The Backup Plan (Lone Star Rebels #1)

CHAPTER ONE

Emery

“You’re really just going to walk into a bar alone and have a drink?”

Trish’s voice comes through my phone, half in disbelief, half in delight, like she’s already pouring herself a glass of wine to celebrate me stepping into my new skin.

Or bravely trying to.

“Yes.” I nod as if that’s going to give me courage. I slip my key card back into my purse as the elevator doors slide open. “I am.”

“This is not like you at all, Emery.”

I step out into the warm July night. The air is thick and buzzing and alive. Music spills from somewhere down the street as people mill about. Laughter and hope are in the air all around me.

“Neither is picking up my entire life and moving across country on two weeks’ notice,” I say, “but I did that too, right?”

She hums. “Fair point.” Then pauses. “I’m still impressed you had the courage to do that.”

“One hell of an opportunity and a life that needed to restart will do that to anyone.” I chuckle. “It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.”

I start moving through Rainey Street. Past the numerous restaurants and bars and around people talking—and some arguing. I glance at the window to my left and pause when I see my reflection. I look . . . different. Lighter. Not weighed down by compromise or expectation.

I smile, and it feels so damn good.

“Well, at least it sounds like the hotel the team put you up in is in a cool location.”

“It is. Super trendy. Super eclectic. I love it.”

“When will your apartment be ready?”

“Temporary housing,” I say. “Which is code for beige walls and furniture that probably looks nice but is as uncomfortable as hell. But at least there is furniture so I’m not complaining.”

“True and you hate beige.”

“More like loathe.” Especially since it was Jared’s favorite color. “Apparently there was an issue with the water or plumbing or something I don’t understand at the complex, but it should be ready tomorrow. They’ll move what I shipped, so I’ll have a place to go after I get off work.”

“After your first, official day.”

“Yes. That. But don’t remind me or I’ll get nervous.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve got this.” Trish’s my number one cheerleader and has been my best friend since tenth grade.

“I do,” I murmur as I stop outside a bar. The bright orange and red sign catches my eye. The Wild Rooster.

Despite my thirty-five years, I don’t think I’ve ever walked into a bar on my own. I’ve never gone into one where I don’t know a single person or not had someone waiting to meet me. It’s unnerving. It’s intimidating. It’s exciting.

“It’s okay if you decide not to go in.”

“Says the manager of all my expectations.” I pause. Reconsider. You’ve never been particularly brave, Emery. It’s one of the reasons I can’t do this anymore. Fuck that. “No. I’m going in. I want to prove to myself that I can.”

She pauses and then says softly, “I’m proud of you, Em.”

The tightness is my chest loosens. “Thanks. I’m trying.” Baby steps.

“Fresh starts aren’t easy, but you’re handling it better than anyone I know.”

I chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Don’t make me get teary-eyed. I might back out.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve got this. Have fun,” she says and then hangs up promptly, knowing I’m probably wavering.

But I’m not. Won’t. I draw in a deep breath and walk through the doors.

Because she’s right, this is my fresh start.

Because I didn’t come all this way to hide—which was how I felt like I was living life in Colorado.

The bar is dim and warm and full without being crowded. The music is low but upbeat, and the waitresses are wearing tight tops, short shorts, and cowboy boots. On brand for Texas. The décor seems to be one theme—wood. On the walls. On the floor. The tables. The chairs.

From the sign outside, I expected it to be livelier. Now that I’ve stepped into it, it feels like a place where people come to be anonymous or seen—depending on what exactly they need.

My nerve wavers but I force myself to keep walking despite the few heads turning to follow my movement. I slide onto a barstool near one of the ends and draw in a deep, fortifying breath.

Can’t back out now.

“New face,” the bartender says with a smile. “What can I get you?”

“Red wine?” I ask more than a request. “Whatever you recommend.”

“Sure thing. Celebrating something?” he asks as he pours.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You look nervous, like this isn’t something you do every day, so I figured there has to be a reason.”

I smile and appreciate how he’s trying to put me at ease. “Yes. A dream job. A change of scenery.”

“Congrats.” He sets the glass in front of me. “Welcome to Austin.”

I lift the glass, inhale, and take a sip.

Welcome to Austin, Emery.

God, I needed this. No more bad memories. No more shared space. No more hanging on to an unfulfilling life.

“This seat taken?”

I glance to my left and the gravelly voice. The man is . . . fine. Tall. Confident. Wearing a pink polo shirt with the collar popped, he’s smiling in a way that suggests he’s used to hearing yes. First thought—frat boy who never grew up. My second thought?

“Yes. It’s taken,” I say.

He chuckles like he thinks I’m kidding. “By whom?” He exaggerates how he swivels his head to look left and right like he knows I’m lying.

I’m so over men who decide my no is negotiable.

“Me,” I say and turn back to my wine, clearly putting off the I’m not interested vibes.

He doesn’t move. “You from around here?” he asks.

“No.” I keep looking at my glass and how I’m swirling it.

“Figured.” He signals the bartender. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“I’m good,” I say, polite but firm.

He leans in closer. “Come on. One drink. A welcome to Austin glass.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

I glance his way and something in his smile tightens.

The bartender sets another glass down—did I ask for that? Is it professional courtesy so that the guy next to me doesn’t keep bugging me?

I smile at the bartender, not wanting to make a scene. Not wanting to be the woman who overreacts. “Thanks.”

The bartender’s focus is already on a large party at the other end of the bar, calling him over. So I finish the sip of my existing glass and push the empty back across the bar, grateful Pink Polo Guy has sat down but isn’t badgering me anymore.

“Excuse me,” a woman to my right says. “Is this your purse?”

I turn to find her picking my purse up off the ground. “Yes. Oh my God. Thank you so much.” I take my purse from her.

“Mine always slips off the stupid chair backs too,” she says with a warm smile.

“Thank you. Again.” I place my purse over my shoulder so that I don’t have to worry about it and turn back to my wine.

“Didn’t mean to come on too strong,” Pink Polo Guy says like we didn’t miss a beat. “I figured having a little company didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I get it. I do. And I appreciate the offer of a drink, but I prefer not to owe anyone anything, if that makes sense.”

His eyebrows narrow and he barks out a startled laugh. “Are you implying that if I paid for your drink like I just did while you were getting your purse that I’d expect something in return?”

Way to stick my foot in my mouth and treat what seems like a nice man like a jerk.

“No. Of course not.” I take a sip of my wine. “And thank you, but I can buy my own drinks.”

“Never thought you couldn’t, but my momma taught me to always treat the lady.”

“Hmm,” I say.

Despite the bartender’s kindness—and the extra attention—this isn’t really my scene. I did what I came here to do, to prove to myself that I can have a drink on my own, and now I can report to Trish on my way out that I did just that.

“Hey, newbie,” the bartender says as he slides another glass in front of me.

“I didn’t—”

“Guy over there is celebrating a new, dream job too. I told him must be the night for it, so he wanted to buy you a drink to celebrate.” He points to a group on the far side of the bar where a man is looking my way and when he lifts his glass up, the people around him cheer.

I do the same with mine and earn an equal cheer. I mouth the words, “Thank you,” to him.

I smile as I take my next sip, feeling proud of myself. I held my own and walked in a bar on my own.

New town. New me. New experiences.