“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the bartender at The Red Calf said, setting the beer Teague had ordered down in front of him.
“I’m heading home after a short vacation,” Teague replied with a smile. “Figured I lengthen it by a day or two since this seems like a nice part of the country. It’s the first time I’ve been in real mountains other than a layover at DIA on my way from Chicago to San Francisco one time.”
The bartender snorted. “Denver’s hardly considered in the mountains. The closest it gets to the Rockies is the foothills.”
“All right. I stand corrected, but for a flatlander it felt close since I could see them in the distance.”
“See what?”
Teague turned to find out who had asked. It was a man, maybe in his late twenties to early thirties. He said, “My usual,” to the b
