Craving (Steel Brothers Saga #1)(63)

I sat down at the bar next to an old geezer in a blue-and-yellow plaid flannel shirt and a hunting cap.

A bartender who looked like he’d seen damn near a century strolled up to me. “What’ll it be?”

I cleared my throat. “Whiskey, straight.”

He poured me a drink from a bottle I’d never seen or heard of.

I downed a shot, burning my throat. Yep, rotgut. But I was in a rotgut kind of mood. I pushed my glass to the edge of the bar and signaled the bartender for another.

The old geezer next to me turned toward me. “Troubles, son?”

I shook my head in the low chuckle. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“You need an ear? I got nowhere else to go.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Mike.”

I shook his hand. “Talon.”

“Talon, like a bird’s claw?”

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

“Mighty unusual name.”

Not the first time someone had commented about my name. “My mother liked it. My dad wanted to name me John. That’s my middle name.” I took a sip of my drink. I’d take this one a bit more slowly.

“That’s some real crap you’re drinking,” Mike said.

“So?”

“So, you look like the kind of guy who can afford the good stuff.”

“Why do you say that?”

Mike looked down. “Those ostrich cowboy boots, for one.”

I let out a huff. “Maybe I like the crap.”

“If you say so. Me, I love to taste that good stuff once in a while.”

I took another sip. Mike looked tired. Old and tired. “What you do, Mike?”

“Worked construction all my life. I’m retired now. My wife passed away year ago, so it’s just me and my dog. What about you?”

“I’m a rancher.”

“That can be a hard life,” he said.

I laughed. Yeah, for most, ranching was hard. For the Steels? Not so much. We were lucky. Great-Grandpa Steel had started out with nothing, and between him and Grandpa, they built an empire, adding the peach and apple orchard to the already thriving beef ranch. Dad had built the winery, and he and Ryan had created another empire.

Not that we didn’t work hard. We did, Jonah and Ryan especially. They were known to put in twelve-hour days. But money was never a worry.

No, my ranch wasn’t the source of my problem.

“We do okay,” I said.

“Then what’s eatin’ at you, boy?”

I glared daggers at him. “Don’t call me boy.”

“Sorry. Meant no disrespect. But something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

I sighed. “I just got mugged.”

“Don’t surprise me none, walking around this area dressed like that.” Mike coughed.

“Last time I checked it was a free country, Mike. I should have the right to walk where the hell I want without someone trying to take something that’s mine.”

“I can’t argue with you, son. But you gotta use your smarts, too. You don’t look stupid to me, but it seems stupid for someone like you to be walking around here after dark and not expect to get mugged.”

“I took care of it.”

“You don’t look any worse for the wear.”

“I don’t, but the dumb-ass mugger sure does.”

Mike raised his eyebrows and took a long draft of his beer. Then he let out a laugh. “So you didn’t give in, I take it?”

“Hell, no.”

“And you kicked his ass?”

“Into next week.” I took another sip of the rotgut.

Mike chuckled. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming.” He finished his beer. “So tell me, what’s eating you? And don’t tell me you’re upset over the mugging. If you didn’t want to be mugged, you wouldn’t have come down here.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Mike let out a little chortle. “I’m thinking I’m hitting a little too close to home for you, son.”

“So you’re a shrink now?”

“Not by a long shot. Just an old guy who’s been around the block a few times. I’ve been told I’m good at reading people. And I think I just read you better than you wanted me to.”

“You don’t know damned thing about me.”

“Now that’s not true. I know you’re rancher. You said so yourself. I know you were walking outside in the dark in this area with those boots on, and that made you prime meat for the muggers. I also know that you knew damned well you were likely to get mugged, and you did. You didn’t let the mugger have anything, and you walked away unscathed.”

I downed my drink and motioned for another. “You don’t know shit, old man.”

Mike gestured the bartender for another beer. “You get to be my age, and you know a lot. I know right now that you’re hiding something. Now, I don’t know what it is, but you’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later if you want to live a happy life.”

“I’m perfectly happy.” What a crock.

“Son, perfectly happy people don’t walk around asking to get mugged.”