1
No one was going to stop the train wreck at the end of the bar. Lucy Alatore looked around for Joey, the bartender, who was supposed to deal with train wrecks like the one the drunk cowboy at the bar was courting as he searched for his car keys.
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Mia asked.
“Sorry.” Lucy stood up slightly only to find Joey flirting with the margarita girls at the other end of the bar. “I’m trying to—”
“Find someone to take that cowboy’s keys, I know.” Mia stood up and shrugged into her denim jacket. “It’s just as well. Jack’s going to be waiting up.”
Mia, usually as reserved and quiet as a nun, couldn’t keep a smile from curling the corners of her lips. Practically flaunting her sex life all over the place.
Lucy hugged her sister, holding her closer for a moment longer than what might seem necessary, even between two sisters who dearly loved each other.
“I’ve been sitting here for two hours waiting for you to tell me what’s bothering you,” Mia whispered.
“Bothering me?” Lucy leaned back, making sure her smile was bright. “Nothing bothers me. It’s a rule of the universe.”
But Mia’s amber eyes drilled right into Lucy’s head and it took every weapon in her arsenal to keep her smile in place. From deep in the purse on the chair beside her, Beyoncé’s “All the Single Ladies” started blasting for the tenth time that night.
“You going to answer that?” Mia asked.
“Nope.”
Mia sighed, defeated. “You’re okay to drive?”
“Good as you.” They both glanced down at the plate of nachos and the light beers on the table. Both beers were half full. Growing up around an alcoholic had ingrained a certain caution with regard to booze.
Mia squeezed Lucy’s shoulder and left, winding through the tables and out the door of the Sunset Bar and Grill. Lucy took a deep breath and turned, pulling down the jersey Armani shirt she’d bought at a resale shop to show some cleavage. She wanted to give the girls a chance to do the convincing for her as she tried to stop a drunk train from leaving this particular station.
“Hey there, cowboy,” she said, stepping up to the man digging through his pockets for his keys while fighting to stay upright.
He yanked his keys free of the pocket on his beat-up denim coat. “Found `em.” He sighed, as if he’d been satisfied on some deep soul level by the appearance of those keys. He turned and she shifted into his way.
“Where you headed?”
“Home.” He glanced up and did a drunken man’s double take. Slow and sloppy. “Unless you want to have a drink with me?” His smile was charming despite the booze behind it and she smiled back.
“I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t you let me call someone to come pick you up?”
“No one to call.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t I know you?”
She looked back at the man. At first glance he looked like every guy under thirty who walked through this bar—cowboy boots, tan, weathered face and strong chin. But those brown eyes…
“Holy crap,” he muttered, listing toward her slightly. “Lucy Alatore. You showed me your boobs at the State football game.”
Oh Lord. Reese McKenna. “One of my proudest moments.”
“I won that game.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Your boobs were pretty.” He stared down at her shirt and she hiked the neck of her pewter jersey top up higher on her chest.
“Still are.”
“Can I see?”
“Nope. But how about I drive you home?”
“Well, now, I like an aggressive—”
“You’re drunk, Reese. And you can’t drive. Not like you are right now.”
He stared down at his keys as if he were waiting for their input. As if the two of them were old friends who had been in this situation before.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t…I don’t want to bother you, Lucy.” His smile was embarrassed, and she saw a sweet glimpse of that luck-kissed boy she’d gone to high school with.
“You and I know there aren’t any cabs around here, Reese.” She patted his arm, strong and thick under his shirt, while lifting her palm up for the keys. After a moment he dropped them into her hand.
Lucy led him out into the cool, clean air of Wassau, California, population: podunk. Even inside the city limits there were about twice as many cows as people. Main Street stretched down toward the Sierras, lit up for a few blocks by four street lights.
Her beat-up Civic sat in all its rusted glory to her left. But Reese’s keys had a fancy foreign emblem on the key chain and out of curiosity she hit the lock release button.
The lights flashed on a slick sports car crouched in the far corner of the parking lot, sticking out like a sore thumb surrounded by dirty pickup trucks.