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weathered face that looked for all the world like a piece of oiled antique leather stretched loosely over a human skull. |
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Moxie was a fixed part of Bart's life and had been ever since the day Bartholomew had taken over his father's tavern. That was three days after the old man had died. Bart was singularly convinced that the old man, who had always had a flair for dramatics, had made one of those impassioned deathbed speeches that asked Moxie to make sure he took care of Bartholomew, to use his father's favorite expression, "come hell or high water." Whatever the case, Moxie always managed to be around. For the most part, that was goodBartholomew could depend on himbut not now. He had other things on his mind. |
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"You see the weather report?" |
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Bartholomew nodded. "Yup, less than an hour ago." |
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Moxie looked disappointed. Somehow it seemed that a hurricane sitting less than 200 miles off the south Texas coast deserved more of a response than a mere nod of the head and a subdued "yup." |
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"Gladys Ann is worried about it," Moxie dutifully reported. |
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Bartholomew, because he was six foot four and a bit too tall for most of his world, was prone to slouching. He had never given it |
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