When she walked back inside, she was still breathless and a little heated from manhandling the barrel. Salty perspiration beaded her upper lip.Murphy was sitting at the bar again, this time leaning on the wooden counter and talking to Buddy. He held his broad back tense and straight, like he was hyper-aware of his surroundings, a lion ready to pounce the moment he was threatened. Rachel looked at him for a moment, studying his clothes and the way he stood. He didn’t have to open his mouth for people to know he wasn’t from around here; the cut of his top and the color of his jeans were enough to mark him out as a stranger. His pants weren’t pale and over-washed like the good ol’ boys’, and his Henley was no checkered shirt. As Buddy might say, he looked as out of place as a chicken in a church. The thought made her want to laugh.“The keg’s changed.” She flashed a smile at Buddy. He walked slowly to the tap handles, pulling a pint glass from the shelf above and placing it beneath the spout.
