Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Do y’all mind not staring at us like a bunch of fucking assholes?” Noah shouts into the dimly lit, overly crowded bar of Rib Cage Tavern.
I drop my eyes to the concrete floor, blood rushing to my overheated ears as every face that wasn’t already looking at us turns our way. Dammit. I knew my presence would draw attention, but I’d forgotten to account for Noah’s uncanny ability to make everything ten times worse.
After drawing in a sharp breath, I pick my eyes up off the floor, realizing too late what a mistake that was when the room starts spinning. The overpowering mix of perfume, stale beer, wet wood from a leak in the roof, and something sickly sweet—from what I assume is a cocktail mixer or barbecue sauce—is possibly the worst combination of odors ever.
I take a deep inhale from my lemon infused bandana and pull my next breaths through my mouth, which isn’t quite so bad.
Dad and I have been here a few times for lunch, but we always sit on the patio where the air smells like brisket and smoked turkey with small traces of the cedar trees lining the property. I thought more of that delicious aroma would permeate in here, but I guess the thick Country Rubble walls adorned with various metal street signs and neon beer logos create two distinct biospheres—one appetizing and the other reeking of bad decisions.
In the 1920s, this place was called The Devil’s Rib Cage, derived from the curved wood-plank ceiling that’s now covered in hundreds of dollar bills. But somewhere along the way, I guess they forced the Devil out of Deadwood.
Even so, with the haunting red-orange glow of the beer signs and how humid it is in here with all these bodies packed tightly together, I can’t help but wonder if the original name might’ve been more fitting.
Someone fires up George Strait’s “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” on the jukebox, and the room erupts into dismayed groans from the younger crowd and hoots and hollers from the elder patrons—both reactions thankfully taking the attention off of us, allowing Noah and Ryker to abandon me for their friends on the opposite side of the room and me to finally relax my shoulders.
The floor clears, and a few couples pair off to start two-stepping as I hover by the door.
Among them, I spot Isabel’s older brother, Marco, dragging a reluctant Luciana García, Deadwood’s mayor and Rib Cage’s owner, out onto the floor. The woman is in her mid-forties and absolutely gorgeous. She’s also smart as hell and has a tongue sharper than a blade.
Damn . Marco’s braver than I give him credit for. Isabel’s brother might be Deadwood’s most eligible bachelor, but he’s also the nicest guy in town. Last week, I saw him literally help a little old lady cross the street. And even though he’d received a full-ride scholarship for football to the University of North Texas and probably could have gone pro, he still came home after graduating to help run his family’s hardware store and take care of his grandparents.
I’m not sure who was happier to see him, Isabel or my brother—which is a little weird since Noah and Marco barely hung out in high school .
Marco gives me a wink, his dark hair falling forward, making him look like one of the stars in the telenovela their grandma is always watching as he maneuvers poor Luciana into a low dip.
He spins her, and from the corner of the bar, Noah claps and shouts encouragements. A reluctant smile spreads across my cheeks at the sight of my brother’s infectious grin, but it’s quickly wiped away when a scowling Ryker hands Noah a beer and leans over to whisper something in his ear.
Draining the bottle, Noah scans the room, his carefree expression falling the second he sees a group of cowboys from Crowe Ranch. The same group that usually hangs out with Cooper Blackthorne. Thankfully, Cooper is nowhere in sight, but as if a rain cloud appeared over his head, Noah’s entire demeanor changes. He chugs his beer in one go and plucks another bottle out of the bucket on the table.
Perfect. If he keeps going at this rate, I’ll be carrying him home in a few hours. What the hell did Ryker say to make him react like that?
“Willa?”
I’ve barely turned around when I’m ripped into a warm, jasmine-scented embrace and dragged through the crowd to the overly shellacked bar.
“Sit,” Isabel shouts above the music before shoving me onto the vacant stool beneath a string of red, white, and blue bunting connected between two pillars on opposite ends of the bar.
For a split second, I wonder how I lucked out with the only open seat in the room, but then I scoot back a little and the whole damn stool wobbles so violently I nearly topple over. It happens two more times while Isabel makes her way behind the bar, but eventually I find a good position.
Leaning across the ancient countertop, she wiggles her perfectly manicured brows conspiratorially. “Quick, tell me what you want to drink before Luciana comes back.”
A smile creeps over my lips. This is exactly why no one under the age of twenty-one should be allowed to bartend, but Texas laws don’t make sense, so who am I to argue?
I scan the wall behind her, unfamiliar with any of the labels except a few of the beers I’ve seen at the house. “I don’t care. Give me whatever I’m least likely to get caught with. Go easy, though, I’m driving.”
“Done.” Isabel dumps at least two shots’ worth of vodka into a clear pint glass and fills the rest up with soda water before sliding it across the bar.
“ Isabel ,” I chastise, “that’s not going easy. Are you trying to kill me?”
“You’ll be fine.” She pushes the drink closer and lifts a brow in challenge. “You said you wanted to live a little. Here’s your chance.”
“I never should have shown you my bucket list,” I grumble, eyeing the fizzing concoction. She’s right, though. Knowing Noah, we’ll be here for hours… Plenty of time to sober up before I need to drive home. Ah, to hell with it.
Clutching the glass, I take one massive gulp and immediately start choking. “Holy shit,” I sputter, trying not to gag. “That tastes like nail polish remover.” Mouth puckered, I push the glass back across the bar. “I can’t drink that.”
“ Shh . Keep your voice down!” Isabel hisses, reaching for a lime that she squirts in the general vicinity of my glass, like that will somehow make it taste better. “I don’t care how gross it is, you better act like it’s candy because we have incoming and I can’t afford to go to jail.” She grabs a rag and starts wiping down the bar.
“What do you mean?—”
“Willa Dunn.” My spine stiffens at the abrasive tone of Mayor García’s voice. “You’re way too young to be sitting at my bar. Get the hell up and move to a table.”
I turn on the stool, hunching my shoulders as I give her denim on denim and turquoise jewelry a quick once-over. I’ve always loved her sense of fashion, but obviously now’s not the time to tell her. Instead, I drop my eyes to the floor.
“My brother needed a sober driver,” I offer, doing my best to sound repentant. “I was sort of hoping I could hang out here with Isabel and keep an eye on him instead of sitting alone in my empty house.” I lift my gaze to hers, pushing out my lower lip in a ridiculous pout.
As if on cue, Noah lets out an obnoxiously loud and very drunk-sounding laugh from across the bar.
“Oh.” Luciana’s frown falters, the crinkle near her eyes softening as she shuffles from one foot to the other. She reaches for me, her delicate hand hovering a few inches from my forearm before dropping. “I forgot Joel was working tonight… Fine. You can stay. Just don’t distract my bartender and don’t let me catch you drinking.”
I flash her a brilliant smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She continues staring at me, her expression too thoughtful, like she’s already second guessing her choice.
“I promise I’ll behave,” I say quickly. “All these work trips the chief has Dad going on have made him more irritable than ever. I’m not going to risk my hide by doing something stupid in the mayor’s bar.”
Eyes narrowing, Luciana tilts her head. “Joel’s been traveling for work?”
“ Mm-hmm .” I bob my chin. “To Austin, mostly.”
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then her lips pinch together. “Right, of course. How could I have forgotten?”
You’d think she’d know how her departments are spending their funds, but I suppose that’d be a lot for anyone to keep track of. We stare at one another for a tense moment, and I’m convinced she can smell the vodka in my drink, but then she gives me an awkward smile.
“Okay, well…” The front door swings open, and Luciana glances over her shoulder, cursing under her breath as she takes a backward step. “Excuse me, I need to talk to Dominic Cromwell about that fucking fence he put up on Main Street.” She gives me one last stilted smile and disappears into the crowd .
“ Holy shit . She didn’t even look at my drink.” I spin around to face Isabel, who’s blinking at me with her jaw practically on the floor.
“You dirty rat,” she says through an incredulous laugh. “I’ve never seen you play the sympathy card on purpose before! Do you think that would work at the liquor store?”
I shake my head vigorously, the motion sending a potent wave of lemon into the air. “There’s absolutely no chance I’m going to try that somewhere with security cameras. My dad would literally kill me if he found out.”
I cringe at my poor choice of words, but thankfully Isabel doesn’t seem to catch it.
“Fine.” She throws a wicked grin in my direction. “But if people want to treat you like you’re made of glass, it’s about time you start using it to your advantage.”
The corners of my mouth tug downward. I’ve never thought about it in those terms before, but it’s as good a description as any. Isabel, Noah, Dad, and even the Crowes are all guilty of treating me like they’re afraid I might shatter at any moment. Honestly, I’m not sure which one is worse: being teased or coddled.
The realization that those have been my only two experiences with the fine citizens of Deadwood makes it painfully obvious that if I stay, I’ll never escape the past.
My mind wanders to the acceptance letter burning a hole in my pocket and then to Dad’s reaction when I tried to talk to him at dinner the other day. How am I ever going to break free of this place if every time I bring up Austin, he immediately shuts down the conversation?
“Why are you making that face?” Isabel prompts, placing a beer in front of the guy sitting next to me.
“It’s stupid,” I say, glancing at the man for the first time and realizing I’ve never seen him around town before. Why does it look like he spilled ink on his inner wrist? And who wears a suit to a dive bar?
Isabel reaches for my hand. “Lay it on me.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone? ”
She releases me to draw a T for trust over her heart, and I roll my eyes.
“What?” she gasps, pretending to be affronted. “You cross your fingers if you’re lying. Why wouldn’t crossing your heart mean the same thing? Go on now, spill.”
After another glance at the suited guy next to me to make sure I don’t know him, I lower my voice. “I got into UT.”
Isabel squeals loudly enough that half the bar glances our way. “Sorry,” she murmurs once they return their attention to their drinks. “I’m just so freaking excited.”
I take an enormous sip from my glass, enjoying the burn of lime and vodka sliding down my throat. “Don’t get too excited. I haven’t told my dad or accepted the offer of admission yet.”
Isabel bobs her head, as if processing. Then her eyes brighten. “Give me your phone. I’ll do it for you.” Again, I roll my eyes, but she holds out her hand forcefully. “I’m serious. It takes less than a minute to enroll. You can complete all the financial forms at home and worry about telling your family later.”
When I make no move to reach for my phone, she frowns and brings her hands to her hips. “Willa Dunn, you’ve been plotting your escape from this town for as long as I’ve known you. Are you seriously going to chicken out now that you have your chance?”
Okay, damn.
“I’m not chickening out, I just haven’t decided if I should go yet.” My eyes drop to the sticky bar top. “And you know my dad hates the idea of me living in the city. Every time I bring it up, he just reminds me how much he and Noah need me at home…”
“They’re grown-ass men,” Isabel insists before glancing at Noah, who’s attempting a very sloppy cartwheel by the jukebox. “Well, at least your dad is.”
She grabs my arm. “It’s a big change, but I’ll be there with you. Don’t let your family hold you back from going after what you want. More importantly, don’t use them as an excuse because you’re scared. ”
Her words hit me so hard I nearly tumble off my wobbly stool.
She’s right. That’s exactly what I’m doing…
Before I can overthink it, I rip my phone from my pocket. It takes less than two minutes to fill out all the forms, including my credit card information for the rather pricey deposit. But when it comes time to hit Submit, my thumb hovers above the screen.
Sweat pools at the base of my spine while the obscenely loud chatter of the bar rises up around me, battering against my senses like a physical assault. I try to drown it out, but that only makes the individual lines of conversation clearer.
“No, the Old Town Square is always too crowded on the Fourth. I’ll be watchin’ the fireworks from home this year,” a bored-sounding man says behind me.
“Have they figured out who that weirdo at the eclipse party was yet?” comes a woman’s voice from my right.
Then someone on the dance floor says, “Is that Willa Dunn sitting alone at the bar? Poor thing, I can’t imagine not having any friends. I think I’d die if ? —”
My thumb slams down on the Submit button.
Throat dry and neck stiff, I turn my phone to show Isabel the ‘Congratulations on your Enrollment’ message stamped across my screen.
She squeals, a sparkling grin pulling at the corners of her glossed lips. “Holy shit, you did it? We’re officially going to school together next year?”
I bite my lip and nod. “Yep. I’m moving to Austin.”
My heart thumps wildly against my rib cage. But for once in my life, it’s not fear or anxiety making my pulse race…it’s excitement. It’s the promise of freedom. A weight lifting off my shoulders?—
The ear-splitting shriek of a record scratching tears through the bar, and I clamp my hands over my ears to shield them from the god-awful clamor. The entirety of the tavern erupts into boos and shouts of disapproval as the twangy guitar intro of “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” starts over again on the jukebox .
Isabel frowns. “Damn thing’s been on the fritz for days. I’m going to go find Luciana and see if she can fix it. Hang tight, I’ll be right back so we can talk about apartments, okay?”
Slightly overwhelmed, I bob my head.
It’s official, I’m finally getting out of Deadwood…
The jukebox makes another scratching noise, and then the same George Strait song starts over. This time, though, it only plays the first few seconds before starting over again.
And again.
And again.
Despite the hot, stale air inside the bar, a chill runs up my spine, the hairs on my neck rising. Slowly and in unison, the entire room stops what they’re doing to stare at the jukebox.
Earlier the song seemed playful, nostalgic even, but there’s something about those same four twangy notes repeating over and over again that’s a little haunting—the warbly tune suddenly sounding like the soundtrack from a horror movie.
I look around, making brief eye contact with Ryker, who’s leaning against the wall in the far corner with his hands in his pockets, a good five feet away from the table of his and Noah’s friends.
The dim overhead lights flicker, and several women shriek when we’re cast into darkness for a split second.
“Alright, everyone, calm down,” my brother shouts, rising unsteadily to his feet and crossing the room in a few long strides. “No need to get your panties in a twist, Noah Dunn will fix it.”
Once he’s standing in front of the jukebox, he raises his fist and—despite the loud protests around him—brings it down like a hammer. The machine squeals, the pitch becoming progressively higher and higher until I’m sure it’s seconds away from exploding… Then, as if nothing was ever wrong, it goes quiet and moves on to the next song in the queue.
I let loose a long breath. Maybe we’re just all on edge from the hooded figure at the Springs yesterday…
Several of the old-timers meander up to my brother’s side, surrounding him with congratulatory claps on the back and handing him a beer and a shot full of amber liquid that he promptly guzzles. When he sets the glasses down, his cheeks are pink and his smile is bright beneath his mustache. Even though I’ll be the one stuck taking care of his drunk ass later, he looks so pleased I can’t find it in myself to be upset.
Noah and I are so different that sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re related. Not only are his blue-gray eyes and fair hair the opposite of my brown locks and hazel ones, but where I tend to find social interactions draining, my brother feeds off of them. He’s always making sure everyone around him is having a good time, and people love him for it.
Sometimes when I see him like this, all relaxed and carefree, I find myself wondering what kind of life he could’ve had without the burden of me as a sister…
If I’d died in that fire, would my memory drag him down the same way my survival did?
I grab my drink, wobbling on my unsteady stool as I drain the cup. The warmth from the bubbling liquid spreads through my chest, leaving my body feeling light and my head clear.
But the relief of a quiet mind is fleeting, interrupted by the potent scent of leather and whiskey as a broad shadow approaches from my left.