Bright Eyes

by Catherine Anderson

  Half expecting to walk in on a tawdry scene as she entered each room, Natalie quickly covered the first floor, calling her ex-husband’s name every few steps. The more she saw of his home, the more outraged she became. Robert wasn’t just selfish; he was without conscience. He had spent a fortune on furnishings alone. The place was so flashy it bordered on tasteless. He’d really gone all out. Grace undoubtedly hated it. Nouveau riche, she would say with a sneer.

  As Natalie entered the study, she saw some papers lying on the edge of a vast cherrywood desk. No longer even mildly curious about Robert’s business dealings, she gave them only a cursory glance. The plush sitting area to the left of the desk did catch her attention, however. Two glasses of partially consumed wine sat on the glass coffee table, yet another sign that Robert had been in the room recently.

  Her gaze coming to rest on the goblets, Natalie froze. Her grandma Devereaux’s crystal? Just like that, and her temper reached boiling point. She’d looked everywhere for those goblets, thinking that they’d been put in an unmarked box by the movers Robert hired and were in her storage building somewhere. She’d asked Robert countless times if he’d come across the glasses, and he’d said no. The rotten bastard. That crystal was a Devereaux family heirloom, mid-eighteenth century, straight from Bayel. The delicate fleur-de-lis pattern on the French-footed goblets was unmistakable.

  Natalie stepped around the cushy leather sofa to pick up a glass. How dare he serve wine to some two-bit tramp in her grandmother’s irreplaceable crystal? She swirled the wine, took a sniff, and wished Robert were standing there so she could throw it in his face. Where, she wondered furiously, did he keep the rest of the set? She had a good mind to wrap the goblets in dish towels and take them with her now. Otherwise she might never see them again.

  And why not? They were hers. Someday they should go to Rosie. If left in Robert’s possession, they might get broken. Decision made, Natalie collected both goblets and marched to the kitchen. After dumping the wine down the sink, she gave the glasses a cursory rinse, dried them, and began pulling open drawers, searching for clean towels. Bingo. Then, in the drawer below the towels, she found paper sacks, one of which would serve her purpose perfectly.

  So mad she didn’t care if Robert came in and caught her, Natalie went on a crystal search. She finally found the other six goblets behind his wet bar. Carefully gathering them into her arms, she returned to the kitchen, wrapped each glass in a towel, and gently deposited them in the sack before spinning to leave the room with her loot. Ha. If Robert was hiding upstairs with his current flavor of the month, this would teach him. Next time he played these stupid games with her, maybe she’d swipe the silver.

  As Natalie returned to the entry hall, she could have sworn she heard a door latch click. Her heart tripped and stuttered. Caught red-handed. She whirled and clutched the bulging paper bag to her chest, prepared to do battle. Nothing. She glanced upstairs. If he was up there, pretending not to hear her, the joke was on him this time.

  Feeling like a common thief, Natalie rushed from the house.

  At precisely nine thirty that evening, Zeke stepped into the Blue Parrot. Natalie was in the middle of a number, and the glare of the stage lights made it difficult for her to see beyond the bright pool of light that surrounded her. The rear tables, cloaked in shadows, were especially difficult for her to see. Nevertheless, she felt the air change when Zeke entered, almost as if a surge of electricity had come in the door with him.

  She continued to sing, never missing a beat, but the same couldn’t be said for her heart. Straining to make him out, she followed him with her gaze as he walked to a table. He had the lazy, loose-hipped stride of a man who’d spent years in the saddle, the heels of his boots lightly scuffing the floor with each step. He wore the Western-cut brown sports jacket again tonight, this time over a dark blue shirt. The brim of his chocolate-colored Stetson cast his face into shadow, making it impossible for her to see his features. Not that she really needed to. Somehow, in a very short time, each plane and angle of his countenance had been engraved on her memory.

  He sat at a back table, just as he had the other times. After settling on a chair, he propped one boot on his opposite thigh and removed the hat. Raking his fingers through his dark hair, he hooked the Stetson over his bent knee. His every movement was deliciously masculine. In Natalie’s estimation, he was the handsomest man in the place.

  When he realized that she’d spotted him, his firm mouth tipped into a slow, lopsided grin. He touched two fingertips to the sable forelock that lay in waves over his high forehead, the mock salute serving as a silent hello.

  Natalie wasn’t due to take a break yet. She had four more numbers to get through before she could go to him. Agony. She wanted to be sitting across from him. She wanted to hear the deep, husky timbre of his voice. She wanted to see his eyes light up with laughter or glint with teasing mischief.

  To get through her routine, she sang directly to him—songs about love and forever, her heart in every word. Last night, she’d foolishly believed she could shut down her feelings for him, and she’d desperately wanted to do just that. Madness. She’d been waiting for him all her life. And he was right; this magic between them was very special. He couldn’t turn his back on it, and neither could she.

  As she ended her last song, Natalie took a sweeping bow, laid aside her guitar, and went down the stage steps. Zeke pushed to his feet as she approached his table. “Hey, cowboy,” she said with a glad smile.

  “Hey, yourself.” He leaned around to draw out a chair for her. “Have I told you today that you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen?”

  “Yes. But don’t let that stop you.”

  He grinned and sat back down. The waitress delivered his drink just then. Natalie glanced up. “Next time out, could you bring me a water, Becky?”

  “Sure.”

  The slender blonde cast a curious glance at Zeke as she sidled away. Natalie gazed after her and smiled. “My employees are starting to whisper about you, Mr. Coulter. If I walk into the bar or kitchen, everything goes absolutely silent for a second.”

  “There’s a bar here?”

  She pointed to a closed door to the left of the front entrance. “Right through there. I wanted the dining room kept separate, so I had a wall put in when I leased the place. The atmosphere in here is more dignified that way.”

  He studied the door, frowning thoughtfully. Then his expression cleared and he smiled. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

  “Just that my employees are wondering about you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “This is your third visit, and I’ve always sat with you during my break. They know something’s up.”

  He arched a thick, winged eyebrow. “Does that bother you?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He chuckled. “You are. I just hate to make tongues wag. I have employees myself. I understand the importance of keeping your private life private.”

  Natalie sighed and took in the room. More tables were empty than not, and she’d had a particularly stressful time earlier in the evening, trying to juggle funds to pay for tomorrow’s deliveries. “The way things are going, I may not be open that much longer. Let my employees speculate.”

  “Are things that bad, honey?”

  Natalie fiddled with the drape of the tablecloth. “Take a gander at the crowd, and you tell me.” She let the linen slip from her fingers and straightened her shoulders. “But enough about that. It’s a special night. I don’t want to ruin it, fretting about business slumps and money problems.”

  A smoldering heat flashed in his eyes. “It is a special night,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to ruin it any more than you do.”

  “Do I hear a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”

  His mouth twitched. Then he settled his sharp gaze on the crowd again. “Business before pleasure, as the old saying goes. If the club is in that much trouble, you need to act quickly.”

&n
bsp; “And do what? I’ve cut back on the menu. I’m operating with a skeleton crew. I’m buying cheap sour mash and refilling popular-brand bottles so people think they’re drinking the good stuff.”

  He flicked a glance at his glass. “This isn’t Jack Daniel’s?”

  Natalie touched a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. I come in once a week to pull the switches when no one else is here. Not even my help knows.” She shifted nervously on her chair. “I think it’s against the law. I don’t want my liquor license pulled.”

  Zeke tasted the drink. His blue eyes danced with laughter. “You little crook.”

  “Needs must. I’m barely managing to pay my suppliers as it is. You can’t operate on credit in this business. You either settle up front, or you go under.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “It’s the nature of the business. Do you have any idea how many restaurants and bars in this town go bankrupt each year? The wholesalers would go down with them if they extended credit.”

  “Have you considered making a few changes to increase your clientele?”

  “What kind of changes?”

  “If I step on your toes with what I’m about to say, just tell me so. All right?”

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  He didn’t smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this club seems to have the Patterson stamp all over it.”

  “The Patterson what?”

  “Stamp,” he repeated. “It’s classy all the way—formal dining, tasteful decor, complete with a first-class entertainer dressed to the nines in an evening gown or cocktail dress. The usual country-western joint has a relaxed atmosphere, and the entertainers are far more likely to be wearing jeans, riding boots, and a Western shirt.”

  “Your point?”

  “That maybe, just maybe, you compromised when you opened this place, trying to please your husband and in-laws.”

  Natalie swept her gaze over the room again. It was true, she realized, though she’d never consciously thought about it at the time.

  “The piano player, for instance,” Zeke went on. “Piano’s fine, don’t get me wrong, but that highbrow shit he plays during your breaks is a total shock after the songs you sing. What is that he’s pounding out right now, anyway?”

  Natalie listened for a moment. “That’s Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata.’ ”

  He nodded. “It’s not ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie,’ that’s for damned sure.”

  The disgruntled look on his face made Natalie laugh. “I guess I did aim for a classier atmosphere to pacify Robert and his mother. It seemed like a good plan at the time—a one-of-a-kind country-western club, a place where enthusiasts could enjoy both the music and fine dining.”

  “You still worried about pacifying Robert?”

  “No. Why?”

  He plucked his hat from his knee to put it on the table and sat forward on his chair. That serious, down-to-business expression suited him, she decided. Dark brows pleated in a slight frown, his eyes razor sharp on hers. Little wonder he’d just purchased a lovely home and still had money to make loans to the neighbor kid. She had a feeling that he was a force to be reckoned with in retail.

  “I think you have a fabulous idea going here—great entertainment, fine dining, classy atmosphere. But what if you toned it down just a hair and offered something more middle of the road?”

  “Then the club would be ordinary. I wouldn’t have anything special to offer.”

  “I’m not talking about making it ordinary. Keep it fancy enough to pull in Yuppies who like country-western, but relaxed and reasonable enough price-wise to appeal to working-class guys as well. Shit kickers who want to put on the dog for their ladies but can’t afford filet mignon once a week.”

  “Go on,” she said softly.

  He rested his folded arms on the table. “The ordinary Joe can’t come in here on a regular basis, and if they splurge for dinner, they’ll go elsewhere afterward for entertainment—someplace where they can shuffle their boots on a dance floor and get cozy with a main squeeze.”

  Natalie glanced around again. “Too stuffy, huh?”

  “Not stuffy, exactly, just a hair too ritzy. For mass appeal, you should knock out that wall so people in the bar can enjoy the live entertainment, too. What are they, second-class citizens because they prefer a beer and some smoke in the air? You can slap in a good filtration system if you don’t already have one. Offer a few inexpensive entrées on the menu. Hold karaoke competitions a few nights a week. Move the tables back to make room for a dance floor. Don’t turn it into a honky-tonk. Crystal Falls is crawling with those. Just make it friendlier, a place where people from all walks of life can enjoy themselves. I think you’d be packed every night of the week.”

  A thrill of excitement moved up the back of Natalie’s throat. She turned on her chair to better survey the room. “You know, it just might work. Karaoke is a lot of fun. I never thought of that. A lot of people go from bar to bar, just so they can get up and sing to an audience.”

  “Damn straight. And you’ll be providing a first-class place for them to do it. People love to make fools of themselves.”

  She laughed again. She seemed to do a lot of that around this man.

  “Karaoke a few evenings a week would give you more breaks between numbers to take care of orders and paperwork. You might even find some time to write some new songs.”

  She threw him a wondering look. “Like anyone will ever buy them.”

  “You ever tried to sell one?”

  Her face went hot under his searching gaze. “Well, no. I’m not even sure how to start.”

  “By starting,” he said simply.

  Natalie laughed again. He made her feel as if she could do almost anything. “Cheaper entrées, huh? I’m terrible at doing menus.”

  “I’ll help. And don’t change the subject. I want you to pick your favorite out of all the songs you’ve ever written and give it to me, no questions asked. Will you do that?”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a question. Just do it, and keep your focus on this club before it goes tits up.”

  Natalie chewed on her bottom lip. “I can’t afford to have that wall knocked out, Zeke. It’ll cost a small fortune.”

  “Nah. Give me a crowbar and hammer, and I can have it down in no time. You added it when you leased the place, right? It doesn’t look like a bearing wall.”

  “You’ve been scoping out my club, thinking of structural changes?”

  Looking sheepish, he rubbed his jaw. “The place isn’t exactly hopping. I can testify to the fact that it’s not the entertainment. The businessman in me can’t help but ask himself why, and once I start doing that, I think of ways to remedy the problem.”

  “I did all right until Robert siphoned off half my working capital.”

  “I’ve offended you.”

  “No!” Natalie protested. “Not at all. It’s just—well, there’s a space deficiency, for one thing. How can I keep all the tables and have room for a dance floor? And I have to observe the fire regulations. I have a capacity limit of two hundred in here, fifty in the bar.”

  He took a quick head count. “Sweetheart, you presently have twenty people in here.”

  “It was busier earlier. After dinner, a lot of people leave.”

  “My point exactly. That’s what you do in a restaurant, eat and shag. You don’t want to occupy the table all night when you’ve finished eating, no matter how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

  He was right; she knew he was. Only his suggestions would cost money—money she didn’t have.

  “You don’t need a large dance floor,” he speculated. “You might lose a few tables, but not many. Just put them closer together. If you’re worried about overcrowding, have a cover charge, maybe five bucks a head. Almost anybody can afford that. You’ll make money the instant they walk through the door, and people won’t be inclined to leave once they get here. Clubs turn most of their profit on drinks. Right
?”

  “Yes.” She stared dubiously at the wall.

  “It’s no big deal,” he assured her. “I can slap up some trim to hide where it was, fix the floor somehow, and it’ll be done. Do you have enough money to do a little advertising to bring new people in and rent some karaoke equipment?”

  Natalie’s heart sank as she recalled the mess her books were in. “No, not really.”

  “How much do you think you’ll need? I have some extra stashed away.”

  “No way, Zeke. Don’t even go there.”

  “Why not? I’ve got the cash just sitting in the bank. You can pay me back with interest. How’s that?”

  “At what rate?”

  “A garter belt and nylons once a month.”

  She burst out laughing. “You’re terrible.”

  “I’m hornier than a teenage boy on prom night, is what I am.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Nothing else. Just the garter belt and nylons. Heels, of course.”

  Natalie saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew he was teasing. “Do you really like garter belts?”

  “Not really, but we’re bargaining here. You’re a hard-headed woman.”

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, Zeke, but I’d feel funny.”

  “Better to feel funny than go broke.”

  Natalie shook her head. “I don’t want to muddy the water between us by borrowing money from you.” She tried for a lighthearted smile. “I’d feel like a kept woman.”

  “Works for me.” The smoldering glint returned to his eyes. “I’ll have a vested interest, that way, until I can snub you down with a ring and promises.”

  Natalie gaped at him.

  He grinned and lifted his glass to her in a mock toast. Winking at her over the rim, he said, “Close your mouth, honey. You’re gonna catch flies.”

  Natalie was almost giddy with nerves by the time she started across the field to Zeke’s place later that night. She was still wearing her work clothes, the black dress she’d had on the first time she met him and the same high-heeled sandals. It was treacherous walking. When her spikes weren’t sinking into the dirt, she was stepping into holes. She thought about going barefoot, but she didn’t want to show up at his door with dirty feet. Not sexy. It was extremely important to look her best tonight.