swung toward the Dutch doors, and my mouth dropped as I put the familiar voice to the big, bulky, bald guy.
Uncle Clyde, who wasn’t my uncle, but had been around since, well, forever, barreled his way toward us. A big, toothy smile broke out across his ruddy face. “Holy shit for Saturday dinner, it is you!”
I wiggled my fingers in his direction, and my lips split in a smile. Uncle Clyde hadn’t changed one bit in the three years I’d been gone.
Hot Bartender Dude was quiet as he drew back, but I knew what he had to be thinking if he realized I was Mona’s daughter.
Then Uncle Clyde was on me. The big old bear got his massive arms around me and lifted me clear out of the bar stool. My feet dangled in the air as he hugged me, forcing me to squeeze my toes around the thin straps of my flip-flops.
But I didn’t mind if I lost my shoes or was currently having a hard time breathing. Uncle Clyde . . . God, had been there since the beginning, cooking in the kitchen when Dad and Mom first opened Mona’s, and he’d hung around long after everything had gone to crap and then some. And he was still here.
Tears pricked my eyes as I managed to get my arms around his huge shoulders, inhaling the faint scent of fried food and his Old Spice cologne. I’d missed Clyde. He was the only thing I missed about this town.
“Good God, girl, it is so good to see you.” He squeezed me until I let out a little squeal like a squeak toy. “So damn good.”
“I think she can tell,” Hot Bartender Dude said dryly. “Because you’re suffocating her by squeezing her to death.”
“Shut your trap, boy.” Clyde lowered me to my feet, but kept one arm around my shoulders. His height and width dwarfed me, always had. “You do realize who this is, Jax?”
“I’m going to go with a yes,” came another dry, low response, laced with an edge of humor.
“Wait.” I wiggled to the side, turning to Hot Bartender Dude. “Your name is Jax?”
“Jackson James is actually my name, but everyone calls me Jax.”
I mentally repeated his name. Admittedly, Jax was one sexy as hell nickname and made me think of a certain fictional biker babe. “You sound like you belong in a boy band.”
A low laugh rumbled out from under his breath. “I guess I missed my calling then.”
“Hell.” Clyde’s arm tightened on my shoulder. “Jax can actually sing, even strum a few chords on the guitar, if you get enough whiskey in him.”
“Really?” My interest was piqued, mainly because there was nothing hotter than a guy with a guitar.
Jax leaned against the sink behind the bar, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve been known to play a time or two.”
“So, what brings you back here, baby girl?” Clyde asked, and there was no missing the heavy meaning in his words. As in, what in the hell are you doing back in this dump?
I turned toward him slowly. When I’d left for college, Clyde had been sad to see me go, but he’d been the driving force behind getting me out of this town and away from . . . well, everything. He probably would’ve been happier if I’d picked a school clear across the country, but I’d chosen one that was still sort of close by just in case . . . just in case something like this happened.
“I’m looking for Mom.” And that was all I said. Right now, I didn’t want to get into what was going on in front of Jax. The fact that he was now looking at me like he was truly seeing me as more than just some chick that had roamed into the bar was bad enough.
Some people believed the apple never fell too far from the tree.
And sometimes I wondered that myself.
I didn’t miss the way Clyde tensed, or how his gaze darted to Jax quickly, and then back to me. Unease cut deeper, then twisted and spread like a weed across a flower bed.
Focusing fully on Clyde, I prepared myself for whatever was about to come winging my way. “What?”
His big smile lessened and turned nervous as he dropped his arm. “Nothing, baby girl, it’s just that . . .”
I took a deep breath and waited as Jax grabbed another beer from the cooler of ice, handing it over to an older man in a red, torn flannel who didn’t even get a chance to ask for what he wanted, but shuffled off with a happy, if slightly drunk, smile.
“Is my mom here?”
Clyde shook his head.
I folded my arms around my waist. “Where is she?”
“Well, you see, baby girl, I really don’t know,” Clyde said, shifting his gaze to the scuffed-up, and badly in need of a thorough cleaning, floor.
“You don’t know where she is?” How was that possible?
“Yeah, well, Mona hasn’t been around for like . . .” He trailed off, dipping his chin against his heavy chest as he scrubbed a hand over his bald head.
Those knots were back, tightening until I pressed the heel of my palm against my stomach. “How long has she been gone?”
Jax’s gaze dipped to my hand and then flickered up to my eyes. “Your mom’s been gone for at least two weeks. No one has heard from her, or even caught sight of her. She’s skipped town.”
The floor felt like it had dropped out from underneath me. “She’s been missing for two weeks?”
Clyde didn’t answer, but Jax shifted closer to the bar top and lowered his voice. “She came in one night, upset and tearing around the office like a maniac, which, by the way, wasn’t really different from any other night.”
That sounded familiar. “And?”
“She reeked of alcohol,” he added gently, watching me intently from behind thick lashes.
Which was another common occurrence. “And?”
“And she smelled like she’d been in a sealed-off room, smoking pot and cigarettes for several hours.”
Well, the pot was something new. Mom used to be into pills, lots of pills—a smorgasbord of pills.
“And that wasn’t too uncommon, either, in the last year or so,” Jax said, still watching me, and I now learned he’d been around for some time. “So no one really paid her much attention. You see, your mom kind of . . .”
“Did nothing while she was here?” I supplied when his jaw tensed. “Yeah, that’s nothing new, either.”
Jax held my gaze for a moment, and then his chest rose with a deep breath. “She left that night around eight or so, and we haven’t heard from her since. Like Clyde said, that was about two weeks ago.”
Oh my God.
I plopped down on the bar stool.
“I didn’t call you, baby girl, because . . . well, this isn’t the first time your mom has just up and disappeared.” Clyde propped his hip against the bar as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Every couple of months, she hits the road with Rooster and—”
“Rooster?” My brows flew up. Did Mom have a pet rooster? As bizarre as that would be, it wouldn’t surprise me. She’d grown up on a farm, and when I was little, she had a thing for oddball pets. We had a goat once named Billy.
Clyde winced. “He’s your mom’s . . . um, he’s your mom’s man.”
“His name is Rooster?” Oh dear lawd.
“That’s what he goes by,” Jax said, drawing my gaze again.
God, this was humiliating in so many ways. Mom was a drunk stoner who abused pills, never did anything with the bar she owned, and had run off with some dude, who was no doubt really classy, and went by the name Rooster.