“No kidding,” says Ginny. “Why do you think I’ve always dyed my hair? I hope it won’t grow out before it’s safe for me to go to the hair salon again.”
I nod at her. I’m one of the few naturally dark-haired girls in Darcy, a trait I thought Logan always appreciated.
“Logan doesn’t usually like blondes.” I reach over the bar to grab a dishrag and then start vigorously wiping the counter.
“True,” Blake says.
“Seems he likes just about everything about this girl,” George says.
I take a huge gulp of my iced tea and clutch my trusty dishrag in my other hand. I don’t think this bar’s ever been as clean as it has in the past twenty-four hours.
George gently tries to extract the dishrag from my grip, but I hang on too tightly. He gives up and reaches under the counter for another cloth for himself.
“Your daddy’s coming by later with a reporter to give him a Cowherd tour,” George says. “Hopefully your visit with Logan and his fiancée will be over by then or you might attract quite a crowd.”
I purse my lips. “I told my father he could only bring reporters by when the bar’s not open. He’s ignoring me because he thinks the patrons will get excited if they see a camera.”
“Well, he’s right,” George says. “Why won’t you let him come by at night?”
I search for an answer other than the truth— that it makes me feel safer. Daddy’s always been a follower, and if there are fewer people in the bar, the less chance he’ll break and take a drink.
Instead, I gesture toward theWhere’s Your Mr. DarcyMama carefully painted in white letters across the back of the bar.
“My parents want that question answered so badly.”
George looks where I’m pointing. “No one knows anything until that cell door swings open though, right?”
“I just can’t believe Logan Wild is Mr. Darcy,” Ginny says.
Blake rolls his eyes. “He’s not. Macey’s parents have started a crazy rumor.”
George laughs. “I saw Logan by the fishing hole earlier, and there were actually two cameramen following him. It’s like he’s an overnight celebrity.”
“With an overnight fiancée.” Ginny smiles. “Weird.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Especially since he’s the last person in this town who would ever want to be part of a famous couple like that, fictional or no.”
“He’s a damn cowboy, not a romance hero,” Blake says. “Y’all agree—Logan’s sarcastic, the opposite of a romantic…”
I don’t agree with the last part, but I don’t say anything. Logan Wild can be very romantic in private. And my chest aches at the idea of him being that way with a woman other than me.
“He’s negative,” George points out.
“He likes to relax and fish,” Ginny adds. “Mr. Darcy was a very hard worker.”
“He’s also fifteen minutes late,” Blake says. “He’s never late.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I mutter. Lots of things seem to be different about Logan nowadays. “He’s probably been slowed by the paparazzi.”
I glance around The Cowherd on the off chance Logan snuck in somehow. A bunch of cowboy hats line the bar, but no one under the age of fifty is in sight.
“Got the ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ crowd back again.” George pulls back his long white hair with hands gnarled from playing too much rock guitar. Other than a few decades playing half-empty honky-tonks, this is the only job he’s ever had. “They’ve had that song on replay for about twenty minutes. I highly suggest you take over the music selection.”
I drop my empty iced tea glass on the counter. “I love that song, though. Okay, George, make me one dirty martini, and I’m good.”
George does a slow turn toward me. Blake and Ginny twist around on their barstools to look at me.
“It’s not like I never drink hard alcohol,” I say to the three sets of raised eyebrows. “I just pick my spots. Trust me,thisis a spot for a dirty martini.”
