Speeding Tickets
Hixon
SATURDAY NIGHT, HIX sat on his couch, his eyes on the TV that was playing a late night movie, the volume set low since his girls were asleep in the back.
His mind was not on the movie.
Like it had been awhile, it was on the shitty mess of things that had consumed his life.
Shaw was out on a date that night with Wendy.
That was two dates that week.
So Hix was also up waiting for his son to get home by a curfew he knew Shaw wouldn’t push. His boy never did.
His curfew on Saturdays was midnight.
He had ten minutes.
As he waited, didn’t watch the movie and thought about the shit of his life, Hix held on to the fact that the week hadn’t started out great, but it had surprisingly settled in.
He hadn’t heard again from Hope. He also hadn’t seen Greta (which meant he hadn’t had to fight the temptation of her). He further hadn’t had to lay it out for anybody else.
And no one had said boo to him about anything.
Except for Pastor Keller walking right up to him while Hix was eating lunch with Donna at the Harlequin.
The good pastor did this to state, “Hope to see you and Greta in a pew real soon, Sheriff. Greta can forget her duty to God on occasion, which for her is understandable. But I haven’t seen you there in some time, son. Although God frowns on one of His children not understanding the concept of the sanctity of marriage, He has His way of seeing right comes from wrong. So bring your new woman to the Holy Father’s house so He can see what He’s wrought in all its glory.”
Keller hadn’t given Hix the opportunity to say a word. He’d said what he felt needed to be said and walked away.
When he did, Hix hadn’t been ticked at what he’d said or that the man had the damned nerve to walk right up to him and say it.
All he was thinking was wondering what was understandable to a deeply religious man like Pastor Keller (and in Hix’s opinion he was even more deeply religious than his occupation had call for him being) to make him think Greta could miss church on a Sunday.
This was not his to know, so he forced himself to let that go and just be happy that nothing else reared up about Greta.
Including the news that he’d hooked up with her clearly hadn’t filtered down to the kids.
They’d had an evening where they went to see a couple of houses that none of them liked, but that was the only shift in the norm.
So that was all good.
But the rest was not.
It was shit.
And it didn’t just fill his mind and take his focus off a late-night movie.
It had been filling his mind all week.
Hell, all year.
And obviously all this shit had to do with Hope.
But right then it was centering on the fact that, since before she’d asked him to leave, when he’d pressed to get to the bottom of her issue that was making her so unhappy, she’d just clam up, give him a look full of hurt and say, “You know, Hix.”
He didn’t know.
He had no clue.
He just knew he’d asked repeatedly, demanded, threatened, then even got down to begging for her to let him in on it.
She hadn’t done that.
All he got was more, “You know, Hix. You know.”
And now he wasn’t only pissed at how she was behaving, he was pissed she’d never had the courtesy and respect for the life they’d built together to give him a straight answer about why she’d torn it apart.
He was also uneasy about the fact that he might be pissed, but he wasn’t infuriated.
His frustration was about courtesy and respect, not love and loyalty.
It wasn’t about the fact that she’d broken his heart.
It was about the fact that he simply had the right to know why she had.
Through this, he was trying to hold on to other things about Hope. Things he’d need when she eventually snapped out of her snit and became the woman who, for the rest of his life, he’d have to deal with in appropriate ways that wouldn’t make his kids uncomfortable.
Things like how she was whenever Shaw would get one of his many scrapes climbing trees, falling off his bike, skateboarding—taking care of their son and adjusting her mothering from cooing and babying to soothing and reassuring the older his boy got.
And the way her relationship changed with Corinne after she got her period. How they started to become not mother and daughter, but mother-friend/confidant and daughter, having their quiet talks in the kitchen together, giggling like best friends.
It was also how she sat beside him in that small hall with tears falling silently down her cheeks when Mamie performed in her first dance recital.
Mamie had been so little, and the girls up there were all over the place, some of them just standing and waving to their parents.
But Hope had been feeling so deeply, it spilled out on her face.
Pride, probably (because Mamie went through the routine, badly, but she was one of the few who did it).
Though he figured Hope was also realizing that was an indication that their baby was growing up and the next recital would be different, and the next, and the next, until Mamie was driving herself to dance class right before the time she drove away to meet life, and, like Hix, she loved that future for their daughter at the same time she dreaded it.
He also thought about the fact she’d never bitched that she did all the cooking.
He hated cooking, she knew that. She liked to do it up once in a while, but most of the time it was a chore.
He (and then Shaw) never gave her reason to have to take out the trash and he saw to the tending of the cars, the lawn, or if something was broken, he fixed it. But Hix knew none of that made up for her having to be in the kitchen every night. Even after she’d started working part-time for her dad when Mamie went into second grade, going full-time when their baby hit middle school, she did all the cooking.
But she never did any bitching.
Then there were their Christmas mornings.
Hope never opened her presents until the very end. Not to manipulate attention to herself, but because she was so enthralled by watching her family enjoy what they got, the holiday she always took pains to do up big for all of them, she forgot people wanted her to know she was loved too.
And there was how close she was with her mom. How she managed to still be the little girl her dad needed without making that nauseating. How she razzed her older brothers but was the first to show when someone was needed.
That had been his wife.
That had been the woman he loved.
That had been her part in the life they’d had.
He didn’t know who she was now.
But that was the woman he needed to hold on to so his kids didn’t have to negotiate awkward times at graduations, weddings, family gatherings.
He just didn’t know if she kept up with the shit she was dishing out, if he’d be able to hold on to that.
And this was no longer about what she’d done to him and their family for reasons still unknown.
It was about the fact she had no problem dragging Greta into it.
I am, Greta had said, asserting her idiocy.
Like it wasn’t his to know why she missed church, it wasn’t his to understand what change came over her in the back room of Lou’s salon, no matter how much it disturbed him.
He’d already picked her up, taken her home, slept with her, and left before he’d even walked to the bathroom to get rid of the condom she’d given him to use.
He was not that guy.
And she was not that girl.
She didn’t need any more of his shit.
He didn’t have the right to get up in hers.
But damn, on his couch, his kids under his roof, trying to get to sleep, he’d think of her mouth on him. Her hands. The feel of her hair. The hot, tight slick that had closed around him when he’d slid inside. The noises she’d made. The look on her beautiful face, her eyes staring right into his as he moved inside her.
He’d think of it and go hard.
On his couch.
His kids under his roof.
And not a day passed when not once, not a few times, but dozens of them, he’d think about her. How bad he’d wanted to laugh when she’d been so hilarious in her tizzy. How she let him in on everything just looking at him. How much it sucked things weren’t different and he couldn’t ask her out on a date, ask her about herself that time, be able to laugh when she was funny, get her to smile at him again.
And what her parting shot had meant to him.
She’s a fool.
Hope had thrown him away. Their family. Their life. He’d taken that hit, and at the time thought he’d never recover because that hit had landed in his heart. Absolutely.
But it had also shaken his manhood.
She’s a fool.
And with that, like a miracle worker, he’d recovered.
He was a trained investigator and he had been a loving husband. As both, in his mind for months he’d torn through everything with Hope to try and figure out where it’d gone wrong.
There was no evidence, no trail to follow, not one fucking thing.
She’s a fool.
Except that.
Because that was the only thing the minimal evidence there was, was leading him to.
They’d had a good life.
She’d thrown it away without fighting for it, finding some way to make whatever was going wrong, go right.
Like a fool.
So maybe that was where he was now. Where Greta had put him. Pissed he didn’t understand but no longer torn up about it.
And more, beginning to feel unsure he gave a shit anymore.
On that thought, the door opened and Shaw came through it.
“Hey, Dad,” he greeted quietly.
“Hey, kid. Fun date?” Hix asked.
“Yeah,” Shaw answered, walking in and stopping at the end of the coffee table. “Girls asleep?”
“Yup.”
“You want me to help you pull out the couch?”
“Nope.”
He watched in the light from the TV, the only light in the room, as his son’s head turned to the set then back to his dad.
“You’re watching Smokey and the Bandit?” Shaw asked.
Hix grinned up at him. “Your sister reminded me I haven’t seen it in a while.”
Shaw grinned back. “You should start using your middle initial like Sheriff Buford T. Justice. You can be Sheriff Hixon T. Drake.”
“Actually has a ring to it,” Hix joked.
Shaw chuckled, noting, “Good your middle name is Timothy and not William. Sheriff Hixon W. Drake would sound stupid.”
“Son, I called myself Sheriff Hixon T. Drake, the stupid would start there.”
Shaw chuckled again and began to move past the coffee table.
“You goin’ to bed?” Hix asked.
“Yeah,” Shaw answered.
“Right. Sleep good. See you in the morning.”
“Junk Sunday,” Shaw mumbled.
Hix took his gaze off his son and grinned at his TV.
“Dad?”
Hix looked back to his boy, now standing in the mouth of the hall, turned again to face him.
“Yeah, kid?”
“I’m here.”
He felt his brows draw together. “See that, Shaw.”
“I mean, I’m home. Nothin’ will happen, but if one of the girls needs anything, I’m home, you wanna go to her.”
Hix felt a burning in his chest.
“Sorry?” he forced out.
Shaw stepped one step from his place into the room.
“Wendy and her mom go to her at the salon. Her mom heard from someone, and Wendy heard her mom talking to a friend about it. I don’t think the girls know, but Wendy told me just in case someone said something to me about it.”
Shit.
“Shaw—”
That was all he got out before his boy hurried on.
“Wendy says she’s super cool, Dad. Says she’s funny, and she’s like you, she’s old, but not old old. And she wears really cool clothes that Wendy says a lot of girls at school try to copy. But her clothes aren’t like trying-too-hard cool. Like she’s old but she doesn’t get that she’s old so she still tries to be young.”
“She isn’t old,” Hix said low.
“I know, I mean she’s older, like you,” Shaw said quickly.
So maybe things with Greta had filtered down to at least one of his kids.
That was unfortunate.
But thank Christ the one it filtered down to was the oldest and his boy.
He still wasn’t going to have this conversation with Shaw.
So Hix shook his head. “Shaw, I don’t think we should—”
“I went by the salon. Stood across the street so she wouldn’t see me. Looked at her. Dad, she’s real pretty.” He paused then whispered, “Even prettier than Mom.”
That sent Hix to his feet and he slowly walked to his son, stood close and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know you’re angry with your mom—”
“It’s not that.”
“It probably is, kid.”
“I just . . . just . . .” Shaw couldn’t finish.
“You just what, buddy?” Hix asked quietly.
“I just . . . well, I like Wendy. She’s cool too. But I think . . . well, what I think is, I like who I am when I’m around her.”
Oh yeah.
He had to have another look at this Wendy.
“And you are . . . I’m you,” he went on.
“You’re me,” Hix stated, not quite getting it.
“You’re better if you have a woman to look after.”
Hix drew in a breath and took his hand from Shaw’s shoulder.
“It’s like, well, like . . . like . . .” Shaw kept on. “Like you’re a little lost, not havin’ that.”
Yeah.
He was.
He was not that guy who got off and took off.
He was also not that guy who built a life with a woman and a family but did it always wondering if the grass would be greener with some other woman, living some other life. And he was not that guy who was about making his woman look after him, take care of his needs.
He’d never been any of those guys.
He’d been what his father had taught him to be.
A man whose reason for being was to look after his woman and his family.
He’d lost half of that and he didn’t know how to be that guy—the guy who didn’t have that half.
He just hated that his boy had noticed it.
“Son—”
“Wendy’s dad is sick, Dad.”
“Shit,” Hix whispered.
“She doesn’t want anybody to know. There’s some treatment he’s gonna try. They don’t know how it’s gonna go but they think maybe it’ll be okay. But she doesn’t talk about it. Not to anybody. Not to any of her crew. But she does talk about it to me. And I like that.”
“You should, Shaw. Says a lot about the trust she’s got in you. And you should take care of that, son. It’s maybe the most important thing you’ve ever had to do.”
“I know.”
After his boy gave him the weight of that, Hix felt Shaw’s attention intensify.
“Should I not have told you?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“No. It’s between you and me and it’ll stay that way.”
“Right,” Shaw whispered. Then he said, “I know she sings at the Dew Drop and I’m just sayin’, you should go.”
Hix beat back a sigh. “I’m not gonna go.”
“You should.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay, but you should, and you shouldn’t not do it because you think you’re protecting us or something. We get it.” He lifted his shoulders and when they fell, they fell farther than he normally held them. “It’s the way it’s gonna be now.”
Hix didn’t like the look of that shoulder droop.
But he couldn’t cure that. That was one of the many things only time could cure.
So he had to focus on what else was on his boy’s mind.
“I hope you understand that I’m not showing you disrespect because I don’t wanna share with my son what happened between me and Greta,” Hix said. “But what I will share is that I think what you think happened is not what happened.”
“Okay.”
“So you can stop thinking about it.”
“Right.”
The way Shaw said that made a slither of something unpleasant drift down his spine.
So he asked, “What?”
“Nothin’,” Shaw muttered, looking like he was going to make a turn back down the hall.
“Shaw, we share honesty, remember?” Hix pushed.
He stopped moving and looked to his dad.
“You hooked up with her,” he stated.
“Again, kid, I’m not gonna share—”
“And that’s it?” Shaw cut him off to ask.
“Sorry?” Hix asked back.
“So, you . . . what? You meet a pretty lady and get yourself some then scrape her off?”
That burning sensation came back to his chest.
“Shaw,” he growled, thinking the way he said his son’s name said it all.
He thought wrong.
“So, like, Corinne, Mamie when she gets old enough . . . Mom when she starts dating again, it’s okay some guy hooks up with them and then just blows ’em off?”
“We’re adults, and I’m sorry, Shaw, but this is something you don’t know about.”
“Everyone says that. But then everyone says you learn all you need to know about life in high school. I get that. I get that it’s all real concentrated, all the cliques and unfair teachers doing crap that’s not cool and you gotta put up with it, and losing at football games and learning how to live with that, and breaking up with girls or having them break up with you and beginning to have to worry about your future. I’m almost through all that and you don’t think I get how it is?”
He had a point.
“It’s more complicated than that,” Hix informed him.
“People say that when they’re trying not to see how simple stuff really is.”
Shit.
He had a point there too.
“Greta understands how it is,” he told his son.
“Really?”
Hix’s body locked.
“God, you’re the sheriff, Dad,” Shaw said low. “You’re like, the president of McCook County or somethin’. People, they . . .” He hesitated then forced out, “Know about you. About us. They pay attention and would even if you weren’t the sheriff. But it’s more because you’re sheriff. And her? You just . . .” He did a quick shake of his head. “Whatever and then scrape her off? Folks think you’re like a god or something. And you’re a dude and dudes get away with that crap. But her? She does hair. She’s pretty and dresses cool, but she does hair. It isn’t nice, the way it is, people givin’ guys a pass on stuff like that, but it’s not the same for girls. It’s still the way it is. Wendy’s hair is awesome so I know she’s good at what she does. People are still only gonna think she does hair and Mom is who she is ’cause a’ Gramps and Gran and Uncle Cook and Reed and you. And you’re the sheriff. So they’ll think you work, bein’ with Mom. They’ll also think, you hook up with her and scrape her off, she’s nobody. She just does hair.”
“I’m not sure it would help matters, and it wouldn’t be cool to her if I made her or anyone else think what happened was something it wasn’t,” Hix explained.
“Okay, so . . . go listen to her sing. You don’t have to take her home and bone her. Just be her friend. You’re her friend, folks’ll get how it is and everyone will just settle into that. Not think she’s just a hairdresser but also some slut or something that maybe other guys can have a go with and treat her the same way.”
Hix drew in breath through his nose slowly and let it out just as slow, wondering if he was more troubled about the conversation he was having with his son or the fact his son somehow got to be so damned smart it was a little scary.
“You should take care of her, Dad. I know it’s totally not fair, but girls at school that put out . . .” He again hesitated before he muttered, “I hope Mom’s up in Corinne’s face about not putting out. It isn’t pretty.”
“You hear other boys saying shit about girls, you shut that down,” Hix ordered.
And he himself would have a word with his girl, no matter that he was looking forward to that a lot less than he was enjoying his current conversation, and he’d pretty much rather be anywhere than right there talking about what he was talking about with Shaw.
“Uh, duh, Dad.”
And his son had respect.
He was glad of that but he wasn’t surprised.
He’d learned that from his dad.
But now what was Hix teaching him?
Shit.
“I’ll go. Have a drink with her between sets. But then I’ll be right back, Shaw.”
“Okay, or you can stay. I’m here. It’ll all be cool you wanna go out and do something for yourself for once. I’ve got it covered.”
“You’re lucky you’re such a good kid,” Hix muttered. “If you weren’t, I’d probably be more ticked at whatever your geography grade is gonna be.”
“Brains come in a lot more forms than being able to call out the country when you see the flag for every team that comes out in the opening of the Olympic ceremonies,” Shaw replied glibly.
“Whatever,” Hix murmured, feeling his lips twitch. “Go to bed.”
Shaw, obviously relieved at how their conversation had gone, faked a salute then turned down the hall.
He didn’t get to his room before he called quietly, “Have fun, Dad.”
Hix wasn’t going to the Dew Drop to have fun.
He was going because his son was right, and Greta was too about Hope being on the warpath and he had a statement to make that should be declared to a larger audience than just Greta in the back room of the salon.
She was not a piece of ass. She was not open to be played with and speculated about.
She’d had his cock but she also had his regard.
He was not going to try to make her his friend. It had been a long time but he knew enough about his reaction to her, and had already had a taste of her he knew he wanted more of, that that would last about a second before he’d be trying to find ways to get her back into bed.
But people didn’t need to know that.
They just needed to know he thought she was what she was.
A beautiful, funny lady who could sing really freaking great and could make jeans into a fashion statement and should be shown respect.
“Go to bed,” he said to his son who was hesitating in his doorway.
“’Night, Dad,” Shaw replied.
“’Night, kid,” Hix returned.
His boy’s door closed behind him.
Hix turned and rested his shoulders against the wall.
Then he pushed from it and walked down the hall to his room in hopes of getting a change of clothes and not waking his girls.
When Hix hit the Dew Drop, he didn’t select a table like he did the last time.
He took a seat at the middle of the bar.
This made him still visible, but when he spoke with Greta, the intimacy of one of those little tables with their shaded lamps would not be there nor would it be communicated to anyone watching them.
Nor to Greta.
It wasn’t lost on him he had a lot of attention as he made his way to the bar.
But that was why he was there so it also didn’t bother him.
He was just glad Greta was obviously between sets, because soft jazz was playing in the background and the stage was empty. It gave him a chance to continue the effort he’d expended on his way there to get his shit together so he’d be able to hold it together when the time came they had their chat.
After he took his seat at the bar, he glanced at the bowl of hot nuts the bartender set in front of him, ordered a beer and surveyed the scene.
It was Saturday night, all the tables taken, all the booths, most of the stools at the bar, a few folks standing and talking, but no one at the bar waiting for a drink. This was because Gemini Jones kept plenty of servers on hand so his patrons could relax in their seats without worrying about when their next drink would come.
Hix also noted what he’d noted the first time he was there years ago with Hope.
There weren’t a lot of places or occasions in McCook County that made you give up your jeans. Church. Weddings. Graduations. Anniversary parties. Jameson’s Steak House in Dansboro.
And the Dew Drop.
So he, along with most of the other men, was wearing nice trousers and a dress shirt. The men not dressed like him wore suits.
That was the respect you showed the Dew Drop. There wasn’t an official dress code. Then again, no one would ever dis the Dew or Gemini Jones by showing up in a way that would be frowned upon.
“Sheriff.”
He turned his head and saw Jones himself standing beside him, looking at the bartender and lifting his chin at him for some reason.
“Gemini, I’m off-duty, but even if I was on, most times folks just call me Hix.”
Gemini turned his attention to Hix and slashed a white smile at him.
“Then . . . Hix.”
Hix didn’t need to take Gemini in. Even with Hix not a regular at his club, Gemini wasn’t a stranger in town or in the town’s business. He went to Town Board meetings. He had kids at the school. He was involved.
He was also short, had his hair cut close to his scalp and a precisely groomed, thin mustache over his top lip. Even though he couldn’t be more than five six, he was burly, had wide shoulders, sturdy legs and a stomach that protruded but didn’t give any indication the man wasn’t fit.
That said, his height or build didn’t matter.
Not with Gemini.
With Gemini, it was about presence.
He had that, not just in his place, a place he’d inherited from his momma, who’d inherited it from her daddy and so on. A place he grew up in that was just him, every inch of it.
He was also that anywhere he went.
Why he had it was something you couldn’t put your finger on and Hix had learned with that kind of thing, you didn’t try. He was who he was to the Dew Drop, the town, the county, and since that was a force of class and intelligence, you didn’t question it.
“She’s in back, touching up perfection,” Gemini told him, and Hix held back a sigh at his comment and what it shared he knew about why Hix was there.
“Like to have a word with her,” Hix replied.
Gemini looked to his club but did it shaking his head and speaking to Hix. “She’s back on in a few.” His eyes went to Hix. “I’ll get word to her for her next break.”
“Thanks,” Hix muttered.
“Always like repeat business, but ’specially glad to see you here,” Gemini noted. “Word around town . . .” Gemini shrugged. “Started off good enough, then nothin’ more juicy to gnaw on happened, things began to turn.”
It didn’t surprise Hix that Gemini was giving him indication he not only liked Greta, but looked after her.
And with the other info he shared about things beginning to turn, something Hix had not heard, now he knew it was good he’d taken his seventeen-year-old son’s advice.
“Had my kids this week,” Hix murmured.
“Mm-hmm,” Gemini murmured back.
Hix shifted on his stool to face the man closer on, this regaining him Gemini’s focus.
“You’re makin’ it clear she’s your business, and I understand that. But with respect to you and the same you obviously give to Greta, just to say, we connected. She’s a good woman. But we’re not goin’ there and she gets why. I’m here as a friend and ’cause I like to listen to her sing.”
Gemini didn’t break eye contact when he repeated, “Mm-hmm.”
“That’s all I’m gonna give you, man,” Hix said low.
Gemini’s head tipped to the side, but all he said was, “I’ll get word to her you’re here.”
With that, he glided away, melting into his club with an ease borne of being born to it and a coolness that no one could imitate no matter how hard they tried.
The bartender had served his beer through this and Hix took a sip, watching the piano player come out before Greta made her return.
But when she did a minute later, he had to suck in breath.
She had a different dress on. This one a shiny dark-red satin that had gathers all around her middle and hips. The deep vee of the front dipped low to show cleavage, her arms were bare, the hem cut above her knee.
Her hair was pulled back in a huge mess of curls at her nape, fat curls falling around her face, the ends of some brushing her collarbone.
She also had big, rhinestone earrings dropping from her ears, more of that bling on a wrist, and a pair of spike-heeled sandals with big chunks of bling encircling her ankles and gold straps across her toes on her feet.
And her beautiful face was made up like it had been last Saturday.
Dark and bold.
Shit.
Fuck.
She was gorgeous.
So gorgeous, it took a beat for him to realize she was scanning the tables in front of the stage nervously as she gracefully, even in those heels, but also very quickly made her way to the piano player as subdued, respectful applause broke out at her appearance.
She bent to the piano player and said something. He shook his head. She put her hand on his arm and kept talking. He kept shaking his head, saying a few words, and then he was scanning the crowd.
Hix saw the piano player’s glance linger slightly on him before he looked right in Greta’s eyes and spoke very briefly.
She stiffened and paled before she turned away from him and walked equally stiffly to the mic set up at the end of the baby grand, center stage.
“Hey, ya’ll,” she said in it, and the applause that came after that was louder. “Thanks for hanging. Time to give you a bit more.”
She barely finished saying that when the piano sounded and the clapping stopped instantly.
Not because she didn’t deserve more.
Because they were glad she was back and they wanted silence so they could experience fully what she was about to give them.
And right then, what she gave them was Rihanna’s “Stay.”
It was also then he got why she’d had her conversation with the piano player.
She hadn’t wanted to sing that song. A song he’d heard in passing but the words coming out of Greta, her piano player taking the mic above the keyboard to accompany her when the time came, he heard every fucking word.
He also knew, since she didn’t want to sing them, just what they meant.
And each word beat into him as he watched her stand in front of that club and lose herself in the song, her eyes closing, her body not swaying an inch, her fingers staying wrapped loosely around the mic stand without budging, just her lips moved as she poured her yearning all over them.
All over him.
Shit.
Fuck.
She ended the song, smiling and not looking anywhere near the bar in a way he suspected she guessed that was where he was, while the patrons showed their approval and as the rest of the band—a drummer, two guys taking up guitars—walked up and took their positions on that small stage with her.
Once the band was ready, she immediately went into “Come Away with Me” by Norah Jones, and Hix heard it, he liked it, she sang it beautifully. But mostly, through that and the songs she sang after it, he sipped his beer and retreated back to where he had to go to pull his shit together so he’d have it tight when she walked up to him in that dress, those shoes, with her hair like that, her face like that, after she sang that first song.
When she completed the set, she said in her sweet voice through the applause to the audience, “Thank you. Gonna take a little break but I’ll be back.”
The applause ran deeper as she smiled, lifted her hand slightly in a lithe gesture of thanks and farewell-for-now and walked off the stage.
After she disappeared, Hix fought ordering another beer. It wouldn’t make him drunk but that didn’t matter. In his position, he had to live his life as an example.
Normally, this wasn’t taxing.
But right then, he needed another freaking beer.
She came through some dark curtains hanging over a door to the left side of the room, and her eyes hit him briefly before she made her way to him slowly when someone stopped her, having to touch shoulders, say some words, bend over to listen to a few.
She finally broke free of her admirers and took the final steps to him.
“Hey, Hixon,” she said softly, her chin tipped down a bit so she was looking under her lashes at him.
This didn’t last long, but it was affective in a way he knew she didn’t intend by the nervousness she couldn’t quite hide she was holding her body, and then she glanced at the bartender.
“On it, Greta,” the bartender said.
She finally looked fully at him from where she was stopped at his side.
He turned his stool to face her and said low, “Hey, Greta.”
She looked surreptitiously side to side, noting the stool to his left was empty, the one behind him had a man’s ass on it, but Hix knew even though his back was to him that that guy was turned to his date beside him.
Her attention came back to Hix as she stepped a step closer.
Different perfume this time. Deeper.
Sultry.
Damn.
“Uh . . . this isn’t exactly a smoke signal, darlin’,” she murmured.
Hix couldn’t stop his smile.
Her eyes dropped to it then immediately looked away.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
She smiled politely beyond him, and even polite, he felt that hit his gut. Then she reached beyond him and he felt that hit his gut too as she took up what looked like sparkling water on the rocks in a tall, thin glass with a curved, dark-blue straw and looked again at him.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked, put the straw between red-painted lips and sucked.
Him being there was the right thing to do.
But her looking like that, right there with him, sucking on a straw with those red lips, that right thing was killing him.
“Met this woman who sings here. She’s talented. So I thought I’d take in the show.”
“Unh-hunh,” she mumbled, staring into his eyes.
He leaned closer to her and watched her brace.
Yup.
Killing him.
“Maybe some other time I’ll explain shit a lot more fully to you. But had reason to think on things, and what I thought was that things might not be what they could have been but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy your singing. It also doesn’t mean this can’t be cool between us. You’re smart. You’re funny. No one on this earth can have too many friends, they’re the good type of friend. So there’s no reason why we can’t have that even if we can’t have the other.”
This made her surprised, and as he was learning was all Greta, she didn’t hide it.
“You want to be my friend?”
That made Hix go still.
Shit, he hadn’t thought how that would sound.
“I didn’t mean—” he started quickly.
But he stopped when she tipped back her head and busted out laughing.
Christ, even that sounded like a song.
She looked back at him, and still chuckling, stated, “You crack me up.”
He felt his lips give a relieved twitch as he replied, “Noticed that.”
“Might be good to have the county sheriff as a friend.”
He grinned flat out and jokingly warned, “A friend doesn’t ask a friend to fix their speeding tickets.”
She chuckled again but he got serious.
“Hope give you any more shit?”
She got serious too.
“Nope.”
With that, she slid onto the stool beside him and rested her arm and her drink with her fingers around it on the bar.
This time, her nails were painted gold.
But her toes were painted red.
He turned on his stool toward her.
“You?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
A look of concern came over her face. “Has she . . . ?”
She said nothing more so Hix prompted, “Has she what?”
“None of my business,” she muttered to her glass.
He leaned into her again and said quietly, “Friends don’t ask friends to fix speeding tickets but they do ask questions if they give a shit.”
She lifted her gaze to his.
“Is she dragging your kids into this?”
He leaned away and shook his head. “No. Not yet and hope to God not ever. She does that, the girls’ll have to be married in a church the size of a football stadium for her to be far enough away from me in the front pew.”
She smiled at him, he liked it, buried that, but her smile slid away.
“Sucks, you have to think about stuff like that,” she noted gently.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“I don’t know her real well,” she shared. “And I reckon you know there’s been a lot of talk.”
“Yeah, I know that,” he muttered.
She gave him a somewhat sad but understanding smile before she continued, “But everyone says she’s a nice lady. Divorce is tough. It takes its toll. But things’ll get better.”
He tipped his head to the side. “You know about divorce?”
She lifted her drink and put her straw to her lips, sucked up some and put it back to the bar before she said, “Yeah.”
“Kids?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“How long were you with him?”
“Nine years.”
Interesting.
He knew by the look of her that she wasn’t twenty-two. But he also figured she wasn’t close to Hope’s age.
But married with no kids in nine years?
He didn’t ask. Their “friendship” all of five minutes long, it wasn’t his place.
He decided to change the subject.
“How long you been singing?”
“Since choir in junior high. Won the state competitions a couple of years going in high school. Knew I didn’t have it in me to make the big time but I like doing it. It’s extra money which never hurts, so I’d get gigs here and there like this one. Friday and Saturday only, when they don’t have an act that’s come into town.” She shot him another smile. “Bonus, I get to do up my hair and wear a pretty dress, even in the fields of Nebraska, so it’s fun.”
“Get that but not sure about you not having what it takes to make the big time,” he noted.
“Is our sheriff A&R for a hot record label on the side?” she teased.
“Nope. But my ears know what they’re hearing.”
“That’s sweet,” she whispered in a way she told him plainly it also meant more to her. She straightened in her chair, took another sip from her water, and stated, “But life has a way of telling you where you’re supposed to be and what you’re supposed to be doing. Had someone once tell me after a gig in Denver he wanted me to try out to be a backup singer for a big act. But . . .” she lifted her well-formed shoulders, “the time wasn’t right.”
“Time is always right to chase your dreams.”
At that, she gave him a full white smile, lighting the space around him, making him fight back a blink.
“Born with a nice voice, a great head of hair and a good hold on common sense,” she declared. “And don’t think I’m bragging, I’m just saying it like it is. Promise you, if I could belt it out like Céline or Christina, I would not be sitting here with you. I’d be ignoring your ass as I swanned by you at a club with a hundred times this capacity surrounded by my bodyguards. But I just don’t, Hixon. And honestly, I’m cool with that.”
And honestly, she was. Nothing about her said she wasn’t. No hesitance in tone. No rigidity in her frame. No shadows behind her eyes.
“Well, then that makes McCook lucky since the Dew Drop got you,” he replied.
“And that’s sweet too.” She shifted in her seat and tilted her head. “Sorry, but I probably need to get back. You stayin’?”
“Got my kids, Greta. Might catch some of the next set but should get home to them.”
“Of course,” she murmured then reached out and touched his wrist fleetingly before she whispered, “I’m real glad you came, Hixon.”
“Me too, Greta.”
She gave him another blinding smile before she slid off her stool and glided away with much the same skill as Gemini had done, but with a far more attention-grabbing sway of her ass.
He decided to take in a couple of songs to make things even more clear to the folks who were no doubt watching and then he’d get home to his kids.
And maybe, he might come again next Saturday.
It hadn’t been easy, at first.
Then Greta made it not hard.
So maybe they could be friends.
These were his thoughts when his eyes left her ass and went to the back of her head as she abruptly stopped moving to the curtained door.
What he saw instantly made his entire body grow tense.
She was talking to a man in a way that she held her expressive frame in a posture of detachment. Her head turned to the side and he saw her profile was guarded.
He then saw Gemini swoop in and put a hand on the small of her back, saying something to the man even as he guided Greta to the curtains.
She disappeared through.
The man stared at the curtains even after they’d closed behind her.
Gemini positioned himself to the side of them, providing presence and making a point.
The man moved back to a table.
Hix watched him and he watched how his gaze fixed on a stage that didn’t have a soul on it.
At that point, Hix ordered another beer.
And settled in.
This time Hix’s attention being on the man at the table at the edge of it, he found when Greta returned to the stage that his instincts, as usual, weren’t wrong.
He’d been so caught up in Greta, he hadn’t noticed.
Now, he noticed.
So he did not leave a couple of songs into her set.
He didn’t leave at all.