CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The boutiques left a lot to be desired, but it was all that was available other than the tacky embroidered or bedazzled western attire. He scoffed at the cowboy boots, then realized that he was the one out of place without them.

He found a pair that he didn’t find revolting and tried them on, walking back and forth across the floor. He didn’t want to admit it, but they were pretty damn comfortable. With the jeans he was wearing, they actually looked pretty decent. He’d never wear them around his friends, but then again, his friends weren’t around him any longer.

“I’ll take these in black and a pair in brown,” he said to the salesclerk. “I’ll wear the black ones out of the store.”

“Of course,” nodded the young man. The boots were more than six hundred a pair, and he worked off commission. This was starting out to be a good day. “If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you might try one of the western shirts to go beneath that jacket. Your logo polo shirt is a bit out of place.”

“I don’t wear western attire unless forced to,” he scoffed.

“Suit yourself,” said the young man, shrugging his shoulders.

With a ridiculously expensive wool scarf around his neck, leather gloves that weren’t the least bit warm, his new boots and jacket, he strolled down the street and placed his bags in his car. Seeing the sign for one of the steakhouses the desk clerk had recommended, he stepped inside and asked for a table for one.

The noise was almost overwhelming, but the smells made him stay.

“Over here, sugar,” said the waitress. She led him to a high-top table with cute stools made of old saddles. They weren’t comfortable, but they were charming in their own ‘hick’ way. “I’ll get you some water and be back in a minute. Anything else to drink?”

“Whiskey,” he said, smiling. “The stronger the better.”

“Honey, I got fifty varieties of whiskey. Could you be more specific?”

“The thirty-year-old Macallan,” he said, frowning at her.

She nodded as if it were every day that someone bought a seventy-dollar shot of whiskey. Maybe it was, but he was hoping to impress the people around him. Except no one seemed the least bit interested in him.

He perused the menu, noting the varieties of steaks and cuts of meats. Maybe this meal would turn out to be pretty damn good.

“What do you recommend?” he asked when she returned with his drinks.

“The sixteen-ounce filet is a favorite. If you can handle it, the Tomahawk is amazing. We also do a bone-in pork chop that would make you slap your mama.” He actually laughed at that, finding it funny how many times he wanted to slap his mother.

“I’ll do the Tomahawk, baked potato with everything on the side, a house salad to start, and some warm rolls if you have them.”

“We got ‘em,” she nodded. “How do you want that steak cooked?”

“Medium,” he said. She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What?”

“Honey, if you really want to experience the meat, eat it the way it should be. Rare to medium-rare. Let that cow moo at you.” He chuckled again at the woman and nodded.

“Fine. Medium-rare,” he said.

She left him alone after that, bouncing from one table to the next. The bar was so loud he could barely hear anything except the cheers of the crowd because of some stupid football game and the idiots lining up to ride a mechanical bull.

When she brought the meal to his table, he nearly crumbled at the smell of the meat. The smokey, grilled scent practically overwhelmed him. Salivating from the smells, he cut into the steak and took a bite, moaning as he did.

Not realizing how hungry he was, he devoured the plate in record time. When she offered the house favorite peach cobbler or pecan pie, he decided to indulge in both. When he was finished, she smiled at the empty plates.

“Glad you enjoyed that. Anything else before I bring the check?”

“No, thanks. Just the check,” he said.

“You visiting?” she asked.

“I am. Just for a few days,” he smiled.

“Well, a little advice. If you’re gonna stay here, at least try to look like you belong. Right now, you look like a reject from a Ralph Lauren ad. People pick up on that and don’t see you as genuine. Just a little advice from me to you. It’s free.”

She walked away, and he stood to head to the bathroom. Finished, he was humming some ridiculous country song that was playing as he washed his hands. When he tried to leave the bathroom, two men pushed through the door.

“Fuck me, those dudes are huge!” said one of the men.

“I know. Maybe they play ball?”

“I don’t think so. They were showing some dude’s photo to everyone.”

That got Archie’s attention. He ducked his head and proceeded to wash his hands again. Listening to every word the men said, he finally dried his hands and slowly opened the door.

“All I know is that I wouldn’t want to be the bastard they’re chasing,” laughed one of the men.

Archie stepped into the small hallway of the bathrooms and peeked around the corner. A dozen men were speaking to his waitress, who was waving the bill in the air. Whoever they were, he knew they were after him.

“Sorry, honey. I’ll tip you good next time.”