Randi stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “Oh, golly. Do you really think I should?”
Donny Joe grinned. “He issued the invitation, didn’t he?”
She clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. “Thanks, Donny Joe. You always know just what to say.” The song wasn’t over, but she hugged his neck and made a beeline for the door. Over her shoulder she hollered, “And we’ll have you over for a fish fry soon. I promise.”
He waved, watching her go, amazed he felt a bit envious that she had someone special to be mad at, someone special to surprise; hell, someone special to make up with. All the things about relationships he normally avoided like the devil. And for good reason, he reminded himself sternly. Hell, the mere notion of trying to remember half-year anniversaries gave him hives. He shook off his earlier, out of character feelings like a shaggy dog after a bath and stalked off the dance floor.
He headed back to the bar, brushing past Belle Green on his way. She was dancing with Arnie Douglas, and it was obvious the man had already fallen under her spell. He was grinning like a fool. Nobody had seen Arnie crack a smile since the winter of 2006, when his wife Lurlene left him high and dry for a two-bit guitar player from Fort Worth. Now, most nights found Arnie sitting at the end of the bar, glaring into his beer, and biting the head off anyone who tried to make conversation. But there he was lit up like the all-night gas station out on highway 80. Belle had that effect on men. She made ’em feel alive, made ’em feel vigorous, made ’em feel happy to be wrapped around her finger—little or otherwise. Donny Joe reached the bar and before he settled onto the nearest barstool he turned to watch her as she took another turn around the floor, talking and laughing like Arnie was the most interesting man in the world. Belle was something all right.
With a wave, he got the bartender’s attention. “Mike, can I get another beer?”
“Sure thing, Donny Joe.” He grabbed a bottle and set the beer on top of a small napkin. “Those Green sisters sure do have this place buzzing, don’t they?”
Donny shrugged. “Well, Belle has always been an attention getter.”
“Etta seems to be getting her share, too.” Mike nodded over toward the dartboard. A group of men were gathered around Etta. Wearing that sparkly blue-green get up, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth as she let a dart fly. The guys all whooped as it found the bull’s eye. She high-fived Brent Mullins and Stan Jones to celebrate her victory. “She’s kicking Harley Otis’s butt,” Mike said.
Donny Joe narrowed his eyes. “You don’t say.”
He tried to ignore the cheering that went up periodically from that side of the room. If it had been anyone else, Donny Joe would have suspected Harley of throwing the game, of letting her win. But not many guys took darts as seriously as that guy. He watched her clap Harley on the shoulder and then hook her arm through his and start walking with him toward the bar.
Donny Joe seriously considered making a break for it. He wasn’t sure if he was up to another go round with the woman. But on the other hand, this was his bar and his town and nobody was going to run him off, especially not a short, cantankerous, ill-tempered, smart-mouthed woman like Etta Green. She was laughing now and didn’t look cantankerous or ill-tempered in the least. She was still short, though, Donny thought with satisfaction. Then he had a mad moment of wondering what it would feel like if he ever made her laugh that way. He washed the thought away with a swig of his beer and set the bottle down on the bar with a little too much force.
Etta and Harley reached the bar, but instead of sitting down, Etta asked, “Hey Mike, do you mind if I go take a look in the kitchen? I can’t resist comparing notes with other cooks when I get a chance.”
Mike grinned. “Be my guest. Maybe you can give Big Bo and Vera some tips on how to update that stuff they pass off as chili.”
Donny Joe knew Mike was just blowing hot air since that chili had won the kagillion cook-off trophies that lined the mantle over the bar.
She headed to the door behind the bar that led to the kitchen. “Are you kidding? I hope they’ll teach me a thing or two.”
Donny Joe was more than happy to see her go. He could hear her laughing in back with the kitchen staff. Her laugh was husky yet musical, and contrasted with Vera’s hoarse cackle and Bo’s booming bark. He took another sip of beer trying to ignore them, but they sounded like they were having a high old time. He wasn’t surprised that her idea of fun was standing around in a greasy kitchen instead of being out here dancing like most normal women. Like her sister Belle.