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refuse. But then she thought hanging out with her rafting guide friends at the Victoria Tavern might help her stop rehashing the events of the day before, even get some sleep. “I’ll have to feed and exercise Lucky first.”
    “That’s cool. We aren’t planning to meet up there until after eight anyway. I’ve got to wash this Arkansas River mud off first and see what bills have arrived that I can’t pay.” She cocked a finger at Mandy before walking out. “Catch you at eight.”
    Mandy locked the restrooms, checked the changing rooms for anything the customers had forgotten, and handed the keys over to her uncle. “How long has your foot been bothering you?”
    “Couple of days.”
    “Have you been watching your diet, laying off the beer and sodas?”
    Uncle Bill put down the root beer he had been sipping. “You’re not my mama.”
    “No, I’m not.” Mandy smiled and crossed her arms. “Only your niece—a niece who doesn’t like to see you hurting.”
    He sighed. “Okay, okay. Go on and drink a beer at the Vic for me. I’ll just sit here and sip on green tea.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
    The incongruous image of her uncle sipping from a dainty china cup while demurely holding out his pinkie kept Mandy smiling most of the ride home. She fed Lucky and tossed a tennis ball to him in the back yard until the ball was sodden with dog drool, then went inside to clean up and eat before going to the Vic.
    _____
    When Mandy walked up to the historic two-story red brick building with its distinctive green awnings, she could feel her spirits lifting before she even opened the heavy scroll-worked door. Later, the door would be propped open to let in fresh air and let out the throbbing beat of whatever roaming Colorado rock band was booked to play that night. The well-oiled original wood floor from 1900 creaked under her feet as she pushed past chattering groups on her way to the bar to find her friend, Cynthia.
    The Vic’s stamped tin ceiling, built to deflect sound away from the hotel rooms above, magnified it in the main barroom, so Mandy had to shout, “Cynthia! Cynthia!”
    Cynthia Abbott, her brunette hair pulled back in her trademark French braid, looked up from pouring beer out of two taps into pilsner glasses. Her purple tank top showed off a peek of cleavage and the tattoo on her upper arm—of a hummingbird drinking nectar out of a flower.
    “Hey, best buddy! The usual?”
    Mandy flashed a thumbs-up and leaned her elbows on the enormously long, polished wood bar to wait. She caught her reflection in the stained glass panorama behind the bar—an exotic display with multicolored parrots and toucans peeking out from lush jungle foliage. Not quite your typical Rocky Mountains panorama. Mandy never tired of looking at the glass, dreaming of one day being able to afford a tropical beach vacation. She scanned the room, but didn’t spot Kendra and Gonzo.
    Cynthia slammed a sweating bottle of Fat Tire Ale on the bar next to Mandy’s elbow, making her start. “Okay, here’s a good one. Why does a blonde have T.G.I.F. written on her shoes?”
    Today was Friday, but why thank God for the fact on your shoes? Mandy shrugged. “I give up.”
    “Toes go in first!” Cynthia snickered then glanced over her shoulder and straightened. “Give me a sec to fill some more orders, then we can chat.” She hustled off before Mandy could respond.
    Still chuckling, Mandy took a long, cold draught of beer, letting the soothing liquid slide down her throat and ease the tightness in her chest. Cynthia poured half a dozen tequila shots and served them with a bowl of lime wedges and a salt shaker to a rowdy group of young men. From their excited chatter, Mandy concluded they were celebrating a day of jousting with the river and crowing and preening like a bunch of roosters over their battle victories. She scanned their clothing for college logos.
    “Okay, where’d that crowd come from?” Cynthia asked as she put a