RR-CDA by Christine D'Abo Page B

stop his dad from going back there. Jane was behind the bar with him, standing far closer to his dad than Owen would have liked.
    Jason McGregor was normally an even-keeled man; even when Owen had gotten into trouble as a kid, he rarely lost his temper. But when he did, well, everyone ran for cover.
    “Mr. McGregor, I promise you everything is clean.” Jane’s voice was shaky and she held both her hands up. “Look, Owen’s here. I told you he was on his way. I know he’ll be able to sort everything out.”
    “Dad, what’s going on?” He slipped his coat off and set it over the back of a chair. “We’re not open yet. We don’t have your beer ready or anything.”
    “I’m not here for a beer.” He looked at Owen, but his gaze didn’t settle for long.
    The closer Owen got to his dad, the easier it was to see how unhinged he was. His eyes were wide and the flush on his cheeks traveled down his neck. From this distance Owen was able to see that his dad was sweating.
    “Jane, why don’t you and Moe continue getting set up for tonight. Check to see if Ryan is in yet.” He took her place behind the bar with his dad, giving her arm a squeeze as she went.
    “Who’s Ryan? And you shouldn’t be opening the bar on Sunday. It’s against God.”
    “Dad, you need to calm down.”
    “Don’t you tell me what to do. I’m a grown man.” His lips were pressed together in a solid line. “And you didn’t answer me. Who is she talking about?”
    This wasn’t going to be easy. “Ryan is one of our cooks. He works on Sundays because he goes to school through the week.”
    “When I ran this place I never once opened the bar on a Sunday. Your mother would have forbidden it.”
    “We talked about this when I took over. We open late Sunday for the sports crowd. Hockey and football. We’ve been doing this for over a year now.”
    “They can damn well watch that shit at home.”
    “We already talked about this a long time ago. I can’t change things now.”
    His father hadn’t been pleased when Owen had suggested that they open the bar for a little while on Sundays, but they’d talked about it and he’d understood that the extra money the food and beer sales brought in would help with their bottom line. Owen had worked hard to turn McGregor’s into a destination, rather than an afterthought.
    He thought everything had been fine.
    “Dad, what’s really wrong?” He came a bit closer and gently put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “How can I help?”
    His father opened his mouth, but nothing immediately came out. It was strange, but for a moment his dad looked lost, confused, and for the first time since he’d agreed to let Owen take over the bar, unsure of himself.
    “I want the bar back.”
    Owen let his hand drop. “What?”
    “I don’t like how you’re running things. You’re going to damage the reputation of McGregor’s. I’ve worked too hard to watch you destroy this.”
    His words were a silent knife to Owen’s chest. “What’s brought this on? You’ve seen the financials. We’ve been doing well, especially leading up to the holidays.”
    “Faked.”
    “Dad, they’re not faked—”
    “How would you know? You’re running off with some . . . some queer and—”
    “Hey!” In all his years, he’d never heard his father say anything derogatory about anyone. The fuck was going on? “Are you trying to piss me off? Because you’re succeeding. I’ve been running the bar for two years now, and we’ve been doing great. My personal life has nothing to do with it. Mom would be ashamed of you if she heard you use that word.”
    “Fine. You don’t want me here, I’ll go. Move.” He pushed by Owen, shoved past several chairs, and stomped out the door.
    Owen was paralyzed. That wasn’t his father. The fear and hate coming from him hadn’t been something Owen had seen from his old man ever in his life. It was as though an alien had taken up residence inside the kind, generous man and