“Hey, hon,” Stan said as he came in. “Can you make some calls for me today?”
“Sure.” She managed a weak smile.
“Just the usual courtesy stuff for guests coming in next week. Here’s the list.” He handed a piece of paper to her. “Oh—” he started, but Troy stuck his head in.
“Hey, Stan. Alice needs your okay on a few things, as soon as you can. It’s about dinner.”
“Okay.” He looked over his shoulder at Meg as he left and gave her a grin as followed Troy.
She sighed again and looked at the list. It’d take a while to get through it. She reached for the phone, and decided to ignore the blinking number one on the answering machine. She’d check it later if she remembered.
After she finished the phone calls, she went to help Mark and a couple other hands get the horses squared away for the evening upon their return from an afternoon trail ride. By dinner, she was almost resigned to Gina’s absence, though it stung, which pissed her off. It was her own fault, after all, for thinking there was something beyond just chatting in their interactions. It was her own fault for hoping. Who the hell cared, anyway? It was a fun crush while it lasted, and now it was time to let it go. There’d be plenty more of those in the future.
But it still hurt.
And she still couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Screw it, she decided. This is why they call them crushes, after all. Because they do hurt. And here it was, her birthday. Well, she’d enjoy it. Alice’s awesome cake, and then a couple of beers in town would take some of the sting out of the day. She went to the dining room, determined to enjoy herself.
Meg finished her first beer and before she could even throw the bottle away, Tim handed her a fresh one. “Happy birthday!” he yelled as Laura dragged him to the dance floor. She raised the bottle at him and grinned. The growing crowd at River Rest jostled her senses along with the smells of cigarette smoke and greasy Mexican food. She smiled. Who knew a couple from Chicago enjoyed two-stepping?
She danced the next one with Mark, one with Floyd, and then two more with Jackson. Her friends at school joked with her that she was “bi-danceual.” Meg could lead or follow, depending on the partner. As the last notes sounded on the Tim McGraw song, she thanked Jackson and headed for the tables the Diamond Rock crowd had co-opted. She liked dancing, especially leading, though the non-ranch people at the bar probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
For the hundredth time, she wondered what it would feel like to work Gina around the floor. And for the hundredth time, she shut the thought down. She plopped down into an empty chair. Davey sat nearby chatting up a local woman. He had so many asshole points on him at the moment that she debated telling the local that rumor had it that he had a girlfriend stashed in Laramie. Then again, the local might not care. She took another sip of her beer, which was on its way to warm.
She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she might consider another beer. She’d driven, but she could always get a ride home with someone else. Besides, her dad had already gone home and she wouldn’t feel embarrassed if she got a little buzz on. Or more. And it might help kick the crush out of her heart. A hangover would serve as a diversion.
The Randy Travis song playing over the dance floor faded to an end and someone announced that it was karaoke time. The crowd cheered and she decided another beer was definitely in order. She made her way to the bar, easing between two cowboys to lean on the polished wood. The bartender smiled, his bushy mustache moving with the motion of his lip, and reached into the ice-filled sink. He extracted a Bud Light, popped the top, and handed it to her. She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and he shook his head. “This one’s on the house, Meg. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” she said, surprised. She tipped him a couple of dollars and turned to watch the stage, where a drunk cowboy slurred through a Hank Williams song. The audience whooped and hollered as he finished and someone helped him down. Five people later, the singing was worse but people continued to clap and cheer even more enthusiastically. Meg felt a hand on her arm and she turned her head.
“Hey, birthday girl,” Gina said with a smile.
Meg stared, and even if she knew what she wanted to say, she wouldn’t have been able to.
Gina leaned in closer so she could hear her over the crowd. “Having fun yet?” She smelled sort of spicy and crisp, like cinnamon, and Meg fought an urge to back her against the bar and kiss her. Or hug her. Or something.
“Hell, yes,” she finally said as Gina let go of her arm. “I thought you’d left.”
She looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you get a call from your boss?”
Gina leaned closer again. “Yes. She wanted the story by one instead of five, so I had to get to Laramie and track down one last source before I emailed it. I faxed it, too, so she’d have copies in both formats. Got some photos developed and had them scanned and emailed. Then I had to make a few calls. Cell phone service is better in Laramie.”
She studied Meg’s face. “I told your dad and Alice I’d see you later today. I called and left a message, too.”
Meg remembered the answering machine, but she hadn’t remembered to check the message. “They didn’t mention it,” she said, and she wanted to laugh, relief cascading down her spine and through her chest. “They probably thought I already knew. Davey just said you’d checked out and left.”
She raised an eyebrow and a “why did you even bother” expression crossed her features.
Meg laughed. “Yeah, I guess that was stupid, asking him anything.”
“You’d have better luck getting answers on a snipe hunt.”
“And it’d be more fun.”
“Depending on the company, yes. And I told you. Birthdays are a big deal in my world,” she said with a smile.
“Well, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The night is young. You okay on that beer?” She touched the bottle, assessing.
“Yep.” And she was okay in several other ways, as well. More than okay. Even though this was Gina’s last night here, she’d shown up, like she said she would, and it provided a perfect context for Meg to get her phone number. Even if nothing came of it, she’d come to the party.
“All right. Let me see if this fine gentleman at the bar can hook me up with something.” She raised her eyebrow again and brushed past her, making contact though she had plenty of room.
Meg gripped her bottle tighter as she watched her lean in to talk to the bartender. She took a drink from her bottle, and let her gaze wander from Gina’s boots up her jeans to her ass, which filled the faded denim perfectly and her white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, set her skin off nicely. She took another drink, trying to quell the impure thoughts racing through her mind, like reaching out and brushing Gina’s dark hair away from the collar of her shirt so she could kiss the back of her neck. . .she was clearly no longer interested in getting rid of this crush. Or attraction. Whatever the hell it was.
Gina turned from the bar after adding some bills to the plastic pitcher that served as a tip jar. She held a short tumbler in her left hand. A slice of lime hung on the rim and amber liquid filled a quarter of it. Tequila.
Meg even found that sexy. “Tough day, huh?” She motioned at the glass.
The right side of Gina’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Until now. Where are you sitting?”
“Over there.” She led her toward the tables and Gina followed but when they got there, she didn’t sit down.
“I’ll be right back.” She didn’t set her drink down. “Don’t run off,” she said with one of her mysterious little grins.
“Okay.” Like that was even an option, the way Gina made her feel.
“Good.” She regarded her for a long moment before she turned and pushed into the crowd.
Meg watched her go, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart and the matching throb between her legs. She remained standing so she could watch a woman onstage who was
singing a reasonably good rendition of a Wynonna tune. The crowd continued to cheer and the announcer called for another round of applause. He then prepared the audience for the next singer.
“And now, folks, show some Wyoming hospitality and make an out-of-towner feel welcome!” He turned and gestured at the next singer who toasted the crowd with her glass of tequila.
“Oh, my God,” Meg said under her breath as Gina took the lime wedge off her glass and bit it before she downed the tequila in one smooth swallow. The crowd roared its approval as she set the glass with the lime rind in it on the edge of the stage and turned to take the mic from the announcer.
“Damn,” a man said next to Meg. “Who’s that?”
She didn’t answer and nobody else did, either, because they were all waiting to hear what the out-of-towner was going to sing.
“Thanks for the welcome,” Gina said. “I’ve gotta tell you, I’ve been to a lot of places, but this is by far my favorite.”
The crowd cheered.
“Sorry to say, I’m not in town much longer—”
The crowd groaned.
“But I hope I’ll be coming back.”
The audience stamped and cheered.
“Enough about me. As some of you might know. . .” she paused for dramatic effect. “We’ve got a birthday girl with us tonight.”
The crowd quieted a bit, waiting for her to continue.
Meg felt all the blood drain from her face.
“A few of you might know her. And if you don’t, you should.” Gina paused again, gaze sweeping the crowd until it found her. “Meg Tallmadge, happy birthday! This one’s for you.”
The crowd exploded with cheers and Meg was suddenly surrounded, people laughing and clapping her on the back.
The music started and Meg recognized the tune immediately. One of her favorites, The Dixie Chicks’ “There’s Your Trouble.” Somebody took the half-empty bottle out of her hand and replaced it with a fresh beer. She gripped it automatically, staring at Gina, who was waiting for her cue. It came and she launched into the song.
Meg’s jaw dropped and the crowd quieted as Gina belted the lyrics in a low-down bluesy voice that could undress you from the next room. Hell, from the next building.
“Damn,” the guy next to Meg said again.
Meg stared, her boots rooted to the floor like they had nails through the toes. This was far worse than a crush, and far worse than an attraction.
Gina hit the chorus and her eyes drilled into Meg’s, even from the stage, as she sang that she shouldn’t keep holding on, not to the wrong one. “There’s your trouble,” she growled as she smiled playfully around the words and reached a hand out toward Meg as if entreating her to go ahead and give her a whirl, that the right one was right here. Meg clutched the bottle, oblivious to the crowd, caught in Gina’s eyes, wondering if anyone had ever had an orgasm without being touched. As Gina kept singing, she figured she’d probably find out.
She finished another verse and hit the chorus again, directed it again at Meg. The crowd started singing along with her, raising their drinks in the air and stomping in time to the beat, putting extra emphasis on “there’s your trouble.” The song ended and the crowd broke into cheers that shook the tin roof. Gina waited a few moments then started singing “Happy Birthday” a cappella, smiling at Meg as she did. The crowd joined in immediately and raised drinks first to Meg then to Gina, cheering and whooping.
Gina’s performance brought down the house and put an end to the karaoke. A Shania Twain song blared from the speakers and dancers filled the small floor. Still stunned, Meg automatically took a sip from the fresh beer. Jackson hugged her around the neck with one arm. “City slicker sure can rip ’em,” he said appreciatively. “Happy birthday, gal.”
“Thanks.” She glanced around the crowd, looking for Gina, but didn’t see her. She turned and bumped into Davey, who glared down at her.
“So that’s how it is,” he said, beer and disgust on his breath. “I thought so.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I figured she was a damn—”
“Don’t say it,” she warned. “Don’t even fucking think it. Because whatever you say about her, you’re saying the same thing about me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she snapped. “So think long and hard before you run your mouth.”
His jaw muscles clenched and she tightened her grip on her bottle. Prick.
“Problem?” came Jackson’s voice behind her.
“Not with me personally,” she said.
He shifted his gaze to Davey and waited for him to say something. He didn’t. Instead, he shot Meg another glare before he turned his back on her and pushed through the crowd.
“Anything I should know?” Jackson asked her.
“Just that he’s a shit.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled down at her. “Got that figured out already. Should I worry about anything else?”
She thought about Davey lurking in the parking lot, waiting for her or Gina. “Let’s hope not.”
He released her shoulder. “Floyd’s been keeping an eye on him.” He gave her an innocent little shrug. “And he’s done putting up with his bullshit.”
Relief flooded her chest. “Thanks.”
“Hey, it’s your birthday, gal. Go have some fun and don’t think about him. We’ve got you covered.”
She relaxed and gave him a smile. She felt better already.
He moved away just as another group of people came by with birthday wishes. She didn’t recognize half, but she thanked them, shook hands, and returned friendly half-hugs. After a few more minutes in the crowd, she suddenly felt claustrophobic and overheated so she made her way to the patio, where she hoped the night air would clear her head. A few people occupied a table in the far corner, talking. They ignored her. Muted light from the bar spilled from the open door and a solitary street light in the corner of the dirt parking lot provided contrasting shadows. She walked to the railing and gripped the smooth, cold metal with one hand, Gina’s voice still echoing in her head.
“Happy birthday.”
Meg turned.
Gina watched her, another glass of tequila in her hand. She seemed a little uncertain. “Jackson said you came out here.”
“I. . .” Meg started. She shrugged helplessly and instead touched her beer bottle to Gina’s glass.
Gina visibly relaxed. “I was afraid you’d freak out.”
She shook her head in an “I-can’t-believe-this” motion. “That was. . .damn. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”
She shrugged and leaned in a little. “I was inspired,” she said, her voice low.
“No one’s ever. . .damn.”
Gina watched her, swirling the tequila in the glass with the slow motion of her hand. “Tell me something.”
She waited, and the expression in Gina’s eyes made her bones melt.
“What does a girl have to do to get you to make a play for her?”
Meg’s stomach dropped to her bootheels. “Ask.”
A smile reminiscent of a long, languid afternoon broke across Gina’s lips. “So all I really had to do. . .”
“I didn’t say it would work,” she said drolly, trying to control the pounding of her heart. “Though the song was a nice touch.”
Gina looked down at her glass then back at her. “So let’s just say—hypothetically, of course—” she was still smiling, “that every time I look at you and every time I think about you, it takes my breath away.”
“Hypothetically?” This had to be some kind of dream.
“Hypothetically.” Gina squeezed the wedge of lime into her tequila. She kept her eyes on Meg’s.
She nodded, affecting a thoughtful air. “I’d say you should definitely ask.”
Gina dropped the lime into the glass. “So how about it?”
“Are we still talking hypothetically?” She raised her eyebrows and grinned playf
ully. She was amazed at how steady her voice sounded. The expression in Gina’s eyes sent her blood galloping between her thighs, a stampede of longing.
“No,” Gina said with a smile that could have melted a glacier. “We’re not.” She leaned in close to her ear and her breath was warm on her face. “Make a play for me, Cowgirl,” she said softly, and Meg felt Gina’s lips brush her cheek delicately, fleeting. Like butterfly wings. She pulled away and held Meg’s gaze with her own for a beat before glancing at her lips, then back at her eyes.
Meg’s emotions must have been plain on her face because Gina’s mouth quirked in another smile and something shifted between them, setting the air ablaze. Gina turned and walked back to the entrance into the bar. She stopped at the doorway and looked back at her before she disappeared inside.
Meg followed, ignoring the admonitions she’d given herself all week. What did they matter now, anyway? She set her nearly full bottle down on a nearby table and said a few quick goodbyes to the Diamond Rock crowd, thanking them. She reminded Mark that she had the next day off, and before he could say anything else, she pushed through the crowd out the front entrance.
Gina stood just outside, waiting, hands in her front pockets. When she saw her, she smiled. “Need a ride?”
“You offering? Or teasing?” she shot back, pleased to see Gina’s eyebrows rise though she continued to smile.
Gina motioned with her head across the parking lot and turned, leading Meg through the rows of trucks and SUVs, some so close together that their side mirrors nearly touched. She had parked in the farthest corner, the Pathfinder’s passenger side a yard from a low cinderblock wall that served as a boundary between the River Rest and a large pasture. Highway 130 skirted the far edge of the pasture and Meg could hear the lone grumble of a big truck headed north, along with the faint strains of country music emanating from the bar. The only light in this stretch of the lot came from the sliver of moon overhead.
Gina opened the passenger door. “It’s not a horse,” she said softly. “But it’ll have to do.”
Meg moved close enough to feel Gina’s body heat. She reached past her and shut the door, then used her own body to back her against the side of the Pathfinder. She didn’t care if this was just a fling for Gina. She didn’t care that she lived in Los Angeles, and she didn’t even care if anyone saw. All that mattered was how it felt to be this close to her, pressed against her in a way that made her heart pound, made chills tear up and down her spine.
From the Boots Up Page 9