There were only half a dozen or so people here, most of them twice his age, as the clientele who came here were mostly older cowboys and ranchers. There was no dance floor, no menu. Just a jukebox and a scattering of tables. Someone slid onto the barstool to his right, but Dean didn’t recognize the man as they exchanged a nod in greeting and then went back to minding their own business. “I thought you had to go back down to the veterans’ center.” Now, that was a voice Dean recognized. He turned as Bobby sat down. “I don’t have to report in until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. What are you doing here? I thought you were taking your wife home.” “I did.” Bobby gestured to the bartender to bring him the same as what Dean was drinking. “After we got home, she told me to find you. Thought you could use a friend. I spotted your truck as I was heading back to the Blue Creek.”
