Chapter Six
September, fourteen years ago
Mitch
Not even in his wildest dreams had Mitch imagined that his first time in a bar would be in a place called Betty’s Hens Saloon. Its interior oozed bohemian vibes crossed with a rodeo and the set of an old Western. He couldn’t keep his head still, eyes ping-ponging around as he took everything in.
Tall, fake potted cacti with pink ribbons tied around them stood in the corners.
Diamanté cowboy hats hung on the wall opposite the bar.
Whiskey barrels served as tables, decorated with tall, cream candles dripping their wax straight onto the wood.
The place was so packed that Mitch felt like someone had dropped him into a buzzing beehive.
People were laughing, chatting and drinking.
He spotted a couple squashed into a bench in the corner of the room, their lips sealed so tightly, as though glued together.
With his fake ID in his pocket, wearing his cowboy boots only for the second time since he’d arrived in Austin, and a hat he’d bought the other day, Mitch might’ve looked like he belonged, but he felt as out of place as humanly possible.
But none of it could trump the wonder filling him at the thought that he was here with Jackie.
After flashing her fake ID and a gorgeous smile at a bouncer who simply nodded and smiled back at her, Jackie strolled into the bar like she owned the place, swaying her hips to the chorus of a country song Mitch knew: “Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson.
The barmaid waved to her and Jackie grinned at two men in black leather jackets sitting at the bar.
No one was dancing, but Jackie didn’t seem to care. Eyes closed, she moved to the music, singing along. Her long, glossy hair caught the neon light above the bar. She threw her hands up in the air, jumping up and down as the chorus came on again, like she was in her own little bubble.
And Mitch couldn’t take his eyes off her.
As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one. After Jackie hit every single note at the end of the song, several patrons clapped their hands.
Jackie laughed, pushing a hand to her chest and fiddling with tangled chains. She bowed to a table of women in the corner, who gave her another round of applause.
One of the leather-clad men materialized next to Mitch. “You’re punching way above your weight,” he barked in a gruff voice.
Mitch bit his bottom lip. “Don’t I know it.” He turned his head, finding the man staring at him.
“As long as you do. If you as much as hurt a hair on her pretty head, you’ll have me and Gilbert there to answer to.” The man nodded to the other leather-clad guy.
Mitch choked on a laugh. He tried but failed to mask it with a cough but didn’t do a very good job. “Roger that, sir.”
“You think my husband’s name’s funny? I can give you something to laugh about.”
“Uncle Albert!” Jackie ran up to him, slinging her arm around his neck. “How nice to see you! And Uncle Gilbert, too. I didn’t know you were back from France!”
She stepped back and pressed her body into Mitch’s, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. These scary dudes were a couple, and they were her uncles? He wasn’t sure anything else could surprise him tonight.
“You took me to a bar your uncles come to?” he blurted. Then, remembering where he was, he leaned closer and whispered into her ear: “With fake IDs?”
His nose briefly met her hair, and he breathed in the scent of some sweet, fruity concoction.
“They’re cool. They won’t tell,” she whispered back.
Mitch was still eyeing Albert warily. At least his thinly veiled threat made a bit more sense now.
Albert laughed, pushing his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “We’re very cool, as long as you’re happy, princess. We’re going to head out, though, so you can enjoy yourselves without feeling like we’re breathing down your neck.”
Jackie pouted. “No, stay! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Albert’s brows rose, his eyes on Mitch. “This one won’t relax if we don’t go.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I can sense courage like a dog who gets a whiff of a sausage. And his is already in negative figures.”
Mitch balled his hands into fists, hiding them behind his back. “I’m not a chicken,” he told Albert, even though he was intimidated all right.
Albert’s lips quirked in an amused smirk.
“You can even be a turkey for all I care. As long as you remember my friendly advice.” He caught his husband’s attention and tipped his head toward the exit.
They said their goodbyes, with Albert shooting Mitch one last warning glare when Jackie’s attention turned back to the bar.
Mitch let out a deep breath, wanting to rid his lungs of all the air contaminated with the fear he’d been holding in.
Someone tinkered with the jukebox and his ears filled with the opening notes of a soft ballad.
Mitch smiled to himself. He knew this one, too.
It was the first song that had ever brought a tear to his eye—“Whiskey Lullaby” by Alison Krauss and Brad Paisley.
He swallowed through a lump in his throat, shutting his ears to the lyrics. There’d be no tears tonight.
Jackie tugged on his rolled-up shirtsleeve, pulling him toward the bar. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s get a drink.”
They weaved between a few slow-dancing couples along the way.
When they reached the bar, Mitch leaned his elbows over it but almost immediately furrowed his brow as his skin stuck to the surface.
He shot Jackie a questioning look. She continued to hum under her breath to the music, but he knew she’d noticed; her lips quirked up by half an inch.
Maybe someone else would’ve missed it, but tonight, he found himself wholly mesmerized by Jackie. He doubted anything would escape him.
Jackie pushed herself off the bar and jumped up, pressing a quick kiss on the barmaid’s cheek. “Betty, hi!”
Betty, the barmaid, was a short and plump woman with dark brown skin and short hair, tied into two braids.
She wore a pink T-shirt, with the outline of a woman on top of a bucking horse.
The print read: Cowgirls do it better. Setting aside a martini glass, she beamed.
“Jacks! Long time no see!” She glanced at Mitch and her brows shot up. “And who do we have here?”
“Mitch Craigton, ma’am.” He extended his hand to her, but she waved him off.
“Handsome young men can’t call me ma’am in my own bar. It’s up on the board, see?” Betty pointed to a blackboard behind her.
He squinted, struggling to make sense of the tiny writing in white chalk. Betty’s Hens Saloon Rules, it read at the top, underlined. 1. No one is allowed to call the owner, Beautiful Betty, ma’am.
“My apologies, didn’t see that,” Mitch said.
Jackie burst in to laughter.
That was the last, very flimsy, straw to release his smile.
Since he’d met Jackie, new excitement and curiosity had begun swirling inside his body.
Up to this point, his life had been an orderly, and rather boring, affair.
Studying and swimming. There hadn’t been much more to it.
Group outings to the cinema or bowling with some friends or his swim team, once every blue moon, after meticulous planning on his mother’s part. No space was ever left for spontaneity.
Mitch straightened his back, looking directly into Betty’s amused, brown eyes. “All right, Betty. Can we get two beers?”
Betty pursed her lips as the sparkles from the diamanté weaved into the hats nearby danced in her eyes. “What beer? It ain’t as if I only have one type.”
Jackie hooked her arm under Mitch’s, pressing her body into his. “Stop torturing him, Betty. It’s his first time in a bar. Get him a Lone Star. I’ll have my usual.”
Betty nodded at Jackie. Then, she tilted her head and looked at Mitch. “That means a Long Island Iced Tea, cowboy. Remember that, so you know what to get her next time.”
Another song started and Jackie squealed in delight, tugging on his forearm. “I love ‘Cowboy Casanova’! Is this the kind of cowboy you’d like to be?”
A mock-exasperated sigh slipped off Mitch’s lips. “Is it so obvious I want to be a cowboy?”
Jackie snorted. “Oh, please. A highly decorated swimmer from Portland moves all the way to Austin for college? I’m sure you had offers closer to home.” She pushed away his hand in which he held cash and told Betty to put it on her tab. “You must have had a certain hankering.”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me what it is.”
Jackie chewed her bottom lip, lifting the drink to her lips. “I’m pretty confident after tonight I’ll be a big part of it.” She took a sip of her cocktail, licked her lips and touched the pendant of one of her necklaces, hidden inside her cleavage.
They didn’t break eye contact for a long time.
Mitch swallowed hard, oblivious to his beer bottle gathering condensation on the bar.
Damn it all, this girl. How was he meant to keep his head screwed on straight?
Hopeless, all of it. From an awkward teenager who’d kissed a girl only once at a birthday party during Seven Minutes in Heaven, to a college freshman who had somehow managed to get the attention of no doubt the most spectacular girl in Austin.
Probably even Texas. Now this bold girl, who seemed unfazed by anything and had a personality larger than life itself, picked him?
Jackie closed her eyes again, singing along to “Chicken Fried”. The carefree happiness radiating off her momentarily blinded him.
Fuck, I love Texas, he thought.
She was the most gorgeous girl in the whole wide world.
And he was not going to miss his shot.
With his pristine cowboy boots stuck to the grimy floor of Betty’s Hens Saloon, Mitch wrapped his fingers around the bottle, tipped his head back and took a long swig of beer.