Chapter Thirteen
A sea of hats greeted them inside the Bootleg, along with an upbeat blast of a country western two-step.
On the busy dance floor, boots slapped in time to the Electric Slide.
Spectators clapped and offered appreciative whistles and catcalls.
Under the glassy eyes of mounted game and chandeliers made of crisscrossed antlers, weekend revelers drank and mingled.
“There she is,” Sassy announced after spotting Soledad waving furiously through the crowd to get her and Nick’s attention. “She’s already grabbed us a table.”
“All right,” Nick said, angling his body toward Sassy. In the crush around them, his hands went to her waist, and she tried not to shiver at his touch or forced proximity. “The line at the bar’s nothing to laugh at, so I’ll grab us a couple of beers and meet you over there.”
“Good luck,” she said before they parted ways.
She needed some space. His touch still scalded her cheek, and she caught herself lifting her hand to cup it.
She focused instead on fighting her way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crush.
A few friendly locals stopped her to exchange greetings.
Someone unseen tapped her south of the belt.
Wisely, whoever it was ran before she could dislocate his digits.
Evander veered into her path, his standard top knot undone so that his hair flowed down to the shoulders of his rhinestone-studded western-style shirt. “Want me to claw his eyes out for you?”
She beamed. “You caught me. I was holding out for a hero.”
“Oh, girl, please,” Evander said with a roll of his eyes. “Your hero’s at the bar.”
She didn’t look for Nick even if she wanted to.
“You still owe me a line dance,” Evander pointed out.
“Come find me later,” she invited, winking.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Evander replied.
By the time she reached Soledad, she was nearly out of breath. “Wow,” she called, greeting her friend with a hug. “My dance card’s already full.”
“Girl, you look like a million doubloons,” Soledad said, holding Sassy’s arms wide for inspection. “That dress is fantastic. Where’d you get it?”
“A friend of my mom’s made it,” Sassy said.
“Give us a twirl,” Soledad said, raising their clasped hands over Sassy’s head. “You know you want to.”
Sassy laughed, suspecting that her friend had arrived early and was already three beers deep.
She indulged her, spinning so that the dress’s tassels billowed in a festive circle around her.
Wolf whistles flew in her direction, along with an indecent offer she ignored, stepping up to the high-top table Soledad had snagged for their party.
Empty bottles stood like scattered soldiers across the surface.
“I saw that dress in the window at Wagon Wheel,” she said, pointing to Soledad’s pretty ruffled floor-length number.
“I’m glad I didn’t get it. Looks much better on you. ”
Soledad looked around indicatively. “I’m not the one everybody’s eyeballing tonight.”
Sassy waved a hand. “Half of them are too drunk for sense.” The room smelled of beer and bad decision-making.
The floor was already sticky, and peanut shells crunched underneath her boots.
It was also a touch too warm since the place was filled to capacity.
As an eating and drinking establishment, the Bootleg was far more questionable than Jessamine’s down the road.
Yet it had its charms. “Nick went to order drinks.”
“Fletcher, too,” Soledad pointed out. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
Sassy smirked. “Tell the truth.”
Soledad let out a breath. “Okay. I’m nervous. Just…promise to go gentle on him. He’s… Well, he’s different.”
“In what way?” Sassy asked, curious about the mysterious man who clearly had her unflappable executive assistant so smitten.
“He’s kind of soft-spoken.”
“He’s shy?” Sassy asked with a catty grin.
“More reserved. Not city at all. Though he is more cultured and refined than…” She rolled her eyes toward the clutch of man-boys in too-tight jeans ogling them from the next table. “Well, them.”
“So what’re the odds of him scaring easily?”
Soledad calculated them silently then gave her a nervous glance. “Fifty-fifty. Things between us are still a little new. But, Sassy, I really like him.”
“I can see that.” Sassy wanted to be happy for her. However, Soledad’s effusiveness amplified Sassy’s knee-jerk tendencies toward caution. If this guy broke her friend’s heart, she was going to have to pay to fix her Bronco just so she could run him over with proper mud tires.
“Oh, here he is now,” Soledad hissed. She beamed, waving through the bystanders.
Sassy’s first impression of Fletcher was that he was tall—tall enough to play in the NBA.
Does Soledad have to climb him just to get to first base?
she wondered wryly as Soledad bounced up and greeted him with a kiss he had to bend nearly halfway over to receive.
His hair was shaved close to the scalp, and, oddly enough, he wore a suit minus the tie with the first button of his shirt undone, perhaps to combat the formality of his outfit choice in the decidedly informal environment.
When he stood up straight again and met Sassy’s gaze, she received a jolt.
His eyes were icepick blue, piercing enough to be disconcerting yet fascinating.
He might be a city boy, but he had a Nordic vibe going on.
And if Sassy wasn’t mistaken…he looked a touch familiar.
In the time it took him to reach the table and set his and Soledad’s new drinks down, Sassy tried to chase the déjà vu to its source.
It eluded her. If she’d seen him before, he’d certainly have been hard to forget.
“Sassy Colton,” Soledad presented, “meet Fletcher Ryder.”
“Fletcher,” she acknowledged, holding out her hand.
He hesitated minutely, just long enough for Sassy to pick up on the wariness lurking underneath the Thor, God of Thunder, thing he had going for him, sans hair.
“I don’t bite,” she assured him. Glancing sidelong at Soledad, she grinned and added, “Much.”
Soledad laughed. One corner of Fletcher’s mouth tipped up before he grasped her hand and held it without shaking it.
His grip was anything but soft, however.
She could feel the calluses on his fingers and palms. A metalworker, she mused, who didn’t bother with gloves in spite of his spit and polish.
She could see why Soledad would be drawn to him. The man was an enigma.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said.
“He speaks,” Sassy said, then winked to soften the blow of her teasing. He hadn’t let go of her hand. “Soledad says you’re from Moab.”
“Yes,” he said. He seemed to realize he hadn’t let go of her and released her hand suddenly, taking a step back.
When he said nothing more, she rubbed her lips together before asking, “And this is your first time in Dark Canyon?”
“It is,” he answered succinctly. Soledad linked her arm around his waist, drawing him closer to her. He seemed to soften, draping a long arm around her in return.
“I showed her some photos of your pieces,” Soledad told him. “I hope you don’t mind. She doesn’t just run Zephyr. She’s a visual arts agent.”
He seemed unsure what to say for a moment. “I don’t mind,” he said to Soledad in an undertone before forcing his attention back to Sassy. “There’s enough artists in a small town like Dark Canyon for representation?”
“You’d be surprised how many the community of Dark Canyon has fostered through the years,” Sassy pointed out. “But I don’t just represent local crafts folk. A lot of my artists are from the Navajo Nation. Others are as far away as Provo. I represent female and Indigenous artists.”
He shook his head, a shade of amusement touching his expression. “I’m neither Navajo nor a woman.”
“No, but the pieces Soledad showed me piqued my interest.”
His wide brows shot up. He stared blankly at her for a handful of seconds. “Did they?”
She nodded. “Soledad and I have an auction coming up. A charity fundraiser to raise money for the Colton Foundation. I’ll need to acquire at least five more pieces to round out the collection for bidding.
I could include one of your sculptures. If it does well at the auction, we could discuss an exhibition.
Unless you’re promised to another gallery. ”
“N-no,” he stammered. To see such a large man flummoxed was almost endearing. Soledad thought so, too. She smiled softly and placed a hand on his arm, running her nails up his sleeve and back down. “I’ve, uh, never had a showing,” he admitted.
“A virgin?” Sassy wondered if he’d picked up metalwork more recently. The caliber of his sculpting skills and his calluses said otherwise. Indeed, an enigma.
“I guess you could say that,” he said. He thought for a moment, then blew out a breath and settled on, “I don’t know what to say, actually.”
“Think about it,” Sassy invited. “Soledad can give you my work number, if you like.”
He glanced at his girlfriend, who nodded encouragement. A silly smile worked over him, transforming him into someone less stilted, more relaxed and natural. Even the line of his back softened toward her. They were ridiculously cute together. Sassy couldn’t help but grin along with them.
Nick materialized out of the crowd, double-fisting draft beer. “For you,” he said, passing one off to Sassy. He reached into his back pocket. “As are these.”
She took the handful of napkins. Some felt damp. Others were stained with substances she preferred not to identify. “What’s this?”
“Numbers,” he said, setting his cup on the table. “A dozen of them.”
Soledad hummed. “Which of these do you think belongs to the future Mrs. Malone?”
“We should choose one at random,” Sassy decided.
“A bridal lottery!” Soledad exclaimed. “Yes!”
“It’s a nice thought,” Nick drawled, “but they aren’t for me.”
“No?” Sassy studied each group of digits. A few had names: Tate. Carter. Andres. Morgan… “Oh.”