Chapter Thirteen
“Peggie Hayes is the closest. We should start there first.” Being back in Austin brought back a flood of memories.
He’d lived here with Lynn, stayed a couple of weeks after she died.
Then he moved out closer to his job, where he oversaw the making of custom saddles.
There were benefits to growing up on a small cattle ranch.
He knew horses and everything that went along with riding or taking care of them.
During the summers he gave riding instructions on the weekends at various campsites to bring in extra money.
Money might not make you happy, but lack of it sure as hell didn’t help. Medication was expensive, so were doctor bills. Insurance only covered a portion of the costs.
After marrying Lynn, Blaize had drifted away from the handful of friends he’d made over the years.
A few of them married and started families.
When she got sick, he isolated himself from everyone but her.
Work had to be scheduled around doctor appointments.
His world shrank. Despite all the hardships during his marriage, he’d loved his wife.
It might not have been the same as the stirring he felt from deep within when he was with Carys, but it was love.
“You got quiet,” Carys said as they returned to the Jeep.
“Being back here…let’s say being here is loaded and leave it at that.” He’d talked enough earlier to become a talk show host.
“Quiet’s good.”
Neither said much between Amy’s and Peggie Hayes. Being in each other’s company didn’t require words. They sat in comfortable silence, not needing to fill the space.
Peggie Hayes Bar was as funky as it sounded.
The walls were covered in graffiti, inside and out.
The place was small, the bar big. A dance floor the size of a postage stamp took up the back corner of the room with a jukebox.
There was no sawdust on the floor, but country music was as common as mainstream and commercial.
Tables had games on them, like trivia, meant for group play.
He parked and then circled around to open her door. They both knew she was fully capable of opening her own door, but he liked doing little things for her, and she smiled and thanked him in response. Her face lit up and his heart galloped.
“Shall we go inside?” he asked. The music thumped. Though crowds hadn’t quite formed yet. This would be a good time to hit up the bartender, before business boomed.
“Let’s do this,” she said with a look of solidarity.
He reached for her hand at the same time she reached for his. They crashed into each other at first, but then their fingers wound through each other’s as they fell into step, walking side by side.
Inside, not much had changed. Eleven o’clock was still on the early end for Austin nightlife. He recognized the bartender and saw it as a good sign.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, tossing a pair of customized drink coasters onto the bar in front of them. They landed almost perfectly next to each other.
There were half a dozen folks huddled at the opposite end of the bar.
A couple of the tables were full. And there were a few stragglers who’d sidled up to the bar.
It was a manageable crowd for one bartender and a barback.
The bartender resembled a blond Tom Cruise with a similar height and build.
His resemblance to the famous actor was the reason Blaize remembered him.
“Can I ask a question while I decide?” Carys jumped right in.
“Shoot.” The bartender stepped a little closer and leaned in as Carys pulled out her phone.
“Any chance you recognize her?” She tilted the screen so he could see.
He backed away and put his hands in the air, palms out. His gaze bounced from Carys to Blaize and back. “I don’t want anything to do with whatever you two are up to.”
Based on his reaction, Blaize suspected the bartender thought this was an affair situation.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
“Look, if you’re not here for a drink, then you don’t need me.”
“I’ll take a glass of merlot.”
Blaize almost smirked as he thought back to the hand towel. Of course she would take merlot. He made a mental note to buy a bottle for her to celebrate when this was all over and Rue was in good hands.
“Coming right up,” Blond Tom Cruise said.
He returned a few moments later with a clean glass and a bottle of wine.
“We’re trying to find information about her to locate her next of kin,” Blaize said.
“Are you cops?”
“Nothing like that,” Blaize said. “Carys works for CPS and wants to reunite Stephanie—that’s her name—with her daughter, if we can find her or her family.” He searched for a flicker of recognition when he mentioned the name.
No such luck.
“Okay, show me the picture again.”
Carys did.
He studied it for a long moment. “I’m sorry, guys. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life. Even without all the makeup, I don’t know who she could be.”
Blaize pulled out a twenty and set it on the bar as he stood up. “Thanks. We appreciate your time.”
“No problem,” Blond Tom Cruise said. “Wish I could be more of a help.”
After stepping outside, Carys asked, “Do you think he was lying?”
“No,” Blaize confirmed. “I watched for his reactions when I said her name and you showed him the picture. He was drawing a blank, unless he’s the best poker player in Texas, in which case he could make a lot more money on the circuit than slinging drinks.”
It was a dead end.
“Onto Chord Street,” he said.
“All right, then.” She reached for his hand, and he linked their fingers as they walked back to the Jeep.
Within a few minutes, they were on the road, navigating through the always rush-hour-like traffic Austin was infamous for.
A ten-minute drive in most places could take thirty-five or longer in Texas’s capital.
Bumper-to-bumper, horns honking, Austin had a rhythm of its own. Still weird. Just more crowded.
The drive took twenty-five minutes. Finding parking took another fifteen. It was nearing midnight by the time they walked into Chord Street Bar.
Two working bartenders manned the clients sitting at the bar. One was dedicated to the waitstaff, who were already blowing and going. Chord Street was livelier. It was larger with a crush of people standing around bar-height tabletops with no stools. The bar was the center of the establishment.
“Do you want me to send you the picture of Stephanie so we can divide and conquer?” Carys asked after taking in the scene.
“Sounds reasonable.”
She let go of his hand and sent the pic. He went left. She went right.
He didn’t recognize the bartenders, but this place was larger and there could have been turnover in the last year. A smaller place like Peggie Hayes might have had a better chance of keeping their bartending staff since it had a more family-owned feel.
This was a better place to get lost, blend in, and not be remembered.
Stephanie could have been an employee or a patron.
Her name might not even be Stephanie. If she committed to the name change, it made sense that she might’ve kept at least the first letter of her name for when she signed papers.
It wouldn’t surprise him if her name was Stephanie or Sarah or in that ballpark.
He moved across the bar from the bartender. She perked up.
“What can I get you?” she asked. She had purple streaks in her hair and tattooed arm sleeves. A nose piercing topped off her look. She might not’ve been his type or able to hold a candle to Carys, but the look worked for her.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said.
She laughed. “Look around, handsome. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ‘someones,’ based on the looks you’re getting.”
He wasn’t paying attention. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Okay-y-y-y,” she said, moving closer and leaning across the bar. “What can I do for you?”
Someone tried to flag her down from four seats away.
“Be right with you,” she said without turning her head.
He pulled up the pic and showed her the screen.
She stared at it for a long moment like she was trying to look beyond the heavy makeup. Her barback walked up and glanced at the screen as he made his way to restock ice, but Blaize was more focused on gauging the bartender’s reaction.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. She threw her hands into the air. “I got nothing.”
And then she was gone.
Blaize had lost visual on Carys. Panic nailed him as fast as a sucker punch. He pushed off the bar to standing and turned away.
“Excuse me, sir,” came an unfamiliar voice.
THE ROOM WAS wall-to-wall people, all looking to have a good time.
Carys was completely out of her element here.
Having been overprotected as a child caused you to go one of two paths: hog wild or afraid of every new experience.
She had fallen into the second category.
That fear was probably the reason she couldn’t shake the feeling someone had been inside her home.
This was a good time to remind herself that fear was irrational.
Having a healthy dose was good. It kept you alive.
Too much and it paralyzed you. Stopped you from really living or embracing anything unfamiliar.
She’d been out of her father’s home for more than six years now, but you didn’t easily shake off the ideals that had been ingrained in you.
A slow exhale helped as she navigated her way through the growing crush of people toward the bar.
This side had a male bartender. She squeezed in between two ladies who had their backs to each other and caught his attention. Her phone was already in hand, so she went for it.
“Do you know this person?” she asked.
He barely glanced at the screen. “Nope. What can I get for you?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“A little busy here,” he said. “Do you want a drink or not?”
She gave a small headshake and frowned, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on her from somewhere else in the room. Was she being paranoid?
The busy bartender stared at her for a long moment, issued a grunt, and said, “Hold up. Let me take a closer look.”
Again, she held out the phone. He studied the pic this time.
“Still no,” he said.
“Thank you for your time,” she said.
“No problem. Have you been in here before?”
The question caught her off guard considering how rude he’d been a few moments ago.
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“Never mind,” he said. “I would have remembered you.”
Was that a come-on? Because seriously? Maybe try being less rude when someone first approaches.
He was five foot ten, maybe eleven. He had sandy-blond hair and gray eyes with a slightly pointed nose—not bad looking by most standards.
She was spoiled by Blaize. Now her standards were ridiculously high.
Good looks alone didn’t do the trick for her.
There had to be substance underneath, holding it up.
Worse yet, Blaize had that in spades. Again, he’d raised the standard so high that it would be next to impossible for anyone else to measure up to his looks, him as a person, and certainly the kiss they’d shared. A kiss her body craved to repeat.
Not an option, Carys.
“Thanks for checking out the pic,” she said, turning to leave.
“If I’d said that I knew her, would you have stuck around a little longer?”
Gross.
The line didn’t deserve a comeback.
When she turned all the way, she practically slammed into Blaize’s chest.
“There you are, babe,” he said before planting a bone-melting kiss onto her lips, imprinting on her, marking her as his. When he pulled back, he searched her gaze and said, “I was beginning to think I lost you.”
A huff sound came from behind the bar.
Carys took Blaize’s hand and walked out.
Once outside, he said, “I’m sorry about what I did in there. I thought it was the fastest way to stop him from pestering you.” Was there a hint of possessiveness in his tone? Or was she hearing what she wanted to hear instead of what was there?
“Thank you,” she said. “The bad part is that he had no idea who Stephanie was, so I didn’t make any progress. How did you do?”
He didn’t answer right away as they walked through the maze of people on the sidewalk beginning to line up for the bar scene. This was a popular street with several bars and taco joints running along it.
When they reached the Jeep, he turned toward her, glanced around, and said, “The barback asked me to come back closer to closing. Said he would be able to slip me a note.”
Carys didn’t like it. They could be walking into some kind of ambush.
Or was that old fear creeping in again?