Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories but should also stand alone.
Green
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"Isaacson's trading post looks to have grown since the last time we were here," commented Kid.
The two riders stopped for a moment assessing the settlement. New buildings of raw straight cut boards, with false fronts designed to make the businesses look big and prosperous surrounded the trading post. Large painted signs identified the Hotel, Saloon and Livery. Kid took off his brown hat and brushed his arm across his forehead, banishing the beads of sweat trickling down from his hair. The hot afternoon sun beat down, nearly eighty degrees even if it was only March.
"Come on Kid, nearly back in the USA. It's only two more days until we get to Tucson. We can get a hotel room tonight," encouraged Heyes. "Food and a warm bed will make you feel better."
Kid rolled his shoulders, unkinking tired, aching muscles. Blue eyes winced. Delivering a prize pair of foals to a family friend of Mrs. McCreedy paid well, but Kid still sported bruises from thwarting a would be horse thief. Hot days, cold nights, sleeping on the ground as they travelled north didn't help the healing process.
"A hot bath," added Kid with a nod. "And a beer."
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Heyes tapped on the hotel room door. Dark brown eyes narrowed as he listened intently. There was no sound from within their room. Heyes knocked once more, louder. Still no sound, the former outlaw pressed into the room. The slender dark haired man found himself smiling into the drawn pistol of his partner. Blue eyes blinked sleepily. Swirls of white bubbles sloshed against a tanned torso marred by fading yellow green bruises. Damp blond curls held traces of bubbles.
"Thaddeus, did you fall asleep in the bath?" asked Heyes with a chuckle.
"You shoulda knocked first," grumbled Kid.
Water sloshed as the muscular man sat up straighter in the copper tub. Kid returned the gun to the shelter of its holster. Heyes passed his partner a large, fluffy towel.
"I did," said Heyes. "Hate to rush you, but if you want to eat dinner tonight, you're gonna have to get out of the bath."
"What's the hurry?" asked the puzzled blond man as he stepped out of the tub and reached for the clean clothes waiting on the bed.
"Diner's closed," answered Heyes. At the look of abject horror on Kid's face, Heyes quickly added, "But the saloon has a dinner special in honor of the day."
"Day? What day is it?"
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"Two specials," ordered Heyes with a charming smile.
"And two beers please," added Kid with flash of a smile before he slouched into the seat and turned to survey the crowd gathered at the bar.
"Si señor," responded the soft spoken waitress. Dark brown eyes closed briefly, then the woman who had introduced herself as Juana, restated her answer in English. "Yes, Mister…"
"Smith, I'm Joshua Smith," interjected Heyes. With a gesture to his partner, Heyes added, "and this is my partner, Thaddeus Jones."
The dark haired waitress, nodded and disappeared through an open doorway at the rear of the saloon. From the smell of roasting meat and vegetables emanating from that direction, it seemed as if dinner would be served first. She soon returned with two platters heaped with beef, carrots, potatoes, cabbage and generous slabs of sliced bread. Juana set the plates down before the partners and glanced at the bar. Kid sat up with renewed enthusiasm at the sight of the food.
"I'll be back with your drinks," informed Juana.
"Thank you Ma'am," answered Kid as he unrolled his napkin and grasped the fork with a happy smile. "That would be right nice."
"No rush," murmured Heyes.
Juana nodded gratefully, before heading to the bar. With another glance at the loud people elbowing each other at the bar, Heyes picked up his fork. Two hungry men began to eat. Heyes chewed the bite of meat in his mouth slowly, moving the morsel from one side to another, finally swallowing. He looked at his partner. Kid was steadily chomping his way through the food.
"Thaddeus," asked Heyes, "do you taste some extra spices in the meat?"
"Yeah, not quite like your Ma's," nodded Kid in agreement. "Tastes sort of like the spices in the filling in those empanadas we had two days ago."
Heyes watched in amusement as Kid scooped up another bite of meat.
"But good," added Kid as he put the food in his mouth and resumed chewing.
"Yeah, good," agreed Heyes as he began eating again.
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Their plates were nearly empty when Juana returned with two mugs. She set the beer down in front of the partners. Blue eyes widened in surprise, and Kid's head jerked back, away from the beer.
"It's green!" exclaimed Kid. His lips curled up in an expression of dismay. "Why is the beer green?"
"It is for Saint Patrick's Day," explained Juana. "The owner, he says it's Irish, like Saint Patrick."
"Green beer ain't Irish," insisted Kid looking appalled. "I ain't drinking green beer!"
"Would the owner be having a bottle of Jameson?" asked Heyes.
Juana nodded and quickly did an about face, going in search of the whiskey. Kid continued to stare, perplexed, at the offending beer.
"Grampa wouldn't like this," stated Kid assuredly.
"Finish your dinner," urged Heyes. Dinner conversation had centered around the old man, Uncle Owen, Heyes's parents, Kid's red haired sisters, and a million other good memories from their early childhood. In an attempt to soothe his partner's ruffled sensibilities, Heyes added "We can raise a toast to Grampa with the whiskey."
Juana returned with the whiskey bottle in time to hear Heyes' last statement. She set the green bottle with its distinctive tan label down on the table between the two men.
"What is raise a toast?" asked the waitress with a confused glance at the last piece of uneaten bread on Heyes' plate.
"Not that kind of toast," explained Heyes. "It means to take a drink, to raise a glass in honor of someone, or something."
"Grampa was Irish," added Kid with a fond smile of remembrance. Their parents claimed the new country as their home, but Grampa always insisted he was Irish. "It's to honor his memory. To... "
At Heyes frantic grimace, Kid stumbled over Grampa's name. He coughed and then continued.
"To Riordan Jones."
"Jones is Irish?" questioned the lovely Juana.
"Ma'am, everybody's Irish on Saint Patrick's Day," replied Kid. He reached for the bottle and small glasses on her tray. Setting one in front of her, he poured a shot. "Happy Saint Patrick's day!"
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