Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [87]
Some cowhand belted out an off-key version of a Jim Reeves hit. Matt didn’t know him, and didn’t plan to seek out any company. He took a table in the back of the room, letting it be known that he was there for the booze and not for local chitchat. It wasn’t long before Merrily approached.
“How you doing?” she asked, friendly as ever.
His reply was a forced smile. “I could use a beer.”
“Coming right up.”
Sitting in the shadows, Matt nursed three drinks, one right after the other, but they didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he was more miserable now than he’d been when he arrived. Margaret wasn’t his only worry; already Sheryl and her attorney were determined to bleed him dry. She was after child support, money for her medical bills and living expenses. It wouldn’t stop there, either. He knew damn well this was only the beginning. She was going to exploit this situation for every dime she could get, just like she had in those lawsuits she’d filed in the past. And if she didn’t get any money out of Margaret, she’d try for whatever she could get out of him. It was all about money for Sheryl. She didn’t give a damn about the kid.
It must be near closing time. The bar was mostly deserted and Bob was counting out the till. Matt should be clearing his own tab and moving on, but the thought of returning to the ranch held little appeal.
Trapped in his own murky thoughts, Matt didn’t notice Bob walking over to his table.
“I’ll settle up with you now,” Matt said, reaching for his wallet.
“Anytime is fine. I’m in no hurry,” Bob said, and surprised him by pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “Seems you got something on your mind.”
Matt didn’t respond. He hadn’t meant to be this obvious—but what did he expect after half the town had seen Margaret beat the hell out of him in the middle of Main Street?
“Trouble at home?”
Matt stiffened. “That’s my business.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Bob continued, sounding apologetic. “Nor am I about to offer you advice—”
“Good,” Matt said, cutting him off.
“But,” Bob went on, unfazed, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be driving.”
“I only had three beers.”
“It’s not the alcohol I’m worried about, it’s your state of mind. You look about as low as a man can get. Merrily thinks it’d be best if you spent the night, and I agree. We have a room for you—on the house. In the morning, if you feel like talking—”
“I already said—”
“You don’t have to discuss your troubles with me,” Bob said, holding up both hands. “But if you want to talk, I’m here, and there are others, too.”
Matt frowned. “Who?”
“Hassie for one. She won’t judge you. And the new pastor. He’s been a real help to Merrily and me.” Bob looked down at the floor. “You might’ve heard our boy was taken away from us.”
Matt had heard about it, but not the details.
“We were both pretty upset, as you can imagine.”
“That was when you broke your hand?”
Bob smiled briefly. “Put it through the wall. I was feeling worse than I’ve ever felt. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but for a while there, I wondered if life was worth living.”
“I can’t see myself talking this out with a pharmacist.” He didn’t want to hear what a preacher would have to say, either. Especially when it wasn’t four months ago that Larry Dawson had officiated at his wedding. Just married, two women pregnant—there had to be an entire section of hell ready and waiting for the likes of him.
“Just think about it,” Bob advised. “It might help.”
“Thanks for the suggestion.”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without my friends during that time. They got me through some rough days when I didn’t care what the hell happened to me anymore.”
With Bob’s words echoing in his mind, Matt took the room key and wandered up the stairs. Normally he wasn’t one to accept charity, but even in his pain he recognized that Bob offered friendship and understanding, not pity.
The phone on the nightstand seemed to taunt him. He would have