Page 13 of Second Chance Saloon

Someone tinkered with the jukebox and his ears filled with the opening notes of a soft ballad. Mitch smiled to himself. He knew this one, too. It was the first song that had ever brought a tear to his eye—“Whiskey Lullaby” by Alison Krauss and Brad Paisley. He swallowed through a lump in his throat, shutting his ears to the lyrics. There’d be no tears tonight.

Jackie tugged on his rolled-up shirtsleeve, pulling him toward the bar. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s get a drink.”

They weaved between a few slow-dancing couples along the way. When they reached the bar, Mitch leaned his elbows over it but almost immediately furrowed his brow as his skin stuck to the surface. He shot Jackie a questioning look. She continued to hum under her breath to the music, but he knew she’d noticed; her lips quirked up by half an inch. Maybe someone else would’ve missed it, but tonight, he found himself wholly mesmerized by Jackie. He doubted anything would escape him.

Jackie pushed herself off the bar and jumped up, pressing a quick kiss on the barmaid’s cheek. “Betty, hi!”

Betty, the barmaid, was a short and plump woman with dark brown skin and short hair, tied into two braids. She wore a pink T-shirt, with the outline of a woman on top of a bucking horse. The print read: Cowgirls do it better. Setting aside a martini glass, she beamed. “Jacks! Long time no see!” She glanced at Mitch and her brows shot up. “And who do we have here?”

“Mitch Craigton, ma’am.” He extended his hand to her, but she waved him off.

“Handsome young men can’t call me ma’am in my own bar. It’s up on the board, see?” Betty pointed to a blackboard behind her.

He squinted, struggling to make sense of the tiny writing in white chalk. Betty’s Hens Saloon Rules, it read at the top, underlined. 1. No one is allowed to call the owner, Beautiful Betty, ma’am.

“My apologies, didn’t see that,” Mitch said.

Jackie burst in to laughter.

That was the last, very flimsy, straw to release his smile. Since he’d met Jackie, new excitement and curiosity had begun swirling inside his body. Up to this point, his life had been an orderly, and rather boring, affair. Studying and swimming. There hadn’t been much more to it. Group outings to the cinema or bowling with some friends or his swim team, once every blue moon, after meticulous planning on his mother’s part. No space was ever left for spontaneity.

Mitch straightened his back, looking directly into Betty’s amused, brown eyes. “All right, Betty. Can we get two beers?”

Betty pursed her lips as the sparkles from the diamanté weaved into the hats nearby danced in her eyes. “What beer? It ain’t as if I only have one type.”

Jackie hooked her arm under Mitch’s, pressing her body into his. “Stop torturing him, Betty. It’s his first time in a bar. Get him a Lone Star. I’ll have my usual.”

Betty nodded at Jackie. Then, she tilted her head and looked at Mitch. “That means a Long Island Iced Tea, cowboy. Remember that, so you know what to get her next time.”

Another song started and Jackie squealed in delight, tugging on his forearm. “I love ‘Cowboy Casanova’! Is this the kind of cowboy you’d like to be?”

A mock-exasperated sigh slipped off Mitch’s lips. “Is it so obvious I want to be a cowboy?”

Jackie snorted. “Oh, please. A highly decorated swimmer from Portland moves all the way to Austin for college? I’m sure you had offers closer to home.” She pushed away his hand in which he held cash and told Betty to put it on her tab. “You must have had a certain hankering.”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me what it is.”

Jackie chewed her bottom lip, lifting the drink to her lips. “I’m pretty confident after tonight I’ll be a big part of it.” She took a sip of her cocktail, licked her lips and touched the pendant of one of her necklaces, hidden inside her cleavage.

They didn’t break eye contact for a long time.

Mitch swallowed hard, oblivious to his beer bottle gathering condensation on the bar. Damn it all, this girl. How was he meant to keep his head screwed on straight? Hopeless, all of it. From an awkward teenager who’d kissed a girl only once at a birthday party during Seven Minutes in Heaven, to a college freshman who had somehow managed to get the attention of no doubt the most spectacular girl in Austin. Probably even Texas. Now this bold girl, who seemed unfazed by anything and had a personality larger than life itself, picked him?

Jackie closed her eyes again, singing along to “Chicken Fried”. The carefree happiness radiating off her momentarily blinded him.

Fuck, I love Texas, he thought.

She was the most gorgeous girl in the whole wide world.

And he was not going to miss his shot.

With his pristine cowboy boots stuck to the grimy floor of Betty’s Hens Saloon, Mitch wrapped his fingers around the bottle, tipped his head back and took a long swig of beer.

Mitch wasn’t sure how long they’d been sitting on the metal stools at an old sherry-cask table by the window. People went out, waving their goodbyes at Betty and the three other bar staff who Mitch hadn’t noticed earlier. They all wore Cowgirls do it better T-shirts, like Betty, and seemed to enjoy themselves despite being stuck in a peculiar honky-tonk on a Friday night.

“So.” Jackie hiccupped, pressing her palm to her mouth. Her lipstick had withstood two Long Island Iced Teas, tons of singing and a corn dog she’d finished moments earlier. “What do you want to do?”

Mitch took a bite of his cheeseburger. He considered the answer as he chewed. “In life or right now?”