Even though Falling Rock was in the perfect area to pull in both tourists and business people, the tips on the weekend usually weren’t as good, especially for a pretty girl. It doesn’t matter how hot you are if a husband’s sitting at the bar with his wife looking over his shoulder while he signs the credit card receipt. I’d done well over the course of the afternoon, though. I’d hustled and really worked on selling some of the obscure, higher priced beers. It still blew my mind that there were people willing to pay twenty dollars for a single bottle of beer, but I was glad those folks were in Denver today! I checked my watch and realized that I only had about forty-five minutes to get the bar back into shape for the dinner shift, and I still had a bar that was about half full. Time to shift into higher gear, I thought, as I started wiping down the liquor bottles I’d used to make what had felt like about a thousand bloody marys. I’d just finished a quick cleanup of the back bar, when I turned to scan the bar and see if anyone needed another drink.
