Chapter 56
The hotness in my neck moves up to my cheeks. “No. Not even close.”
Logan’s eyes hook into mine, and he says in a tone I have to strain to hear, “Macey, you don’t understand. I wish I could tell you more. But please don’t…”
“Logan!” Daddy leans over the bar toward us. “Look up at the news, son!”
The local newscaster is standing in front of a fake backdrop of an old English countryside. The book jacket of Pride and Prejudice dominates the corner of the screen.
“Gigi Phillips as Darcy’s heroine is a very romantic tale,” the newscaster says. “She was swept off her feet in the deserts of West Texas by our town’s Mr. Darcy, the dashing, ruggedly handsome, extremely witty…”
I elbow Logan in the side.
“Mr. Logan Wild. Logan is the youngest of four sons of Hank and Brenda Wild, who run Wild Ranch in Darcy. Logan, sometimes affectionately called Little Lo by his older brothers, fell hard and fast for the blond New Yorker, and one only has to look at her…” Here comes Gigi’s big head again on the screen. “To see why. The girl is gorgeous!”
Loud screams from the booth across the bar can only be a match to Gigi and her two sisters.
“However, while the Gigi and Logan pairing may be the most Hollywood story out there,” the newscaster continues, “The Ginny Rattles and David Lucas pairing is a local favorite.” The TV suddenly shows my face on the screen.
“Macey Henwood, manager for The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel, is firmly on Team Ginny and Dave and is heavily involved in the planning process of their wedding. We think of this as an extra touch of good luck. Macey, with her office in the liquor room where the jail cell sits, has closest tabs on Jane Austen’s ghost, and her opinion may be the most important one of all. ”
The whole bar cheers as the broadcast mercifully comes to an end.
Skip takes a seat on the barstool closest to me, and I glance behind him as Jon positions his camera on Gigi’s sisters.
“Hi Skip,” I say with forced friendliness. “How are you?”
“This last week has been the greatest of my life. Such rich history here in Darcy. I’m thrilled to be a part of it.”
I nod and start to walk away, but Skip says, “Miss Macey? I have a huge request.”
I turn back to him hesitantly.
He tips his hat and then takes it off politely. “You’re a fountain of information. We got your photo the other day. How about a quote to go along with it?”
I’m dying to say something. But it wouldn’t be fit for print.
Logan’s watching me fight with myself. “Come on, say something.”
I look at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re the one who’s here all the time. So tell your side of things.”
I furrow my brow at him. But his eyes are warm and safe, and I turn to Skip hesitantly. He readies his iPad for my quote, and for just a moment, I get caught up in the attention, in the idea that my side of the story matters.
“It’s not just pieces of The Cowherd walls that are bulletproof,” I say.
“If you believe in the legend, then the entire bar seems to be bulletproof from love because Jane Austen’s ghost hasn’t been impressed enough with any wedding yet to open that jail door.
I like to say The Cowherd protects us all from wrong love, but maybe I’m just cynical. ”
Skip types furiously into his iPad as he takes down every word. “Macey, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sit near you tonight. Shadow you, if you will.”
Logan leaves to return to his booth just as Mama pipes in. “Skip, have you seen the photos of Jane’s ghost yet?” She points above her head. “Fascinating, aren’t they?”
Skip’s mouth drops open as he looks at them. “Amazing! When are they from?”
Without looking up, I point at each frame above my head in turn as I recite, “1892. My great-great grandfather took it with the first camera our family owned. He swore that white blurry mess was Jane inside her cell at midnight, crying for all the racket of card-playing drunk men to stop so she could get some sleep.”
I move my finger to the left. “1925. Flapper-era. Miss Reginald took this one, and she was convinced she saw Jane’s spirit in a flapper dress at two a.m., dancing inside her cell to the loud music in the saloon.”
My finger shifts further left. “1963. The night JFK was assassinated. My great-aunt Selma Door Henwood snuck into the liquor room at four a.m. for a little nip of brandy, and she heard crying. Anguished sobs coming from Cell Number One. She took a photo.”
“You can see her eyes,” Skip says in a tone of awe.
“That’s what I always said!” Mama says. “The whites of her eyes are obvious, and I’m pretty sure that blue hue is her dress. Pretty color, isn’t it?”
I sigh and point to the last frame. “And this one was taken just last year by Dye Jenkins, current bar patron. He was the last one here one night, and the bartender—me—was outside briefly. Dye crept down the hall to the liquor room to say hi to the ghost and he claims she said hi back. He said she complained to him about how dank and dark the room gets at night, especially after daylight savings time.”
“I tell Macey all the time to leave a light on for Jane at night,” Mama says to Skip. “But she often forgets. People just don’t think about ghosts the way they should.”
“And why do you have the Mr. Darcy cowboy hat and Ms. Bennet bonnet for the bride and groom?” Skip asks. “Does Vivian’s diary expressly call for that?”
Mama shakes her head. “Not precisely. The couples who’ve married here have just always worn them. I’m not sure how the tradition started, but the bride and groom must wear them.”
Jamie walks in the door, saving me from any more conversations about ghosts.
I wave and step out from behind the bar to greet him. Ginny calls out from Logan’s booth and invites us over to sit down.
They’re in the extra-large circular booth, the one that easily seats ten, but I try to say there isn’t enough room. My excuse disappears into the air when Blake immediately scoots closer to Logan and drags me into the seat next to him. Jamie slides in on my other side and puts his arm around me.
I introduce Jamie to the table, and everyone but Logan says hello.
Logan’s buzzed. He’d never be this cold to Jamie otherwise. Ginny gives me a look from across the table. Blake tries to stifle his laugh. Jamie looks from Ginny to Blake to me, trying to figure out what’s going on.
I clear my throat and ask Gigi to introduce me to her sisters. She apologizes for her lapse, blaming it on her glass of wine.
As her sisters say hello to me, I try to make small talk with them. But Logan won’t stop shooting daggers at Jamie—in between the glances he’s giving me behind Blake’s back.
Ginny gives me another look. Blake smirks, and this time, his laugh escapes out of his mouth. It’s a loud laugh, and Gigi asks him what’s so funny.
“Nothing.” Blake reaches for his beer as his bleach-blond hair falls across his forehead.
I elbow Blake in the side. “You always were a hellion, Blake Wild, even in the first grade when you ratted me out to Mrs. Carson for passing Ginny a note. And you always get away with it because you’re so good-looking.”
Blake’s straight white teeth shine in the dark bar. “I’ve just always liked uncovering a good mystery. You know what I mean, Macey?”
Logan noticeably flinches next to Blake.
Jamie whispers in my right ear. “What the hell’s going on? Am I missing something?”
“No,” I say. “Blake’s just trying to cause trouble.”
Blake turns to me and raises one eyebrow, and I know he’s trying to figure out the same thing I am—what the heck is up with Logan. But unlike Blake, I’m sober and in no mood to dissect Logan’s relationship.
“You coming to our engagement party?” Logan murmurs to me behind Blake’s back as Blake leans forward to say something to Dave.
“I am,” I say softly. “Are you excited for it?”
His whiskey eyes go so dull I blink.
“Logan? Are you sure you’re okay?”
He hesitates. Just enough that I notice.
“What is it?” I lean closer to him. Blake’s broad shoulders are a welcome shield from the rest of the booth. “You can tell me.”
Logan inhales sharply. “I’m okay. I promise.”
“Logan, seriously.” I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you.”
I blink as a series of bright flashes goes off, and I turn to see Jon with his camera pointed straight at us.
I gesture at him to stop with the spontaneous picture-taking, but before I can turn back to Logan, Gigi’s sisters start exclaiming over me, from my “big” hair, to my “cute” accent, to the y’all I used when greeting them.
“Did you and Logan have sex a lot when you were married?” Miranda, the chattier of the two sisters, asks bluntly.
Blake spits his beer all over the table as he bursts out laughing.
I rear my head back until it hits the wooden back of the booth, and Jamie whips his head over to me.
“You said it was just a drunken Vegas thing,” he says. “That you don’t even remember saying yes.”
Blake leans forward until he makes eye contact with Jamie. “That’s what she says.” He’s clearly had far too much to drink because he adds, “But Macey and Logan go back.”
Oh, my God.
“You do?” Miranda says. “How far back?”
Blake grins from ear to ear at Logan. “Yeah, Logan. How far back? I think we’d all love to know since neither of you ever really said.” He turns to Miranda. “They’ve always been kind of weird about that. Very private. Hush-hush.” He puts his finger to his lips and winks at me.
“Christ, Wild.” Logan shoves Blake’s half-full beer at him. “Keep your fucking mouth full with this instead of yammering on about shit you know nothing about.”
I need to get out of here.
“I’m going to um…check if they need help behind the bar.” I excuse myself, climb over Jamie to get out of the booth, and walk briskly to the safety of the bar where I immediately pour a customer two Lone Stars from the tap.
When I glance back at the booth, Gigi has her arm wrapped around Logan’s neck and she’s whispering into his ear. I shake my head.
When I glance away, I make eye contact with a very intrigued-looking Skip still sitting on a barstool.
“I’m not a reporter for nothing,” he begins.
“Don’t start,” I say to him.
“A journalist isn’t that different from a bartender,” he continues. “We see things. Things the average person may miss.”
“Skip…”
“And what I saw over there,” he continues, “was that Mr. Darcy was a heck of a lot more interested interacting with his ex-wife than his future one. Seemed like a much more stimulating time for him, if you catch my meaning. In fact, I’m wondering why Mr. Darcy would get involved with another woman if… ”
“I swear to God, Skip, if you don’t stop right now, I won’t let you back in here,” I say.
He takes the hint, but he doesn’t leave either. He sits right where he is, looking more confident than ever that The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon is the perfect place for him to learn everything he needs to know about the truth in Darcy, Texas.