Chapter
25
The Cat’s Paw already had a decent crowd when AnnieLee waltzed in wearing a new-old pair of Frye booties she’d gotten at a thrift shop sale. They made her three full inches taller, and she loved them, even if they pinched her toes as her Ropers never had.
She made her way to the bar, where Billy was mixing up a pitcher of margaritas.
“Well, hello, little songbird,” he said. “You ready for your set?”
She’d talked him into giving her the 7:30 slot, and she’d brought three new tunes to debut.
“Of course I am. But don’t call me little—sheesh,” AnnieLee said as she hoisted the guitar case onto the only empty stool. “I’m five foot five tonight.”
“I beg your average-height pardon,” he said. “And wait—am I seeing things, or did you get yourself an actual instrument since I saw you last?”
“Fairy godmother came through after all,” AnnieLee said.
“Well, I hope she brings you a pair of jeans next.”
AnnieLee looked down in consternation at her ragged Levi’s. “Dang, Billy,” she said. “I bought boots. I can’t buy the whole world. Anyway, I thought torn-up was the fashion these days.”
“I sure wouldn’t know,” he said.
“Of course you wouldn’t. I mean, didn’t the handlebar mustache go out with Wyatt Earp?”
“It’s called an imperial mustache, for your information,” Billy said, “and it’s European in origin.”
AnnieLee laughed. “Well, I guess a hillbilly like me wouldn’t know the difference. Europe, you say? Is that anywhere near the Texas Panhandle?”
“And for a minute I thought I was glad to see you,” he grumbled.
“Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t miss me,” she said.
Billy just rolled his eyes at her and disappeared into the kitchen. AnnieLee looked down along the bar. Most of the seats were filled with regulars whose faces she recognized but whose names she didn’t know. But down at the far end, with an untouched beer in front of him, sat Ethan Blake and his knife blade cheekbones. She couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his baseball cap, but they were probably smoldering enough to start a fire.
She gave him a small wave, as if she were neither surprised nor especially pleased to see him when in fact she was both. Would he fall for it? Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but then Billy shot out of the back with a basket of fries he practically threw onto the bar in front of AnnieLee.
“I missed your voice—I can admit that,” Billy said. “Your attitude? Maybe not as much.” He glanced over at Ethan, too. “Blake, though, he missed everything about you,” he added.
“I don’t know why you’re putting words in my mouth, Billy,” Ethan said.
“Because you’re too chickenshit to put them in there yourself.”
“Oh, yeah? Is mind reading a talent of yours?” Ethan asked. But he made no effort to deny that it was true.
“Every bartender on earth has an honorary PhD in human psychology, son. No mind reading necessary.”
AnnieLee was staring down at her fries, pretending she wasn’t hearing any of this. It was better not to get into a conversation she wasn’t sure how to get out of.
But there was a small part of her, somewhere very deep down, that thrilled at this exchange. There wasn’t room for a man like Ethan in her life, not the way she was living it. But finding out that he might have a soft spot for her? Well, it made her feel nice. Cozy. As if the knowledge was a sweater she could put around her shoulders when she was cold.
“Are you gonna answer the man?” Billy asked.
AnnieLee looked up. “What?”
“He asked you if you really ran away from Ruthanna Ryder’s.”
“Oh.” AnnieLee picked up a fry and gazed at it contemplatively. She felt it was important to seem nonchalant. “I think a better word is strolled.”
Ethan gave a short, sharp laugh as he came over to stand beside her. Even in her heels, AnnieLee barely came up to his shoulder.
“Wow,” he said. “You really might be nuts.”
AnnieLee didn’t bother to dispute this, since she’d concluded the same thing. “I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I heard Ruthanna made you pancakes you didn’t stick around to eat.”
AnnieLee stood up straighter. “For real?” She grimaced. She never would’ve dreamed of such a thing. Regular people hadn’t taken care of AnnieLee—why would she ever expect someone that famous and fabulous to do so?