He plunked the glass down on the bar and then pushed back. “You’re not going yet, are you?” Behind the bar, Simmons paused in wiping a beer glass. The giant’s bald head glowed in the dim lighting of the tavern. Ryan nodded, guilt pouring in his gut and sloshing there like sour whiskey. He hadn’t planned on staying at all. In fact, he hadn’t really wanted to come here in the first place. But his empty flask had taunted him mercilessly until his thirst had driven him from the boathouse. He’d saddled his horse, telling himself he was only going for a ride to distract himself. But his horse had ended up at the Roadside Inn, and once there, Ryan hadn’t been able to resist going inside. Simmons had gladly filled up his flask, then poured him a glass without even asking. Soon one drink had turned into two. “You need another shot before you go,” Simmons said, lifting the decanter and tipping it toward Ryan’s abandoned glass.
