Page 12 of Second Chance Saloon

Mitch took a deep breath, his head slumping against the small window as he fell into another short bout of exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER SIX

September, fourteen years ago

Mitch

Not even in his wildest dreams had Mitch imagined that his first time in a bar would be in a place called Betty’s Hens Saloon. Its interior oozed bohemian vibes crossed with a rodeo and the set of an old Western. He couldn’t keep his head still, eyes ping-ponging around as he took everything in.

Tall, fake potted cacti with pink ribbons tied around them stood in the corners. Diamanté cowboy hats hung on the wall opposite the bar. Whiskey barrels served as tables, decorated with tall, cream candles dripping their wax straight onto the wood. The place was so packed that Mitch felt like someone had dropped him into a buzzing beehive. People were laughing, chatting and drinking. He spotted a couple squashed into a bench in the corner of the room, their lips sealed so tightly, as though glued together.

With his fake ID in his pocket, wearing his cowboy boots only for the second time since he’d arrived in Austin, and a hat he’d bought the other day, Mitch might’ve looked like he belonged, but he felt as out of place as humanly possible.

But none of it could trump the wonder filling him at the thought that he was here with Jackie.

After flashing her fake ID and a gorgeous smile at a bouncer who simply nodded and smiled back at her, Jackie strolled into the bar like she owned the place, swaying her hips to the chorus of a country song Mitch knew: “Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson. The barmaid waved to her and Jackie grinned at two men in black leather jackets sitting at the bar.

No one was dancing, but Jackie didn’t seem to care. Eyes closed, she moved to the music, singing along. Her long, glossy hair caught the neon light above the bar. She threw her hands up in the air, jumping up and down as the chorus came on again, like she was in her own little bubble.

And Mitch couldn’t take his eyes off her.

As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one. After Jackie hit every single note at the end of the song, several patrons clapped their hands.

Jackie laughed, pushing a hand to her chest and fiddling with tangled chains. She bowed to a table of women in the corner, who gave her another round of applause.

One of the leather-clad men materialized next to Mitch. “You’re punching way above your weight,” he barked in a gruff voice.

Mitch bit his bottom lip. “Don’t I know it.” He turned his head, finding the man staring at him.

“As long as you do. If you as much as hurt a hair on her pretty head, you’ll have me and Gilbert there to answer to.” The man nodded to the other leather-clad guy.

Mitch choked on a laugh. He tried but failed to mask it with a cough but didn’t do a very good job. “Roger that, sir.”

“You think my husband’s name’s funny? I can give you something to laugh about.”

“Uncle Albert!” Jackie ran up to him, slinging her arm around his neck. “How nice to see you! And Uncle Gilbert, too. I didn’t know you were back from France!”

She stepped back and pressed her body into Mitch’s, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. These scary dudes were a couple, and they were her uncles? He wasn’t sure anything else could surprise him tonight.

“You took me to a bar your uncles come to?” he blurted. Then, remembering where he was, he leaned closer and whispered into her ear: “With fake IDs?”

His nose briefly met her hair, and he breathed in the scent of some sweet, fruity concoction.

“They’re cool. They won’t tell,” she whispered back.

Mitch was still eyeing Albert warily. At least his thinly veiled threat made a bit more sense now.

Albert laughed, pushing his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “We’re very cool, as long as you’re happy, princess. We’re going to head out, though, so you can enjoy yourselves without feeling like we’re breathing down your neck.”

Jackie pouted. “No, stay! I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Albert’s brows rose, his eyes on Mitch. “This one won’t relax if we don’t go.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I can sense courage like a dog who gets a whiff of a sausage. And his is already in negative figures.”

Mitch balled his hands into fists, hiding them behind his back. “I’m not a chicken,” he told Albert, even though he was intimidated all right.

Albert’s lips quirked in an amused smirk. “You can even be a turkey for all I care. As long as you remember my friendly advice.” He caught his husband’s attention and tipped his head toward the exit. They said their goodbyes, with Albert shooting Mitch one last warning glare when Jackie’s attention turned back to the bar.

Mitch let out a deep breath, wanting to rid his lungs of all the air contaminated with the fear he’d been holding in.