Sarah shrugs. “I always thought your curls were cute. The highlights are pretty, though. And I like how it’s stacked in the back and angles toward your face.”
“I hear a but.”
“Okay, but you’re a Southern chick and you should have big hair. You need your accent back, too. It’s only right.”
Sarah says this so seriously that I have to laugh. “My hair will get big on rainy days, no matter how flat I iron it, and I’ve already said y’all twice today.”
“Humph,” Sarah grumbles and reaches up to fluff her own big tresses. She suddenly snaps her fingers. “Hey, I know what’ll put the redneck back in ya.”
“A moon pie?” I ask hopefully.
“A longneck and a game of pool over at Pete’s Pub. Whadaya say? I’ll let you choose the first song on the jukebox. Come on, let’s blow off a little steam and have some fun.”
When she gives me her hopeful pout, I can’t resist. “Oh okay. One beer,” I warn, holding up my index finger. “I want to get up early tomorrow and visit Daddy before heading over to the car dealership.”
“Sweet!” When we stop for a red light, Sarah looks my way. “Say, are you okay livin’ in that four-family? I know it’s kind of a dump. Daddy had planned on doing some renovations to the property, but that was before his health problems started. You’re welcome to move in with me.”
“It’s a little rough around the edges,” I admit, “but I promised Daddy to do some painting and gardening to spiff up the place a bit in exchange for the rent. Plus, it’s so close to the car lot that I could walk if I wanted to.”
“Well, the offer stands. If you’re wondering if I’m still a slob the answer is no . . . well, not as bad as I used to be anyway. My cooking has improved since I thought I was going to have to cook for Nick until he dumped me. I’m a big Rachael Ray fan.”
“Thirty-minute quick-and-easy meals?”
“You’re a fan, too?”
“Yep. I love the Food Network.”
“Cooking is something you and Mama had in common,” Sarah comments as she pulls the Jeep into the graveled parking lot shared by Pete’s Pub and Gayle’s Glamorous Nails. “I still pretty much suck but I’m improving.”
“Instead of cookin’, I’d like to have the Take-Home Chef, Curtis Stone, whip me up a fancy meal,” I comment as we pick our way over the lumpy parking lot. I’m wishing that I had on tennis shoes or boots instead of these dressy mules. My khaki slacks and pale blue oxford shirt aren’t exactly Pete’s Pub attire either, but since we’re only popping in, I’m not too concerned about how I look. Sarah is a bit more casual in Dockers and a pink golf shirt, but in Pete’s, you really need boots, jeans, and a tight T-shirt.
“I’d like that spiky-haired chef to do more than cook for me,” Sarah says with a grin. “Like be the dessert. Might require a little whipped cream . . .”
“Sarah!”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’—”
“His Aussie accent is kind of a turn-on,” I admit.
“And those eyes!” Sarah gushes as she opens the door to the pub.
“Oh I know!” I reply loudly so as to be heard over the music.
“Are we hard up and horny or what?” Sarah asks just as loudly, and as luck would have it, the music stops, making her comment heard loud and clear to a couple guys standing near the door.
“There’s a cure for that,” says a long-haired guy in a cowboy hat and Wrangler jeans.
“Oh shut up, Tommy,” Sarah shoots back. “We’re not that hard up.”
Tommy chuckles, flashing white teeth. “Let me know if y’all change your mind.”
“Don’t go holdin’ your breath,” Sarah says but smiles back at him.
“That goes for you, too.” While tipping his hat, Tommy winks at me with a good-natured grin.
I might have been offended if he hadn’t been so young and cute. Besides, I remind myself we’re in a honky-tonk, where the world isn’t always politically correct, not to mention that Sarah just shouted that we’re hard up and horny.
“Bud Light?” Sarah asks.
“Make mine a Heineken.”
Sarah’s mouth drops open. “I don’t think Pete has those here.”
“Just kiddin’. A Bud Light sounds good.”
“Lord, for a minute there, I thought we had lost you to Yuppieville. Don’t scare me like that. Be right back.”
While Sarah goes up to the bartender for our drinks, I look around and acknowledge that except for a couple flat-screen TVs suspended from the wall, Pete’s Pub hasn’t changed one bit. Battered round tables with equally worn chairs flank one side of the room, and the long wooden bar runs the length of the other. There are a couple ancient pinball machines in one corner and a dart-board in another. To the rear of the bar is a separate room with three pool tables, which always have a wait.
I’m still glancing around when Sarah presses a cold, wet bottle into my hand. “Thanks.” I tip the beer back and almost sputter when through the doorway to the back room, I watch a tall, jean-clad guy bend over to shoot some pool. “My . . . my, that is quite simply the nicest butt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Yeah, well that amazing butt belongs to a big ass.”
“Okay, that didn’t make a lick of sense.” I flick a glance at Sarah before my gaze is drawn back to the butt. Angling my head, I suddenly notice that the jeans are sporting a designer label. Guys from around here wear Wranglers or Levi’s. “Don’t tell me.”
“Yep. That’s none other than Carson Campbell, who is too high and mighty to do business with our little old used-car lot.” Sarah spits his name out like it’s something vile, yet I notice that her eyes are glued to his fine form as well.
Carson straightens up and turns so I can view his profile. “Wow.” He’s handsome in a Rob Lowe, almost too perfect way, and although he’s dazzling to look at, I prefer men who are a little rougher around the edges. Someone a bit more . . . “Holy crap.” My heart kicks it up a notch when Nick Anderson walks into our line of vision.
I shoot Sarah a look. Her eyes narrow and her lips thin before she tips her beer bottle up and takes a long drag.
Nick is standing there with one hand casually wrapped around his cue stick while Carson takes his shot. Nick is tall like Carson but more muscular, and there’s nothing pretty boy about him. Not that he’s not handsome, because he sure is . . . but in a “rugged, should be chopping wood, fixing a truck or tossing a football” kinda way.
Once I manage to pull my gaze from Nick, I turn to Sarah. The look on her face has me saying, “Let’s get outta here.”
“Not before I finish my beer.”
“Forget the beer!”
“It’s almost full!”
“Well, then, chugalug!”
“I can’t chug a beer.”
“Wuss. Bet I can finish mine before you.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “You’re just trying to get me outta here without a scene.”
“Uh, yeah. Unless you think you can stay without creating one.”
“Does throwing my drink in Nick’s face qualify?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. Go!” Sarah tips her bottle back and starts some pretty impressive chugging. I watch openmouthed for a second before tipping my own bottle up to my lips. I guzzle the beer, ignoring the brain freeze and the bubble in my tummy, which threatens to send the beer back up. I’m an athlete, and while this isn’t exactly a sport, except maybe on college campuses, the competitor in me has me winning, even though Sarah had a head start. I thump the bottle down on a nearby table while Sarah is still choking her beer down. To her credit, she finishes without coming up for air.
“I win. Now let’s go before they see us,” I say while blinking from the brain freeze coupled with the sudden blast of alcohol to my system. I notice that Sarah is blinking, too.
“Give me a minute,” she pleads with a discreet little burp behind her hand.
“No! Let’s go!” I grab her by the hand and tug, but
as we sort of wobble out of Pete’s Pub, I can’t resist a look back, which is a mistake because at that same moment Nick looks my way. Our gazes lock for just an instant but my pulse races, and it hits me hard that I’m not nearly over loving him.
When we’re outside I pause to take a deep breath of warm summer air.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sarah asks with a look of concern.
“Yeah, I guess. I’m just not used to chugging a beer.”
Sarah nods and I’m relieved that she buys my explanation, which is much better than telling her that it was seeing her ex-fiancé that set my stomach churning. When we reach the Jeep, she says, “Thanks for getting me outta there, Candie. I didn’t want to cause a scene by dumping my drink on Nick. I’ve already given this town enough to gossip about.”
“It’s no biggie.”
She looks at me from across the hood of the Jeep. “You know, Candie, I never really did understand your need to leave Pinewood but I’m glad that you’re back. I’d never be able to save Daddy’s car dealership without you.”
“I’m glad to be back,” I assure her with a smile. In that moment, I realize that it’s not going to be easy whipping Daddy’s used-car lot back in shape or dealing with my feelings for Nick but running away was never the answer to begin with. It’s about time that I let go of my silly girlhood crush on Nick Anderson anyway. While I’m sorry that it was Daddy’s ill health that brought me back to Pinewood, it feels good to finally be home.
Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues Page 26
