Chapter 28
Seven Weeks Later
Macey
Find Your Mr. Darcy. I read and reread the four words painted in gold block lettering on the wall behind The Cowherd’s jail cell.
Ugh.
I’ve been standing in front of the one hundred and fifty-year-old locked cell in The Cowherd liquor room for over five minutes, putting off the inevitable. The set of papers I need to sign are laying on my desk behind me, but I don’t sit down yet.
Instead, I clasp the worn steel bars of the jail cell with one hand and hold the large antique gold key in the other, wanting so badly to unlock the door and pretend I’m setting free a ghost I know is just make-believe, anyway.
Because this year is the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the town’s founding, it marks the supposed deadline for Jane Austen’s ghost to be liberated.
So, my parents are extra antsy about what will happen to our profits after July fourth.
I turn around and cross the few steps to my desk where I put away the key and take a seat.
Time to make it official, Macey.
The divorce papers stare back at me where they’ve been sitting, gathering dust on top of my desk. I can’t believe I still haven’t signed them.
I never thought I’d get divorced. My motto has always been “Do everything the opposite of Mama,” and no divorce was at the top of that list. But so was no marriage, and I blew that to bits already, too.
I pick up a pen and then drop the cover onto my lap. Which reminds me that these cut-off shorts are the same ones I was wearing the night Logan and I married. And this half-shirt is the one he put his hands underneath three years ago. Clearly I need to buy some new clothes.
My gaze lands on the photo of the red bluffs with a brilliant blue background propped on the corner of my desk.
I flip over the postcard from West Texas and reread Logan’s scrawled—Hey Bartender and Future Author, Wish you were here, the weather’s fine—for the umpteenth time.
The only time I’ve heard from him, and that was weeks ago.
He’s probably flying through the desert on his motorcycle right now, heading out to paint the sunset until the hot red sun disappears over the horizon.
When his daddy found out about our drunken wedding, Mr. Wild told Logan he had to “grow up right now, you hear me?” Being the youngest of four sons was no longer going to help Logan avoid his father’s insistence on him taking over Wild Ranch with his brothers.
So when Logan came to me the afternoon after we returned from our Vegas trip—divorce papers in hand but his face pale—I told him to take a painting vacation.
“You look like you could use a break, Logan.”
“It’s funny you say that,” he said slowly. “Because I do need to take a trip.”
Something about the way he said it sounded strange…
“What do you mean? To Montana to see Luke and them?”
“No. A trip on my bike.”
Logan loves his motorcycle almost as much as he loves his truck. I don’t know which he’d be willing to give up if he had to choose.
“You know where you should go?” I said excitedly. “Boston. You could visit your friend, Diego, and you could paint.”
Logan went to Boston to take painting courses years ago, and he came home armed with the knowledge he needed to eventually make painting into a career. Even if it took years to get there, that was his goal. It still is his goal.
An unnamed emotion crosses his expression.
“Actually,” he said. “I think I’m going to stay in-state. Maybe I’ll head west.”
“West Texas!” I said excitedly. “No people, no distractions. And beautiful landscape to paint. That’s just what you need. All you need is your supplies and your Harley.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And while I’m gone, you’ll start your first novel?”
“Um…” I stumbled. “I’ll…sure. I’ll try.” I forced myself to say the words, “And maybe you’ll even meet a pretty girl.”
Logan snorted. “Right.” He looked at me. “We’re back to dating other people though, right? We agreed that’s best.”
“Right.”
“Even if it’s just casual dating, we’ll…”
“Try it,” I said firmly. “Yes. Let’s do that. You date someone on your trip, and I’ll do the same here.”
“Deal.”
The sparkling of my ruby ring winking at me brings me back to the present. I twist the ring I never took off my left finger and push aside the divorce papers.
I’m still not past Vegas. At Ginny’s insistence, I’ve even tried what Logan and I decided on—I went on a few dates with a guy in town. Jamie is polite and friendly. He’s only kissed me on the cheek at the end of each date. And that’s all I’ve wanted. That’s more than I’ve wanted, even.
My father’s booming voice calls out to me from down the hall. “Macey! Come out here and take a look!”
I stand up and hurry down the hallway, stopping short when I see what’s happening in the bar.
Daddy and Evan, his sober companion, have just finished unfurling an oversized banner above the long u-shaped bar.
The banner is dangling from the wooden ceiling beams and hangs over the collection of gold-framed blurry photograph “sightings” of Jane Austen’s ghost.
I read the banner out loud—
Darcy’s soul mate couple will marry by Independence Day! Who are Darcy’s Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet? Don’t miss any upcoming weddings at The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel—the next one could be the match!
I step behind the bar and put my hands on my hips. “Daddy, what are you doing? Is the Texas heat finally getting to you?”
He’s too busy fiddling with the banner to even turn around and look at me. “Darlin’, I know you’re in charge for good now, but I’m still allowed to offer ideas and suggestions. And we need a new gimmick. This bar needs another spark.”
“We have enough going on this summer,” I say to the back of his gray head. “We’ve got a wedding booked. We conduct guided tours of The Cowherd and its jail cell. And I was just about to do this.” I hold up a bottle of brandy. “Who wants a Jane Austen brandy on the house?”
Old Dye Jenkins looks over. Dye’s wife, Donna, left him for the postman and rather than have to see her around town with her new family, Dye started coming here on the daily with his dog, Rusty.
To me, it feels like Dye soaks up every last morsel of human contact he can get before he has to go home alone to the same house and same bed he shared with Donna. He’s our best customer.
But even he passes on the house brandy.
From her barstool next to my mother, Ginny winces. “Wait until later, Macey,” she says as she fiddles with the straw in her glass of ginger ale. “Friday nights are usually pretty good in the summertime, right?”
I shrug. “Used to be. Not so much lately.”
The Wild Darcy Derby was a hit, but it was only enough to make up for the money lost from the safe. And after my father’s accident, The Cowherd’s reputation suffered.
I’ve had to work like hell to keep things going.
Mama doesn’t move from where her nose is buried in Vivian’s diary. She’s wearing her light yellow dress that shows far too much cleavage. Wedding dress number four—the one my siblings and I call Mama’s “I’m definitely getting back together with Ben Sr.” dress.
I shake my head and turn my attention back to my father. “Daddy, you’re just out of rehab. Trip number four point five.”
When my father was discharged eight months ago, the stint didn’t “expel the demons” as we all hoped they would.
So, last month, he made the decision to return to the clinic.
He did this on his own without any goring by a bull or crazy bike rides.
However, he did kiss another woman, and Mama was devastated.
As she should have been. She told him she was out.
So Daddy went off to rehab, where he stayed until yesterday. Mama visited him every day, despite what had happened, and Daddy wrote her long letters of apology. I told her to stay strong and make him clean up his act.
“You can be there for him as his friend, but you don’t have to take him back as a lover,” I said emphatically. “You deserve to be treated like a queen, Mama.”
But Daddy swears he’s ready to stay away from liquor now. He reads his Bible daily, and he carries it with him constantly, even earmarking crucial passages. I look at that as a win, and I know him agreeing to have a sober companion is definitely a step in the right direction. Still—
“You shouldn’t be anywhere near alcohol,” I say sternly.
My father ignores me and angles toward the bar, but I block him at the swing door.
“No!” I say firmly. I turn to his companion. “Sir, can you back me up?”
“Evan, it’s fine.” Daddy turns to Evan, the short, red-haired man with a friendly face, and then he refocuses on me. “I still own this bar,” he reminds me with a smile.
My father looks surprisingly good for a man twelve hours removed from rehab.
A little thin, but his brown eyes are clear, thank God, and his skin’s got good color.
His green plaid buttoned-down shirt is tucked into his new blue jeans—both a welcome home gift from his four children—and his gray hair is nicely trimmed.
Not even any facial stubble, a near miracle.
But just because he looks the part doesn’t make him any more trustworthy to his oldest daughter, who’s been officially helping him since she turned sixteen and unofficially since she was old enough to pour a drink without spilling it.
Perks of a small town where everyone knows everyone?
Little things like a minor serving alcohol get conveniently overlooked.
“And I still run it for you,” I say back as I point to the contract hanging on the wall.
“That’s right, Ben.” Mama nods at me and then gives my father a hard look.
Daddy throws up his hands in surrender at Mama. “I’m not arguing, Courtney.” He turns to me with a frown. “All I’m saying is the bar’s not doing well, baby. Not that anybody blames you. Far from it. But we need a punch to bring in extra revenue.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m well aware of The Cowherd’s financial issues.
But short of that mythical ghost down the hall going free by this July fourth”—I nod my head in the direction of the jail cell peeking out through the open doorway of the liquor room—“no gimmick is going to be big enough to bring The Cowherd into financial heaven.”
“Your mama’s idea matches perfectly with the Independence Day deadline,” Daddy says. “Tell her more, baby.”
Baby? I look at Ginny and lift my shoulder in a shrug.
All those indiscretions behind Mama’s back over the years, and she still just takes my father back again and again. I don’t care if he doesn’t always cheat and that he only does it when he’s drunk. The point is, he’s done it. And he’s done it more than once.
This is exactly why it’s safer to stay single. If you don’t give your heart away, it can’t be broken.
Mama raises her big blue eyes from the diary and smiles broadly. “I said to your daddy, ‘let’s pick the soul mate couple ourselves!’ We’ll market the wedding and invite reporters from out of town. This banner is just the first step. The soul mates’ wedding will be a huge event!”
“But it will be a lie!” I tug hard at my wavy hair, my age-old habit of trying to straighten what cannot be straightened. “We have no idea who the soul mates are or if they even exist. We can’t just make up crap like that.”
“How do you know it’s a lie?” Mama frowns at my hand tangled in my hair.
“Oh, Macey, please don’t play with your hair.
The waviness just gets frizzy when you touch it like that.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the soul mates.
According to the legend, if the couple doesn’t marry by July fourth, the spell is permanent, and Jane’s ghost is forever trapped.
I know God wouldn’t want for that to happen to such a talented author.
So, God will make sure the soul mates marry at last. We’re just getting a head start on marketing.
All we need to do is locate our real-life Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet—a romantic, crazy-in-love couple who would make Jane Austen proud. ”
“I don’t like this plan.” I rest my head on my hand. “But I think I’m going to be outnumbered.”
“Macey, who’s on the calendar between now and July fourth?” Daddy asks me.
I don’t want to tell him only one couple, so I say, “Ginny and Dave are marrying here. They’re a very marketable pair.”
Silence.
Daddy looks closely at Ginny, and his smile slips. Mama’s gaze drifts into space like she’s remembering Dave, or maybe how she felt as a knocked-up bride having a shotgun wedding with a drunk philanderer.
“It’s okay.” Ginny puts her hands protectively over her barely-showing belly. “I wouldn’t pick me either.”
Before I can defend her, Evan turns to me. “What about you, Macey? You’d make a great Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Don’t encourage them, Evan!” I say in warning. “I already fake married once for the sake of the family business. That was enough. I’m never getting legally married.” At the four sets of raised eyebrows, I add, “Again.”
“You’re a secret romantic,” Daddy teases me.
“Maybe in theory that’s true,” I say. “But you’re trying to mix fantasy with real life. It doesn’t work. We’re all aware that no Darcy and Elizabeth are out there to save Jane Austen’s ghost—you know why? Because the ghost legend is just that—fiction. A romantic tale that’s sweet but not real.”
“Vivian’s diary is as real as you or I are.
” Mama picks up the age-old book and waves it at all four of us.
“The witch who cast the spell on Jane’s ghost had several stipulations for the couple who would break the curse.
And Vivian scatters those stipulations throughout her writings—the hero must have cowboy roots and the heroine a drop of British blood.
Those are just two of the requirements—fascinating stuff.
” Mama leans forward to whisper into my ear.
“Mace, remember your scar. You need the soul mates to be discovered, baby. More than anyone else in this town, your future is linked to poor Jane’s ghost going free. ”
“Mama.” I glare at her and step back. “Another time, okay?”
Daddy mercifully asks Mama if she wants a ride home, and she accepts with a giggle.
“Leave your hair alone, and you tell your sister to call me!” Mama calls back to me as she exits.