“What can I do to help?” Jolene asked.
“Pour us a couple of glasses of sweet tea. It’s in the fridge. Ice cubes are in the bowl in the freezer,” Dotty said.
“How did you get from Louisiana to here? Sugar said that you were young when you moved here, but you’ve kept that accent,” Jolene asked.
“My mama was Cajun, and that’s the language I heard at home. Guess it stuck,” Dotty answered. “I worked in an insurance agency for years, and Bruce was a loan officer at a bank. We knew figures and all that when we decided to