how old it is?” Finn glanced up into the rafters. “No wonder it feels so authentic.”
“And it has ghosts.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”
“I hope she’s not.” Chelsea shivered with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”
“Well, I have seen one, right in this room after closing. I knew the saloon was supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of past patrons, so I renamed it Spirits and Spurs, thinking I was being clever. Then I saw my first ghost and realized I was being accurate.”
Chelsea sucked in a breath. “That is so cool.”
“That is so creepy.” Finn didn’t seem as happy about the ghost situation.
“Not everyone believes it.” Josie shrugged. “Their choice. I know what I saw and I stand by the name. By the way, I’ve tasted your beer, Finn, and it’s excellent. If you can guarantee me a steady supply, I’ll put it on the menu.”
“I’d be honored, ma’am.”
“Aha! Spoken like a Wyoming boy. Nice hat, too.”
“We were in coach,” Chelsea said, “but the hat rode in first class. Both legs. The flight attendants were very accommodating.”
“I understand how that could happen.” Josie gave Finn a speculative glance. “Women appreciate a nice hat. Anyway, I’ve monopolized you two long enough. The rest of the gang is sitting in the far corner where those two tables are pushed together. Let’s get your drinks ordered before we go over. What’ll you have?”
“O’Roarke’s Pale Ale,” Chelsea said, knowing it would please Finn. Besides, she liked it.
“Make that two, please.” Finn said.
“Why am I not surprised?” Josie beckoned to a waitress and gave her the order before turning back to them. “Hand-crafted beers are a fun idea. I’ve always thought owning the saloon was good enough, but lately I’ve been thinking that a microbrewery would be an interesting challenge.”
Finn clutched his chest. “A competitor? Right when I’ve snagged your business?”
“Relax.” She patted him on the arm. “It’ll take me ages to get up to speed. By then you’ll have the entire West Coast sewed up.”
“Just kidding, ma’am. I’d be glad to help any way I can. There’s room for both of us.”
Chelsea’s heart swelled. Finn was turning into a savvy businessman, as evidenced by his decision to expand his territory. But he wasn’t cutthroat about it and he was more than willing to lend a hand to a competitor. She’d admired that strength of character from the day they’d met.
Josie ushered them over to the table where the rest of the family sat, and immediately the men all pushed back their chairs and stood. Impressive. Cowboy manners were beginning to grow on her.
As Josie made the introductions, the calendar helped Chelsea identify people. She recognized Jack, Nick and Gabe instantly, and Dominique had to be the short-haired brunette sitting next to Nick. That meant Gabe’s wife, Morgan, was the curvy redhead.
“Sarah and Pete will be here any minute,” Josie said. “But they told us to go ahead and order food instead of waiting for them, so have a seat and grab a menu.” She laughed. “I refuse to be modest. Everything’s good here.”
“Well, I’m starving.” Chelsea sat next to Jack. That was when she noticed that everyone had a bottle of O’Roarke’s Pale Ale in front of them.
Obviously, Finn had noticed it, too. He gestured toward the bottles. “That’s right nice of you,” he said. “I really didn’t expect everyone to be obliged to drink it.”
“Why not?” Nick smiled at him. “It was free!”
“Exactly. I love me a free beer.” Jack raised his bottle in a subtle salute. “And it’s not half-bad. If Josie goes ahead with her microbrewery plan, she’ll have to step it up in order to top this. We’ll have you beat on the label, though.”
“I don’t know about that.” Finn settled into his chair with a grin. Apparently he was comfortable with this kind of teasing. “You have to admit that an Irish name on a beer bottle just looks natural.”
“Maybe so, but you don’t have historic information to slap on the back side.” Jack turned the bottle around. “In this space here, where you can only brag about the quality of your hops and such, we get to talk about a beer inspired by the friendly spirits of Shoshone, namely, ‘Ghost Drinkers in the Bar.’”
Chelsea laughed. “That’s good.”
“We’ve worked up a little ditty for the commercial.” Gabe smoothed his mustache. “You oughta hear it.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Hey, they just got here. You don’t have to do this now.”
“Oh, I think we do.” Nick began to hum the tune for “Ghost Riders in the Sky.”
Dominique glanced across the table at Chelsea and Finn. “Sorry. When they get like this it’s impossible to control them.”
“And why would you?” Jack stood and motioned the other two to do the same. As the band started playing the song, the three brothers began singing it, or rather a version of it.
The word riders became drinkers, who seemed to be riding bar stools instead of horses. They were also the ones with the red eyes, and instead of pounding hooves they had pounding heads. The chorus was YouTube worthy, with the guys throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders and belting out the yippee-yi-yay part along with ghost drinkers in the baaaaarrrr.
Chelsea laughed so hard her sides ached. Through brimming eyes she glanced over at Finn, who was gasping for breath and wiping his eyes. She hadn’t seen him have so much fun in...forever.
When the men sat down again, Finn cleared his throat. “I give. With that kind of promo, Spirits and Spurs beer is going to dominate the market.”
Jack smiled at him. “I know.”
“Don’t count yourself out yet, Finn,” Chelsea said. “Don’t forget your ace in the hole.”
He glanced over at her. “What’s that?”
“Me.”
“GOOD POINT.” Finn had loved watching Chelsea crack up. Her cheeks glowed pink and her lashes were spiked with tears of laughter. “Gentlemen, I take back what I said. With Chelsea in my corner, I can face any comers.”
Jack nodded. “I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on her that she would be a worthy opponent. Never underestimate a woman with purple streaks in her hair.”
“Lavender,” Chelsea shot back.
“See what I mean?” Jack waved a hand in her direction. “She’ll stand up to anyone, even me. So, are we all gonna eat or dance?”
“Both!” called out a male voice.
Finn turned in his chair as a tall, fit man who was probably in his seventies walked toward them with a silver-haired woman who had the bearing of a queen. Finn stood, as did all the men at the table. Sarah Chance was in the building, along with her husband of only a few years, Pete Beckett.
They came over immediately to the newcomers, and Chelsea rose from her chair to greet them. “I can’t tell you how excited I am about tomorrow,” Chelsea said. “Thank you for hosting this event.”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am.” Finn looked into blue eyes that shone with intelligence and wisdom. He’d heard that Sarah was a special woman, and after only a minute or so of being