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“Bobbi?”
She glanced up into the rear view mirror, saw the concern and questions in Herschel’s eyes.
“Um.” She licked her lips and closed her eyes. “Gramps?”
“What is it Bobbi? Are you alright?”
“No,” she whispered, afraid she was going to pass out because it was so hard for her to breathe. She tugged on the edge of her faux fur wrap and wiped beads of cold sweat from her brow.
“Would you be able to…”
But she couldn’t finish her thought. She couldn’t say it out loud.
Herschel turned around, his faded blue eyes intent as he spoke softly, his tone gentle. “Anything, sweets.”
Oh my god, what am I doing?
Just breathe.
“Would you be able to keep driving?”
Herschel stared at her for a few more seconds and, for his part, not a speck of shock showed on his face. He didn’t say another word. He turned around, cranked the tunes until Big & Rich filled the silence, and as the country duo sang about saving a horse and riding a cowboy, Bobbi felt something inside her break. It broke fast and hard, and maybe it should have hurt like hell but it didn’t.
She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes, her body like an elastic band that had just been let go. Was it relief? She didn’t know and at the moment she didn’t care. She counted to ten, shaking out her hands while her eyes stuck to the back of her grandfather’s head.
Herschel Barker took off as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, and the old Crown Vic disappeared into the harsh sunlight, leaving nothing behind but tire tracks in the snow.
Chapter Two
The Hard Rock was nothing like the ‘other’ bar it was named after. There was nothing rocking about it, no fancy souvenirs from famous singers like cars or guitars, or even signed pictures scattered throughout the bar. It was a dark hole-in-the-wall kind of place where people came to play pool, shoot the shit, and lose themselves in the shadows.
The only thing rocking about the joint was the endless tunes that Danny ‘big boy’ Davis played over and over…and over again. The large man, a tattoo artists dream, had a fondness for Seger, Springsteen, Skynard, and—no judging—the Dixie Chicks.
Most of the time Shane Gallagher had no problems with those particular bands either, except his ass had been parked in a booth near the back for nearly three hours and he’d already heard Free Bird twice. If Danny dared to play the song again, Shane wouldn’t be responsible for
his actions. A guy could only take so much.
Shane leaned his head back and closed his eyes. What the hell was he doing here? When he had set out on the road this morning his only thought was that he didn’t want to be in New Waterford. Not today.
And like a time machine had paved the way, he’d ended up here, at The Hard Rock. And just like a bad movie or some episode of the Twilight Zone, the place hadn’t changed a bit. Sure, only five or so years had passed since he had last been here, but shit...
It still had the same sticky floors, the smell of stale beer and of course, the music lovin’ fat boy behind the bar, Danny Davis. The guy was a permanent fixture that hadn’t changed one bit and neither had the beer. This bar had the coldest draft on tap, hands down.
It was nothing like The Grill back home—Duke Everett’s place—but it had something. Some special quality that had made it Shane’s place several years ago, and on this cold, February afternoon—for whatever reason—he’d found his way back.
Except that was bullshit. He knew what the reason was and he sure as hell didn’t want to dwell on it. Didn’t want to dwell on her.
“You want another drink?”
Shane glanced up at the waitress and noted the interest in her eyes. He saw the way they lingered—how she licked her lips suggestively and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—while thrusting her incredible rack straight out so that it was inches from his face. She was a redhead, with heavily made up eyes—something he wasn’t keen on—but her mouth was interesting. It was full and—she ran her tongue across it once more—gleaming wet.
She was overly suggestive and he supposed with her attributes and obvious attitude, the girl was good at a whole bunch of things that weren’t in any way related to waitressing.
“I’m off in ten minutes so I can get it for you before I leave or…”
The question was left hanging and for a few seconds Shane considered his options. It was obvious what the woman wanted. He just had to decide if he wanted to take what she was offering. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who was into one night stands per say. That boat had come and gone and he was more than willing to leave that kind of stuff to the young bucks out trolling for nothing but a quick lay.
And therein was the problem. Shane wasn’t looking to score a piece of tail, at least not some random piece that probably gave it up to any decent guy that walked through the door. He knew the type. Small town girl who had never made it out and who was looking for one of two things—either some guy to rescue her and take her away to something better, or a bit of excitement on the side.
