Chapter 25: Stake-out? Steak-out? Who Cares?

Ripley's POV

You could call it a bar and grill if you were so inclined, but really, it was a roadhouse. There were several pickup trucks parked outside, her own included, and a collection of motorcycles. Inside, the bar took up the majority of one wall. Nearly every stool was taken up with some outdoorsman or biker or townie.

Ripley met Blake at a table in the back corner of the restaurant. He blended in well with the rest of the crowd. Blake wore a plaid button up and dirty jeans, with a backwards ball cap covering his jet black hair.

He raised his mug of beer in a salute to her as she pulled out the chair across from him.

"Howdy," he muttered in greeting.

Ripley shot him a grin and sat down. "You look good for a mangy mutt."

"I could say the same for you. I ordered for you," Blake answered.

"Ever the gentleman," Ripley said in thanks. If it had been just about anyone else, she might have been offended. It was a presumptuous move, but Blake was never wrong.