Jarod's nostrils twitched at the idea. "She's almost old enough to be his grandmother."
"Ah, age is just numbers on paper. How old you think Daisy is?" Billy Bob asked.
Jarod raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Daisy, the barmaid who owns the Honky Tonk. Ruby, the woman who built the place, left it to her when she died last year," Billy Bob said.
So her name was Daisy. That sounded just like a redneck barmaid's name. Jarod took another long look down the bar at her. He had never been so attracted to a woman in the first few minutes of meeting her. The word thunderstruck came to mind, but he didn't believe in such folderol.
Daisy tried so hard to hear the answer that her head pounded. She blamed it on the fall and could have strangled Joe Bob for choosing that minute to yell at her to draw up a beer.
Jarod didn't even try to mask the calculating stare. Aunt Mavis would just have to understand, and after all, it was just looking. The woman had the body of a kickboxer, no spare fat cells anywhere, and could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-nine. When her gaze met his, sparks lit up the room between them. Her steely-blue eyes dared him to answer the question. The physical attraction was so strong that his first knee-jerk reaction was to flirt; his second was to run. His third was to trip her, catch her when she fell, and kiss her just to see if those lips were as soft as they looked.
No way had she seen thirty yet; there wasn't even a tiny little crow's foot wrinkle around those beautiful eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swished when she moved from one end of the bar to the other wiping up spills and filling orders. She wore a white tank top with sparkling jewels sewn into the front along the neckline and tight jeans hugging her hind end. Her eyes looked like they could cut a man apart like a laser gun, but those lips were definitely made for kissing. Nice full lips that could have been on a commercial for lipstick.
"So?" Billy Bob asked.
It took a minute before Jarod could remember the question. His hands were clammy and his voice husky when he asked, "Why are you askin'?"
"Because Jim Bob is happy as a piglet in a fresh mud hole when he can talk Chigger into going home with him on Friday and Saturday nights. Joe Bob would be Merle's slave if she'd teach him all she knows about shootin' pool. Daisy O'Dell is my dream gal. I'd probably rob banks or kill for her," Billy Bob said.
"What's that got to do with how old she is?" Jarod asked.
"I was just bringin' the conversation around to her, man, so I could tell you how I feel about her. She's a looker and she owns a bar. Now that's a combination that could make a man's heart just plumb ache. Just don't go gettin' no ideas that you might waltz in here and do some serious flirtin'. When the time comes for her to get all serious, it's goin' to be with Billy Bob Walker."
"So you didn't care a whit about my Uncle Emmett. You came over here to piss on the bar and stake a claim?" Jarod asked.
Billy Bob chuckled. "Guess I did."
Daisy pretended to come in at the tail end of the conversation. "You got to piss, you do it in the bathroom."
"Ah, honey, you know I love you," Billy Bob said.
"You'd marry Lucifer's sister to get a bar of your own, Billy Bob Walker. Love ain't got a blessed thing to do with anything. Hell's bells, the money you and your brothers spend in here could buy a bar of your own in a year's time. Go on up the road to the Trio or The Boar's Nest and buy one of them if you want a bar," she smarted off. "You need a refill on that beer?" she asked Jarod.
"No, I reckon one is enough if I'm going to drive back home," he said. He wished she'd argue with Billy Bob some more. Her voice was like maple syrup with a touch of Wild Turkey—fiery and sweet. He wondered if she'd be like that in bed. Good God, he had to get control of his thoughts and stop letting them romp all over the bar.
"Which is where?" Daisy asked.
"North of Huckabay, west of Morgan Mill. Right next to the Walker ranch," Jarod said. Want to go with me? He touched his forehead. Did he have a slight concussion that caused all of his thoughts to wallow in a gutter?
Billy Bob waved a hand between their gazes. "I'd build a bar but Chigger and Merle are regulars at the Honky Tonk. You promise me and the boys that they'll change over to the Walker Roadhouse and I'll build one across the road and buy out the Trio and The Boar's Nest to eliminate the competition."
Daisy cocked her head to one side. "Walker Roadhouse?"
"Yeah, that's kind of what I had a mind to change the name to once I talk you into marryin' me," he teased.
"Better not hold your breath on either issue. You look like hell in that shade of blue. I'm runnin' this bar until they carry my cold dead body through the doors and I'll have my fingers wrapped around a longneck bottle of Coors when they do. And honey, this is the Honky Tonk and always will be. Ruby left that in her will. No name changes, so you just scoot your boots on down the road and put in some competition," she said.
Billy Bob chuckled again and picked up his beer. "Never know what the future might bring. I'm going to find a sweet little thing and dance away part of the beer I've done drunk. Jarod, you tell Uncle Emmett we'll be over and see him someday soon," he said as he headed toward the jukebox.
Maybe that would make Daisy jealous and she'd see that he was quite a catch. After all, Billy Bob and his brothers owned the Bar W, the most prosperous ranch in Erath County. Jarod might be a shade better looking, but not by much, and neither his bank account nor his pickup truck was as big as the Walker boys.
Besides all that, Emmett's ranch wasn't going to be worth a damn in a couple of years. Mesquite was taking over and his stock was worthless. By the time Emmett croaked, the Walker men could probably pick up the whole ranch for next to nothing. One thing for sure—if they did, they'd turn it around right quick. That ranch had been the cream of two counties back when Mavis was alive. It would take time and hard work, but it would double the size of what the Walkers already had. Yes, sir, Daisy would wake up someday and see the wisdom in tying the knot with Billy Bob. He wasn't in any hurry. He'd waited seven years. He'd wait a few more.
Back at the bar Jarod downed the last of the beer, picked up his hat, and slid off the stool. He scanned the floor in case someone else had sloshed beer out of their Mason jar. He wasn't letting a blast of physical attraction overrule his better sense. Like the song playing on the jukebox said, they all got prettier at closing time when a man was drunk off his butt. Some were pretty; some looked like hell. But a barmaid was a barmaid, pretty or not.
What in the hell can I be thinking anyway? he asked himself. I've got Emmett to take care of and a ranch that's falling apart at the seams. I wouldn't have time to date even if she wasn't a barmaid.
"Don't be a stranger, and tell Emmett we miss him," Daisy said, breaking into his thoughts.
Jarod looked over his shoulder. "You know my uncle?"
Damn it! Those are some sexy eyes. I wonder what they'd look like right after… she stopped herself from even thinking the next words.
She cleared her throat and said, "I overheard Billy Bob mention Emmett. He and Mavis used to come in here every Saturday night. He had a draft Miller and she had a longneck Coors. They were almost as good at pool as Merle Avery. Truth is, I was a little surprised that Emmett didn't take up with Merle after Mavis died," she said.
"Probably because she's too damn smart for that," Jarod said.
"Ah, he's just old and cantankerous. God only knows how we'll be when we get that old and can't do what we once did. We might be hard to live with too."
"Hard to live with would be all right. Downright mean is another thing."
"Well, tell him hello from Daisy."
Jarod nodded and headed for the door.
Chigger blew him a kiss.
Jim Bob shot him a dirty look.
Billy Bob waved from the dance floor where he was hugged up tight to a lady in a knit shirt that accentuated thirty extra pounds around her midriff. She reminded Jarod of his first fiancée, Sasha, who'd gained fifteen
pounds after they were engaged. She went to a fancy spa to lose the weight before the wedding and wound up eloping with her trainer. He wondered as he made his way through the vehicles in the parking lot if she ever lost those extra pounds.
The night air was blazing hot, but he drove slowly with the window down. The beer and the day's hard work had made him sleepy. Even if it was hot enough to fry the brains out of a lizard, he didn't dare turn on the air conditioning. If he got that comfortable he'd fall asleep and run off the road. That would give Emmett enough griping fuel to last two lifetimes. The only thing worse would be if Jarod went back to the ranch and started talking about a bartender.
"That'd stroke him out for sure," Jarod said aloud.
In an attempt to keep his mind off Daisy, he thought about his third fiancée. Emily had a business degree and was the head she-coon in the admissions office at Oklahoma State University. He'd figured the third was the charm and Emily would be with him right up to "death do us part." Two months before the wedding she got a job offer to go to New York City and expected him to leave the ranching business and go with her. After the argument, she went, he stayed, and a third engagement ring was tossed into a dresser drawer with the first two.
Not a one of the three had caused the physical reaction that Daisy had those few minutes when he was tangled up in her arms on the floor or when their gazes locked up across that bar. How old was she, anyway? Billy Bob never had told him. If he'd met her anywhere other than a bar he would have definitely flirted. But Billy Bob had done everything but tell him to back off and the Walker triplets were his only friends in the whole state.
Besides, Jarod had sworn off women until he was forty. Hopefully at that age he'd have enough sense to pick one that would last. Until then he'd be content with an occasional romp in the hay.
"Wonder if Daisy would be interested in a one-night stand?" he asked aloud as he parked the truck in front of Emmett's two-story house. He doubted it. That look she gave him when he was studying her up and down to figure out her age said that she wouldn't abide any kind of nonsense like getting hay in that long dark hair.
He opened the door to the truck and shut it as quietly as possible. Easing the front door open to the loud snores of his uncle coming from the twin-sized bed that had been set up in the corner of the living room since he had trouble navigating the stairs, he tiptoed into the house. Jarod froze when the noise stopped. When the loud snores continued, he removed his boots and padded upstairs in his socks, heaving a sigh of relief when he was safely in his bedroom. Thirty-five years old and he felt like a teenager sneaking back into the house after a night of skinny-dipping with his girlfriend.
What would it be like to skinny-dip with Daisy? Would she look as good out of those tight fittin' jeans as she did in them?
The house had been built back in the fifties when Mavis and Emmett first married. Four bedrooms and a bathroom were off a landing upstairs. Living room, dining room, and a kitchen were downstairs. At least four children were supposed to fill the house with laughter and arguments, but they'd never come along in the marriage.
He yanked his boots off and set them beside the bed and turned on the computer and checked his emails. If only he could convince Emmett the value of getting his business out of his hip pocket and entered into a reasonable program on the computer, he'd feel like he was getting somewhere.
What was it Daisy told Billy Bob? "Don't hold your breath."
Jarod felt her words rather than just heard them. Emmett would let him make changes the day that nuns danced on the bar in the Honky Tonk. He took a quick shower and crossed the hallway naked to stretch out on his bed. His fingers laced behind his head and he stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Daisy had put Billy Bob in his place with the bare minimum of words. Jarod didn't figure she'd take sass from anyone, but then she was a barmaid and no doubt she'd had lots of experience dealing with drunks.
Is that all the experience she has? Surely she has a boyfriend or a fiancé with those looks.
The words to Toby's song began to rattle around in his head. Like Toby said, Jarod had seen it all in the bar that night. He'd seen smokers. A fine fog of smoke hung about two feet from the ceiling. If secondhand smoke was as detrimental to health as folks said, then the Honky Tonk was cancer central. He'd seen boozers sitting at the bar and gathered around the five or six tables in the corners. A hooker if he counted Chigger. What on earth Jim Bob saw in that rough old gal was a mystery. She'd been rode hard and put away wet far too many days. She looked fifty at least. Toby mentioned cowboys. Well, Jarod had seen more boots, silver belt buckles, and hats that evening than he'd seen since the last barn dance at his folks' place up in Payne County, Oklahoma. Toby had sang about brokenhearted fools and suckers. If he'd taken time to talk to anyone other than Billy Bob and Daisy, he'd have found some of those too. He fell asleep to the melody playing and words about drinking his beer from a Mason jar running through his head.
***
At two a.m. Daisy shoved the Walker triplets and Chigger out the front door. The Honky Tonk was their home away from home on the weekends. They were good-natured fellows for the most part, except when Billy Bob started that nonsense about marrying her. She picked up a longneck Coors from the ice chest, wiped it off, and pulled out a chair at the nearest table like she did every night at closing. She propped her long legs up on the table and crossed them at the ankles. After a lengthy draw on the beer she looked around at the damages. Not bad for a Friday night. Few beer bottles left on the tables but Tinker had racked the pool balls and left them ready for the next night. There was one cue stick still on the nearest pool table that he'd forgotten to put back in the cabinet. Floor needed sweeping and she noticed a circle on the wood where she and Jarod collided.
She'd clean it all up the next day. That was one thing Ruby taught her from the beginning. Shut the doors and go to bed. Clean up the next morning when she wasn't dead tired from running up and down the bar refilling Mason jars or mixing drinks.
Daisy finished off her beer and put some coins into the jukebox. She pushed the right buttons and Toby's voice filled the room as he sang, "I Love This Bar." To sing that song with conviction like he did, he had to have spent some time in a bar in his lifetime, just like Daisy had.
"Some time, hell," she muttered.
She'd spent her whole life in and around bars. Her mother had gotten married at sixteen and had given birth to Daisy when she was barely seventeen. Widowed before Daisy was even born, she'd lied about her age and got a job as a bartender in a dive south of Mena, Arkansas. Daisy stayed with her grandmother most of the time until she was nine and then Granny died suddenly. After that she went to work with her mother every evening and spent her time during the school year doing homework in the stockroom. She had a sleeping bag, books to read, and a television that picked up no stations but had a VHS player attached so she could watch movies. At two o'clock her mother awoke her and they went home to a trailer on the outskirts of town. At seven the alarm went off and Daisy got herself ready for school, packed a lunch, and boarded the school bus at the entrance to the trailer court. She always left her mother sleeping and always hoped she was alone in the bedroom. Sometimes she got her wish; more often it was wasted.
She set the beer on the table and danced alone in the middle of the floor as Toby sang about liking his truck and his girlfriend, liking to take her out to dinner and a movie now and then. Daisy pretended she was dancing with Jarod McElroy on the banks of a river after a steak dinner at a fancy restaurant and giggled at her own silliness.
How had he gotten into the bar without her seeing him in the first place?
She made her way around the pool tables and the bar to the door leading back into her living quarters in the dark.
Ruby had built the Honky Tonk back in the early sixties and it looked like an old-time saloon with weathered wood on the outside. It had a wide wraparound porch around three sides. Rocking chairs for those who'd gotten too hot dancing or needed a brea
th of fresh air were scattered on the porch. A big neon sign on the roof flashed HONKY TONK.
Double doors led from the porch into a large room with a bar across the backside, pool tables to the right, and half a dozen wooden tables with chairs on the left. Two jukeboxes provided music. The antique one was Ruby's favorite and had only the old country music artists on it like George Jones, Lefty Frizzell, Waylon Jennings, Willy Nelson, and Merle Haggard. The other was modern and offered the newer artists like Toby Keith, Brad Paisley, Josh Turner, Jim Currington, Sara Evans, and Sugarland.
Through the locked door at the back lay a modern one-bedroom apartment that had been Daisy's home for more than seven years. She headed across the living room floor to the galley kitchen and made a ham and cheese sandwich. She carried it to the table in the corner of the tiny living room and pulled out a chair.
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