Marshall's Bar
Marshall's bar, a sanctuary to all weary travelers and a number of regulars, Blaine finds herself there every day, without a man by her side, and that is just the way she likes it. That is until she met Colt.
"Afternoon Blaine"
It was 12:00 noon on the dot, Jack Marshall didn't even have to look up to see it was Blaine. After her morning at the garage, she would always stop in his bar for a quick drink before returning to her shop.
Working a cloth through a clean mug, he couldn't help but smile as her boots clacked on his hardwood floor and the familiar jingle of spurs after each step. She was quite pretty really, but her soft cheeks and light brown eyes were often mistaken. She was a sweet girl, but hidden under her disarming smile was a girl that could land a punch that would knock you off your feet. Hell, 5 out of 10 times she was the one starting the bar fights.The other half, she was the one breaking them up. Blaine was odd at times, but who wasn't a little odd in the country? Still, she was a girl who loved to smile more than anything.
He had already poured a double shot of whiskey and left it on the bar in front of her stool. The leather was duck taped and stitched up in several different places but still, she loved that spot. Once, she had come in and a heavyset trucker had decided to sit there. At first, she left him alone since he didn't know any better, but after a few shots, she stood up and marched over to the burly man, put a hand on his shoulder and when he turned around, her fist had made an indent in the mans nose.
"Afternoon Jackie." Her voice as steady as always.
He heard her set the glass down and sigh in content. He was just about to poor her another shot, but stopped in his tracks when he saw her. Her pale blue jeans were covered in oil and had been ripped all the way up the left leg. So much so that he could see a sliver of her black silk underwear. She had wrapped up her thigh with a yellow bandanna, a large spot of blood seeped through. A not-so-white-anymore T-shirt hugged her curves tightly, the bottom half had been ripped off and the rest was splattered with oil and dust. She had wrapped the ripped part of her shirt around her left bicep which also had a large spot of blood seeping through. The long brown
tresses of her hair had been pinned back, and strands stuck to her face with sweat.
Although he'd seen her like this on many occasions, he couldn't help but be alarmed. She had an unnatural gift for getting hurt.
"Now what the fuck did you do this time."
The corners of her mouth turned up in a sweet smile and she let out a small laugh.
"Let's just say it's difficult to remove an engine from a truck three times your size."
She placed a bill beside the shot and downed it quickly.
Taking her stool, she tapped the rim of the glass with a long slender finger.
"Gimmie another one Jackie."
"Oh no, you're not working drunk." Marshall said as he reached to grab her glass.
She laughed and snatched her glass before he could take it.
"I'm not going back to work, I've got to get stitched up,"
She gestured to her arm and leg. "I want to numb myself a little
first."
He made a grab for the glass again as she stood up.
"And then drive there drunk? No way am I letting you."
She walked behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of whiskey before he could reach her. For someone who needed stitches, she was quick.
"Actually Jackie, I was hoping you would drive me." She began unscrewing the top of the bottle.
"Yeah right, and who will run my bar?"
Blaine looked around at the tables, totally deserted. She let out a laugh.
"Who will take care of the bar? Jakie boy, there's no one here!"
She turned her back to him as he tried to grab the bottle. The whiskey sloshed past the glass in her hand, and landed on the floor.
"Look what you made me do!" She exclaimed, "Fine, I won't use a glass if you won't let me pour it."
With her back still turned to him, she took a large drink straight from the bottle.
"That's it. You know my rules Blaine!" He said as he wrapped his arms around her stomach and lifted her off the ground. Whiskey shot from her mouth in a loud PFFT as the air was expelled from her lungs.
He leaned back so she couldn't touch the ground. She curled her knees towards her chest and began kicking.
"Put me down Jack! Fight me! Man to man!"
Whiskey trailed down her neck and stained her shirt.
"Fight you? I could teach you a lesson-"
The doors swung open with a loud bang and Marshall froze. Blaine still hung in his arms, face soaked with whiskey, legs in the air.
A tall man with a brown leather cowboy hat stood in the door. His right hand rested on a large bowie-knife clipped to his belt. His sandy blond hair just swept under his eyebrows, and cold gray eyes peered out from underneath. A gray shirt held tightly to his athletic figure. He had set his jaw and looked ready for a fight, until he saw Marshall slowly lower Blaine to the floor.
At that he relaxed and took his hand off his hip.
"Sorry, I heard yelling." The man said, his voice raspy.
Blaine's surprise wore off and she laughed. Placing the whiskey on the counter, She wiped her face with her arm and walked around the bar towards the man. Wiping her hand on her pants she realized it only made her it dirtier. She offered her left hand and the man took it.
"Blaine Taylor," He tried to cover up a wince at her firm grip. "You must be new around here. Marshall and I fight a lot."
Marshall walked out from behind the bar and extended his hand.
"Jack Marshall, but folks around here call me Marshall."
Again, the man accepted the hand and shook it.
"Colt Stevens, it's nice to meet you both. Sorry about barging in earlier, I just came by for a drink and I thought there was a fight."
Marshall and Blaine laughed together. Blaine placed her hand on the back of the mans bicep and gave him a gentle push towards the bar.
"Well come on Colt. Let's get you that drink."
With Marshall behind her, he noticed the slight limp in her step. She would never admit it, but she was in pain.
"Ok, one drink," Marshall said. "And then we need to get you to a hospi-"
With that he was cut off again by the slamming of the door. Five boisterous men came in. Wearing football jerseys and jeans. They yelled and laughed amongst one another. Blaire and Marshall looked at one another in despair. Jocks every once in a while would drive up to the football stadium to see one of the games. All it meant was tips and bar fights. Blaire studied them from her stool as they took a table, they were muscular, typical college jocks that looked like clones. She smirked and turned her attention to Marshall who was behind the bar.
"I guess I'm driving huh." She said.
"Shit, no I can't let you drive with that leg."
"I'm fine Marshall." she played with the frayed edge of her seat.
"I saw you limping." He lowered his voice.
Colt took a seat to her right, "Sorry to eavesdrop, but you need a ride somewhere?"
They turned towards him. His gray eyes had softened to almost blue and he had tipped his hat back. With no shadow on his features, she noticed how handsome he was. Sharp cheekbones and a high brow line. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and slouched over the counter. Marshall was a little peeved at the offer. He could very well kick the kids out, but he knew it would only start a fight that Blaire would be more than happy to join. The guy seemed trustworthy enough, but the thought of him making a move on Blaire, or vice-versa tied knots in his stomach. He wasn't in love with Blaire or anything, he just had a thing for her. They had fooled around once or twice together in the six years they had been friends. Though they both enjoyed it, his heart belonged to a girl he met in California. Sally Conner, freshly 20 and fascinated with cowboys. Marshall was more than happy to fill the role. They both had each others hearts even though commitment wasn't easy in Cali. So she said she would finish UCLA, move to Arizona and marry him.
"Would that be ok Blaine?" Marshall said between clenched teeth.
She smirked at his anger. "Yeah, That would be great."
Colt tipped his hat back down. "Well, I won't be drinkin' then. Shall we hit the road?"
Blaine nodded at the man, looking him straight in the eye. A look that said 'I'll trust you, but if you try anything, you'll be the next thing hanging above my mantle.'
The look made his eyes widen for a moment, and he shook it off. Blaine waited until he was out the door, before she snatched the whiskey bottle and ran outside before Marshall could grab her.He could hear her childish laughter ringing like bells and couldn't help but smile.
It was 12:00 noon on the dot, Jack Marshall didn't even have to look up to see it was Blaine. After her morning at the garage, she would always stop in his bar for a quick drink before returning to her shop.
Working a cloth through a clean mug, he couldn't help but smile as her boots clacked on his hardwood floor and the familiar jingle of spurs after each step. She was quite pretty really, but her soft cheeks and light brown eyes were often mistaken. She was a sweet girl, but hidden under her disarming smile was a girl that could land a punch that would knock you off your feet. Hell, 5 out of 10 times she was the one starting the bar fights.The other half, she was the one breaking them up. Blaine was odd at times, but who wasn't a little odd in the country? Still, she was a girl who loved to smile more than anything.
He had already poured a double shot of whiskey and left it on the bar in front of her stool. The leather was duck taped and stitched up in several different places but still, she loved that spot. Once, she had come in and a heavyset trucker had decided to sit there. At first, she left him alone since he didn't know any better, but after a few shots, she stood up and marched over to the burly man, put a hand on his shoulder and when he turned around, her fist had made an indent in the mans nose.
"Afternoon Jackie." Her voice as steady as always.
He heard her set the glass down and sigh in content. He was just about to poor her another shot, but stopped in his tracks when he saw her. Her pale blue jeans were covered in oil and had been ripped all the way up the left leg. So much so that he could see a sliver of her black silk underwear. She had wrapped up her thigh with a yellow bandanna, a large spot of blood seeped through. A not-so-white-anymore T-shirt hugged her curves tightly, the bottom half had been ripped off and the rest was splattered with oil and dust. She had wrapped the ripped part of her shirt around her left bicep which also had a large spot of blood seeping through. The long brown
tresses of her hair had been pinned back, and strands stuck to her face with sweat.
Although he'd seen her like this on many occasions, he couldn't help but be alarmed. She had an unnatural gift for getting hurt.
"Now what the fuck did you do this time."
The corners of her mouth turned up in a sweet smile and she let out a small laugh.
"Let's just say it's difficult to remove an engine from a truck three times your size."
She placed a bill beside the shot and downed it quickly.
Taking her stool, she tapped the rim of the glass with a long slender finger.
"Gimmie another one Jackie."
"Oh no, you're not working drunk." Marshall said as he reached to grab her glass.
She laughed and snatched her glass before he could take it.
"I'm not going back to work, I've got to get stitched up,"
She gestured to her arm and leg. "I want to numb myself a little
first."
He made a grab for the glass again as she stood up.
"And then drive there drunk? No way am I letting you."
She walked behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of whiskey before he could reach her. For someone who needed stitches, she was quick.
"Actually Jackie, I was hoping you would drive me." She began unscrewing the top of the bottle.
"Yeah right, and who will run my bar?"
Blaine looked around at the tables, totally deserted. She let out a laugh.
"Who will take care of the bar? Jakie boy, there's no one here!"
She turned her back to him as he tried to grab the bottle. The whiskey sloshed past the glass in her hand, and landed on the floor.
"Look what you made me do!" She exclaimed, "Fine, I won't use a glass if you won't let me pour it."
With her back still turned to him, she took a large drink straight from the bottle.
"That's it. You know my rules Blaine!" He said as he wrapped his arms around her stomach and lifted her off the ground. Whiskey shot from her mouth in a loud PFFT as the air was expelled from her lungs.
He leaned back so she couldn't touch the ground. She curled her knees towards her chest and began kicking.
"Put me down Jack! Fight me! Man to man!"
Whiskey trailed down her neck and stained her shirt.
"Fight you? I could teach you a lesson-"
The doors swung open with a loud bang and Marshall froze. Blaine still hung in his arms, face soaked with whiskey, legs in the air.
A tall man with a brown leather cowboy hat stood in the door. His right hand rested on a large bowie-knife clipped to his belt. His sandy blond hair just swept under his eyebrows, and cold gray eyes peered out from underneath. A gray shirt held tightly to his athletic figure. He had set his jaw and looked ready for a fight, until he saw Marshall slowly lower Blaine to the floor.
At that he relaxed and took his hand off his hip.
"Sorry, I heard yelling." The man said, his voice raspy.
Blaine's surprise wore off and she laughed. Placing the whiskey on the counter, She wiped her face with her arm and walked around the bar towards the man. Wiping her hand on her pants she realized it only made her it dirtier. She offered her left hand and the man took it.
"Blaine Taylor," He tried to cover up a wince at her firm grip. "You must be new around here. Marshall and I fight a lot."
Marshall walked out from behind the bar and extended his hand.
"Jack Marshall, but folks around here call me Marshall."
Again, the man accepted the hand and shook it.
"Colt Stevens, it's nice to meet you both. Sorry about barging in earlier, I just came by for a drink and I thought there was a fight."
Marshall and Blaine laughed together. Blaine placed her hand on the back of the mans bicep and gave him a gentle push towards the bar.
"Well come on Colt. Let's get you that drink."
With Marshall behind her, he noticed the slight limp in her step. She would never admit it, but she was in pain.
"Ok, one drink," Marshall said. "And then we need to get you to a hospi-"
With that he was cut off again by the slamming of the door. Five boisterous men came in. Wearing football jerseys and jeans. They yelled and laughed amongst one another. Blaire and Marshall looked at one another in despair. Jocks every once in a while would drive up to the football stadium to see one of the games. All it meant was tips and bar fights. Blaire studied them from her stool as they took a table, they were muscular, typical college jocks that looked like clones. She smirked and turned her attention to Marshall who was behind the bar.
"I guess I'm driving huh." She said.
"Shit, no I can't let you drive with that leg."
"I'm fine Marshall." she played with the frayed edge of her seat.
"I saw you limping." He lowered his voice.
Colt took a seat to her right, "Sorry to eavesdrop, but you need a ride somewhere?"
They turned towards him. His gray eyes had softened to almost blue and he had tipped his hat back. With no shadow on his features, she noticed how handsome he was. Sharp cheekbones and a high brow line. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and slouched over the counter. Marshall was a little peeved at the offer. He could very well kick the kids out, but he knew it would only start a fight that Blaire would be more than happy to join. The guy seemed trustworthy enough, but the thought of him making a move on Blaire, or vice-versa tied knots in his stomach. He wasn't in love with Blaire or anything, he just had a thing for her. They had fooled around once or twice together in the six years they had been friends. Though they both enjoyed it, his heart belonged to a girl he met in California. Sally Conner, freshly 20 and fascinated with cowboys. Marshall was more than happy to fill the role. They both had each others hearts even though commitment wasn't easy in Cali. So she said she would finish UCLA, move to Arizona and marry him.
"Would that be ok Blaine?" Marshall said between clenched teeth.
She smirked at his anger. "Yeah, That would be great."
Colt tipped his hat back down. "Well, I won't be drinkin' then. Shall we hit the road?"
Blaine nodded at the man, looking him straight in the eye. A look that said 'I'll trust you, but if you try anything, you'll be the next thing hanging above my mantle.'
The look made his eyes widen for a moment, and he shook it off. Blaine waited until he was out the door, before she snatched the whiskey bottle and ran outside before Marshall could grab her.He could hear her childish laughter ringing like bells and couldn't help but smile.
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