Short Order
By Pat Henshaw
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2020 Pat Henshaw
ISBN 9781646565306
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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To Becca, Jake, and Sarah, without whose help and love I would have given up long ago. Thank you all so much.
Author’s Note: During the recession at the beginning of the 21st Century, many gays and lesbians moved from the San Francisco Bay Area and Sacramento to the Sierra Foothills. FLAG (Foothills Lesbians and Gays) was formed. This series was written for them.
* * * *
Short Order
By Pat Henshaw
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
“Hey, Fen! Welcome back, buddy. What can I get you?”
Stonewall Saloon owner and chief bartender, Guy Stone, stood like a rock fortress behind the elaborate bar. I was stunned that even though it’d been over five years since I’d last been in, he remembered my name.
Stonewall, an historic roadhouse that gave visitors a glimpse of the Old West, stood like an anchor in Old Town Stone Acres, California. Since I’d come in there more than once the last time I’d been in town, I’d gotten to know its primary bartender and proprietor, Stone, pretty well. While he looked like the ultimate biker daddy—tall, bald, and extremely muscled—he’d acted like my five-foot-three-inch height, the ivy tattoo running up my neck, my pierced eyebrow, and my green-tipped hairstyle were commonplace. And he remembered my name.
“I’ll have a Fat Tire Ale. How’ve you been, Stone?” I slipped off my jacket, stuffed my cap in my pocket, and letting the coat be my cushion, sat.
He turned and bent over to rummage through some bottles in the low fridge along the back wall. I admired the scenery and waited for his response.
“Pretty good, actually. What’ve you been up to? You graduate?”
He stood and swiveled, a bottle in one hand. He twisted off the top, then slung a glass over the long neck and slid the drink gently my way.
“On the house.” He grabbed the towel hanging over his belt and wiped away the little moisture that marred the pristine mahogany bar top. “So you’re back.”
“Uh, thanks. Yeah, I just graduated. Dr. Fenton Miller, PhD.” I give him a courtly little bow and a salute. “Doctor of horticulture. Gonna cure the problems of the world through plants.”
Stone shook his head. “Good for you. Don’t think I know many doctors that aren’t, you know, doctors.” His mouth quirked into a sassy grin. “But I think we need more of ‘em if they’re nice guys like you, Fen.”
Then his gaze flitted over my head, and his grin became the happiest smile I’d seen since I’d been home and talked to my mother a week ago.
“Hey, babe,” Stone crooned, and I turned to see who he was talking to.
He leaned over the bar as a medium height, thin, brown-haired guy stretched forward toward him. Their kiss was short, but hot. They took a second to stare at each other before the guy on my side of the bar eased up and started taking off his ski jacket and his suit coat.
Stone pointed quickly at me before he poured what looked like a white wine, then handed it to the guy next to me.
“Babe, this is Fen Miller, Beth and Kate’s cousin. He was around four or five years ago when they were setting up the nursery. He just graduated college. Fen, this is my fiancé, Jimmy Patterson.”
Fuck me. Stone was engaged? Neither Beth nor Kate had said anything. For Stone Acres, this was big news. Then it hit me that maybe nobody else knew. Great. On his second day in town, Fen scoops the town busybodies. Ha!
Jimmy had turned to me with his hand out, so I grabbed it and shook.
“Congratulations, you two! Nobody told me. It’s good to meet you, Jimmy.”
“Yeah, well.” Stone looked embarrassed.
“This big lug doesn’t want to make an announcement until after the holidays.” Jimmy sounded amused, like he felt free to tease Stone and get away with it.
What I remembered as Stone’s habitual frown and eagle eyes cutting through customers had been supplanted by a huge grin that made him look much younger. So I guess things could change in a place where it looked like time stood still.
Jimmy sat next to me, and we chatted while customers came and went. Tonight seemed pretty calm. When guys stared, either Stone or Jimmy introduced me. A couple of them I remembered from the last time I was here, and they recognized me.
One guy smiled and said, “Don’t change much, do you?”
I grinned and shook my head. I held myself back from saying he hadn’t changed much either except to look at least fifteen years older. Why make the guy feel bad, right?
“If you just graduated,” Jimmy asked after we sat for a while, sipping our drinks and letting the ambience roll over us, “why’re you working at the nursery?”
“I can’t decide which of two jobs
