“I’m right behind you.”
In the purpling twilight of evening, the huge neon sign mounted atop the porch roof glowed a gaudy green, proclaiming in gigantic capital letters that it was the site of Harry’s Hideaway. The hiss and sizzle from the neon tubing dominated the stillness when Sebastian stepped from the ranch pickup. His glance strayed to a second vehicle parked in the lot, its doors emblazoned with the distinctive Triple C brand.
“I suspect Laura will not be very pleased to see us,” he said to Trey when he climbed out of the driver’s side and gave the door a closing push.
Trey shook his head in mild disagreement. “Crockett will be the one with his nose out of joint. Laura will be amused, wondering if fists will fly.” Trey headed for the entrance, mounting the porch steps two at time. “Don’t get suckered into one if you can avoid it. That would be playing into Crockett’s hands.”
“Why do you call him Crockett?” Sebastian wondered.
“It’s a family joke.” Trey opened the door and held it for Sebastian, letting him enter first, then followed him inside. “Welcome to Harry’s.” Amusement gleamed in his brown eyes. “I was told it wouldn’t be anything like one of your English pubs.”
To the left was the dining area, the source of the food smells and the muted clatter of dishes. Most of its tables were empty, but Sebastian’s searching glance easily located Laura and Boone seated at a secluded table, separate from the half dozen other diners. Despite the low lights, Sebastian knew the instant she noticed him. It was almost a tangible thing. Any chance that it was wishful thinking on his part was eliminated when Boone’s dark head swung around to face the door.
Trey raised an acknowledging hand in Laura’s direction and struck out for the bar area on the right. It was dimly lit except for the brightly colored jukebox along the front wall and the hanging lights over the twin pool tables.
“Grab a table,” Trey said as he branched off toward the silent jukebox.
None were occupied, giving Sebastian an ample choice. He picked the nearest one and pulled out a chair. Taking a seat, he glanced briefly at the two men hunched over their drinks at the end of the long bar. Behind him, the jukebox came to life, filling the half-dead bar with a lively country music tune.
Seconds later Trey joined him, swinging a leg over the chair back and lowering himself onto the seat. “That oughta wake up everybody.”
The swinging doors to the kitchen swept open, and a short, heavyset man in an apron bustled over to their table, took their order for two beers, and bustled behind the bar to fill them.
With an effort, Sebastian kept his glance from straying to Laura’s table. “Is it usually this quiet?” he asked to make conversation.
“It livens up a little on Saturday night,” Trey told him. “Back in Gramps’ day, this used to be a roadhouse, complete with poker games in the backroom and a pair of soiled doves upstairs.”
The man hustled back with two frosty mugs of beer, set them down, and scooped up the money Trey shoved onto the table. “I’ll be back in the kitchen for a little bit. If you need anything else, just holler. That’s what everybody else does.”
“Will do.” Trey nodded, took a swig of beer, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, blotting away the traces of foam. He slid a questioning look at Sebastian. “Do you dance?”
Sebastian smiled. “Are you asking? If you are, you should know that I prefer to lead.”
Trey laughed, strong and hearty. “Wouldn’t we look cute?” he declared and shook his he
ad, the laughter still there, under the surface. “Actually, I had something else in mind. There’s a slow song coming up next. I thought you could ask Laura to dance. It’s a passion of hers.”
“I know,” Sebastian said.
The remark drew an assessing look from Trey, but no direct comment. “If Crockett knows anything other than the two-step or the box step, I’ll be surprised. What about you?”
“Laura is fully aware that I can dance, if that was your thought.”
“It was only half of it,” Trey replied. “Me, I know a couple variations on the box step and that’s about it. It really grates to watch some other guy make it look effortless, especially if he’s dancing with my girl.”
The hard-driving song on the jukebox ended in a crescendo of drums and guitars. The noiseless void lasted only seconds before the lilting strains of a waltz came over the speakers.
“That’s your cue,” Trey said and shot a look at his sister’s table, then swore under his breath. “Too late. I think they’re leaving.”
Turning his head, Sebastian saw Laura moving toward them with a model’s grace, the pale gold of her hair catching the shine of the interior lights. There was something almost regal about her carriage that came across as a kind of innate elegance, transcending the simplicity of her dress. He felt a pride in her that could have been stronger only if he were the man walking with her instead of Boone Rutledge.
Instead of veering off toward the front door, the couple continued toward them. “Well, what do you know,” Trey murmured. “I think he asked her to dance.”
Arriving at the small dance floor, Laura made a swinging turn into Boone’s hold, her left hand gliding onto his shoulder. It was Sebastian who watched with envy as Boone held her close, shuffling his feet and making no attempt at waltz steps. And Laura didn’t seem to care.
Stool legs scraped the floor near the long bar, Sebastian took little notice of it, or of the footsteps moving in the general direction of the pool tables.
One set of footsteps stopped, and a man’s voice spoke loudly, “Well, lookee there. If it ain’t that smart-mouthed Calder bitch.”