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“Johnny ask a girl out? That’ll be the day,” Tank declared. “You know he’s too cheap to do that. Right, John-boy?”
“Shut up, Tank,” Johnny muttered as he climbed into the cab.
Trey slid behind the wheel and inserted the key in the ignition. “By the way,” he said after Tank had crawled into the cab next to Johnny and closed the door, “you two might have to find your own way back tonight.”
“How come?” Johnny frowned.
“Because I’m going to be tied up.” Headlights on, Trey swung the steering wheel and took aim at the infield gate.
“Since when?” Tank added with surprise. “You never said anything about having a hot date earlier.”
“That’s because I didn’t.”
“Who’s the girl?” Tank asked, his curiosity doubling.
“It isn’t Kelly, is it?” Johnny eyed him with suspicion, the faintest hint of possessiveness in his voice.
“No, it isn’t Kelly,” Trey said, smiling in reassurance.
“Then who—?” Tank began, then snapped his fingers. “That female photographer you were talking to—it’s her, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
Tank chortled softly. “You sure didn’t let any grass grow under your feet.”
“Who is she, anyway?” Johnny wondered. “Has she got a name?”
“Sloan.” Trey pulled onto the main road, joining the line of vehicles heading into town.
“Is that her front name or back name?” Johnny said with a frown.
“Don’t know yet, but I plan on finding out.” The anticipation of seeing Sloan again was back, all heady and strong.
The traffic and congestion in the downtown area were thick, complicate
d by the three-block-long section of Main Street that had been cordoned off, forming a people corral of sorts. Luckily, Trey found a place to park a few blocks away.
The dancing, drinking, and carousing were in full swing when the trio arrived on the scene. After the quiet of the side streets, the collective hammer of voices, rollicking laughter, and amplified music all blended together to form a wall of noise.
Intent on slaking their suddenly dry throats, Tank and Johnny split off to get a beer, leaving Trey to make his own way to the makeshift stage, where a local country band performed. Couples swarmed the dance area in front of it, creating a veritable sea of hats and twirling partners. Onlookers stood around the edges, two and three deep.
Trey shouldered his way to the inner circle near the stage and scanned the faces close by with a rising eagerness. But Sloan wasn’t among them.
He waited and watched. One song gave way to another, then another, with still no sign of Sloan. Restlessness pushed him to widen his scope of vision. He drifted around the stage and skirted the dance area, his gaze constantly moving, checking, looking for any new arrival. He saw a dozen people he knew and exchanged brief greetings with a few of them, but none held his attention.
A hand clamped itself on his shoulder with manly familiarity. He turned to find Johnny and Tank, each with a cup of beer in his hand.
“Still waiting for her to show, are you?” Tank surmised.
“She’ll be here,” he insisted, although privately he had started wondering.
“’Course she will,” Johnny agreed. “No female in her right mind would stand up a Calder.”
Ordinarily Trey would have agreed with him; however, in this case, Sloan didn’t know he was a Calder unless someone else had told her. He certainly hadn’t volunteered that piece of information.
“Tell you what,” Tank began, and paused to take a quick gulp of beer, “we’re gonna head down the way. If we happen to see her, we’ll drive her in your direction.”
“Do you know what she looks like?” Johnny stared at Tank in surprise.
