10
Steve was late arriving at the Doghouse in downtown Hood River. A shower and clean shirt had been necessary. Keeping the same underwear and dusty pants and boots was a symbolic thumbing of his nose at Carly. Not that she’d be paying him any mind.
The camp had been empty by the time he was ready, and there’d been no one to ask where the place was. He’d had to circle up and down the streets to find the bar. Thankfully, the pretty center of the tourist part of town was only about four by six blocks and the Doghouse Inn had a prominent sign. Which was a good thing or he’d never have noticed the wreck of a building that needed a paint job—thirty years ago.
As he’d been circling, he’d also spotted Carly’s battered, dark blue Jeep. Gravel littered the paved street on either side of the fron
