Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 133849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“I’m looking at a mustang,” Gwen said with a big smile that showed she was only wearing her top teeth. “I can’t wait to put those youngsters to shame. And forget about what I said. You’re young. You get in there and have a blast. Find a couple of cowboys and get them to fight, and whoever wins goes home with you. Oh, I loved those days. Make sure they aren’t armed. That was the mistake I made. Good-bye, dear. Give me a call if you need a ride home.”
She peeled out, proving that station wagon still had some life in it.
So did Gwen.
Sometimes Nicole wondered if she did.
There was a whole bar right there with bright lights and loud, rocking music and vibrant people having the time of their lives, and she hoped someone would slip her forty bucks to clean the bathrooms and wipe down the tables.
And if she couldn’t find a ride back she’d be out another ten, so she would actually have netted a whole twenty bucks.
How long had it been since she’d danced and enjoyed herself?
Not since the minute she’d married a monster.
With a long sigh, she turned and started for the door and ran right into another woman.
“I’m so sorry.” She managed to catch herself.
A gorgeous redhead stood her ground. She was wearing well-worn jeans and a Western shirt that hugged her every curve, the pearl snaps undone to show off a bit of impressive cleavage. She recognized the stunning woman from the diner. She was the cowboy’s sister or cousin or whatever. Shit. Was he here? Of course he was. Where else would he be on a Saturday night?
“I’m not.” Redhead gave her a brilliant smile. “Hey, we haven’t met. I’m Olivia. You’re new. I saw you at the café earlier tonight.”
Nicole nodded. “Yeah. I started working there a couple of weeks ago. I’m Nicole.”
She was glad they didn’t seem to be exchanging last names. Sometimes she forgot that one. In her defense, she’d had four over the last two years. It could confuse a girl.
Olivia’s eyes widened as she looked at something in the parking lot behind Nicole and then suddenly she was beside her, hooking her arm around Nicole’s and leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, Nicole, why don’t you let me show you around? Come on in, and the first round’s on me.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on drinking. I’m here to ask the manager if I can help clean up after hours.”
“Then you have hours and hours before you need to work,” Olivia said. “Besides, you already worked a whole dinner shift. Let me buy you a Coke if you don’t want something stronger.”
“I was going to hang out upstairs.” Nicole found herself swept along by her new friend. “They have this room, you see, and it’s pretty quiet.”
“Oh, I know all about that room. I wish I didn’t know about that room, but my parents are open about things they should shove way deep down,” Olivia said as they entered the lobby. The music was louder here but not too bad since the honky-tonk had a dining area, though from here she could see the neon lights from the dance hall. “You know everyone complains about their parents being repressed and stuff, but do they ever consider the opposite?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it.” She wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe she was being kidnapped.
Olivia waved to some friends but hustled Nicole over to a quieter section. There were a couple of bar areas here in the large complex known as The Barn. The one off the lobby was where people waited for a table. At this time of night, the dining room was only half full, so the forward bar was fairly empty.
“Well, it’s terrible. My mom and dads got it into their heads that if they were open about sex, I wouldn’t get a complex.” Olivia sat down at a table for four, patting the chair beside her. “The complex is real. I’m afraid to walk into any door of my house. I learned to knock at a young age. How about you? Your parents uptight?”
“Oh, my parents are kind of… I don’t know what they are. My mom left when I was seven and Dad remarried and started a new family, and I was kind of like the unpaid babysitter. Let’s just say I find Cinderella triggering.” Why had she said that? She’d learned to say as little as possible about herself over the last couple of years. She’d learned to blend into the background so as few people as possible noticed her.
Maybe that was way easier in the big cities she’d been in or the tiny farm towns where no one looked at her at all because she’d been picking tomatoes or helping bring in the citrus crop. She’d melted into groups that no one wanted to acknowledge existed because they were paid mostly under the table.