“Party for Rick at the Doghouse Inn!” The call sounded over the camp’s loudspeakers. “Tonight is predicted clear and calm. No thunderstorms expected, so tomorrow should be quiet in the fire front. We all know how well that works. So, two-drink limit tonight if you’re on the active list, one if you’re driving. Someone please make sure TJ has a designated driver.”
Carly laughed with those near her. A beat late, but she laughed. TJ never drank past a second beer, despite the excuse of previous injuries. And with his leg bunged up, he couldn’t drive at all.
She deeply needed to get off base. A burger and a brew down at the Doghouse sounded like it was exactly what the doctor ordered. A way to unstring the tension that had left her perched on a high-wire since the moment she’d heard TJ curse
