We laughed, shot whatever clear, throat-burning shit Jerry had poured for us, and then chased with several gulps of beer.

Spenser likely had the same look on her face as I did. We could drink our weight in beer, but shots were not our strong point.

“Jesus Christ, Kansas,” Spenser said, holding the back of her hand to her mouth.

Kansas giggled.

“Was it that bad riding with Spenser?” I asked, stacking the empty shot glasses.

Kansas made a face. “She is a backseat driver while she’s driving, she has terrible taste in music, in addition to road rage and incessant gasping. To say it’s stressful is an understatement.”

“You can handle grenades going off around you but not gasping,” I said, taking a sip.

“It is traumatic,” Spenser admitted with a laugh.

We spent the rest of the night catching up, talking about the militia, our fathers, memories, and Spenser’s ex, Greg. I let my cousins rack up empty beer bottles while I consumed water.

A group of men walked in, but Jerry didn’t seem to know them.

One whistled at us when they walked back, and Kansas’s cheeks flushed.

“We just got here,” she said with a frown. “Now we’re going to have to leave.”

“First, we’ve been here almost three hours. Second, don’t let them ruin your night. Just ignore them,” I said.

Kansas glared at me, pointing out my hypocrisy without saying a word. The male bar patrons in Sasabe knew not to speak to us, catcalling or otherwise. I was the first to throw a punch if I felt disrespected, but then Matt walked into Phil’s bar on a blistering Arizona summer night, asked for a water and ignored me for ten minutes before asking about my holster, then gave me a detailed rec about a better gun, changing the course of my life.

“Agreed. We’ve had a good run here,” Spenser said. “I’m beat anyway. Let’s go home.”

“Are you still sharing a bed, or does Spenser gasp in her sleep?” I asked.

Kansas laughed. “No, I can handle that.”

“Good, because I don’t think I have enough sheets for the sofa,” I said.

A man in a black flat-brimmed hat and hoodie put his hand on the back of my chair and grinned. “Can we buy you ladies a drink?”

“No,” we said in unison.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said.

I turned to face him. “We have drinks, and we’ll buy our own if we’d like more. No thank you.”

His grin didn’t diminish, but he looked like he was having trouble focusing. I wasn’t sure if he was looking at me or Kansas.

“You are gorgeous,” he said, leaning toward me.

“Walk away,” I said, unmoving.

He reached for my hair, and I grabbed his wrist. Kansas and Spenser stood.

“I just wanted to…” He looked down. Spenser was holding a knife to his groin.