Calder Pride (Calder Saga 5)

Kinsey took one look at him and muttered in horror, “Good grief, you take that hat off his head, and he wouldn’t be more than five foot four, if that.”

“But he could be a great dancer,” Cat teased. “You should go find out.”

“No thanks.” Kinsey shuddered expressively and lifted her glass, taking another quick drink.

“What about the guy playing bass guitar in the band?” J.J. suggested. “He’s not bad.”

By the time Debby Ann Spring joined them twenty minutes later, the margarita pitcher was empty, and they had exhausted the supply of likely male candidates for their game. “What d’you say we all go to Billy Bob’s?” Babs looked around to see their reaction.

“Sounds good to me.” Cat stood up, then swayed a little, suddenly light-headed. Shaking it off, she guessed at the cause. “As soon as we get to Billy Bob’s, I have to get something to eat. One more margarita on an empty stomach and you’ll be picking me up off the floor.”

“I’m hungry, too,” Babs said as Cat dug the money from her jeans pocket.

“How can you be hungry after eating that whole platter of nachos?” Kinsey argued in reproof. “You all but licked the platter clean and you know it.”

“I did not!” Babs stalked alongside her as the group exited the saloon en masse.

“You did so. I saw your tongue prints on that platter,” Kinsey fired back.

“That’s a lie!”

“You two, stop bickering for a minute.” J.J. called for peace, or at least a temporary truce. “Are we walking or driving to Billy Bob’s?”

“It’s only two blocks,” Cat pointed out. “Let’s walk.”

For once Kinsey had little to say during the two-block-long walk up Rodeo Plaza to the Texas-sized nightclub, billed as the world’s largest honky-tonk. The place was jammed with Friday night revelers, a living sea of cowboy hats, pearl snap shirts, blue denim, and cowboy boots. With J.J. plowing a path for them, they curled past the huge dance floor and finally found an empty table near the back. When the harried cocktail waitress stopped at their table, Cat added a barbecue sandwich to Kinsey’s order for a pitcher of margaritas and five glasses.

For a time, the din of thousands of chattering voices, punctuated now and then by an exuberant “Yee-haw,” made conversation difficult. With a host of new candidates available to them, the manhunt game was quickly resumed, despite the interruption caused when J.J. dragged them all on the floor to do a line dance.

When the noise and the crowd became old, they left Billy Bob’s and ventured back to Exchange Avenue. “Where to next?” Kinsey wanted to know.

“How about the Longhorn?” J.J. suggested.

“Count me out,” Debby Ann said. “I’m bushed after working all day. I’m heading home.”

“Me, too,” Babs echoed.

“Why? What time is it?” Kinsey peered at her watch. “Good grief, girls, it’s only eleven o’clock. The shank of the night.”

“It may be the shank of your night, but not mine,” Debby Ann told her and turned to give Cat a good-bye hug. “I can’t believe you’re not coming back. It isn’t going to be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss yo

u guys, too,” Cat said in all sincerity. Cat felt positively maudlin when the two girls walked away. She knew at once that she’d had too much to drink. She wasn’t drunk yet, just enveloped in a warm, fuzzy glow that felt kind of good.

“Come on. Let’s go to the Longhorn.” Kinsey linked arms with Cat and started down the street.

“Not me.” Cat pulled back. “It’s time I found myself a hotel and called it a night.”

“This isn’t right.” Kinsey eyed Cat with unexpected poignancy in her expression. “We can’t break up like this. Not without a final farewell drink.”

Cat hesitated, the same emotions tugging at her. “All right,” she said finally. “But only one drink.”

“Only one,” Kinsey promised and took her by the arm again. “Come on. There’s a bar here in the Stockyards Hotel.”

Low laughter and lively music played by a country combo greeted them when they entered the comfortably crowded bar. Cat spotted an empty table near the small dance floor where couples two-stepped to an old George Strait tune about a fireman. They trooped over to it and sat down facing the dance floor. When the gum-cracking waitress arrived, they ordered a round of margaritas. The waitress returned with their drinks on her next sashay through her section.

Kinsey picked up her glass, then turned her sad eyes on Cat. “Honey, I can’t think of a single toast to offer. I guess there isn’t one for good-bye.”