When his daddy found out about our drunken wedding, Mr. Wild told Logan he had to “grow up right now, you hear me?” Being the youngest of four sons was no longer going to help Logan avoid his father’s insistence on him taking over Wild Ranch with his brothers.
So when Logan came to me the afternoon after we returned from our Vegas trip—divorce papers in hand but his face pale—I told him to take a painting vacation.
“You look like you could use a break, Logan.”
“It’s funny you say that,” he said slowly. “Because I do need to take a trip.”
Something about the way he said it sounded strange…
“What do you mean? To Montana to see Luke and them?”
“No. A trip on my bike.”
Logan loves his motorcycle almost as much as he loves his truck. I don’t know which he’d be willing to give up if he had to choose.
“You know where you should go?” I said excitedly. “Boston. You could visit your friend, Diego, and you could paint.”
Logan went to Boston to take painting courses years ago, and he came home armed with the knowledge he needed to eventually make painting into a career. Even if it took years to get there, that was his goal. It still is his goal.
An unnamed emotion crosses his expression.
“Actually,” he said. “I think I’m going to stay in-state. Maybe I’ll head west.”
“West Texas!” I said excitedly. “No people, no distractions. And beautiful landscape to paint. That’s just what you need. All you need is your supplies and your Harley.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And while I’m gone, you’ll start your first novel?”
“Um…” I stumbled. “I’ll…sure. I’ll try.” I forced myself to say the words, “And maybe you’ll even meet a pretty girl.”
Logan snorted. “Right.” He looked at me. “We’re back to dating other people though, right? We agreed that’s best.”
“Right.”
“Even if it’s just casual dating, we’ll…”
“Try it,” I said firmly. “Yes. Let’s do that. You date someone on your trip, and I’ll do the same here.”
“Deal.”
The sparkling of my ruby ring winking at me brings me back to the present. I twist the ring I never took off my left finger and push aside the divorce papers.
I’m still not past Vegas. At Ginny’s insistence, I’ve even tried what Logan and I decided on—I went on a few dates with a guy in town. Jamie is polite and friendly. He’s only kissed me on the cheek at the end of each date. And that’s all I’ve wanted. That’s more than I’ve wanted, even.
My father’s booming voice calls out to me from down the hall. “Macey! Come out here and take a look!”
I stand up and hurry down the hallway, stopping short when I see what’s happening in the bar. Daddy and Evan, his sober companion, have just finished unfurling an oversized banner above the long u-shaped bar. The banner is dangling from the wooden ceiling beams and hangs over the collection of gold-framed blurry photograph “sightings” of Jane Austen’s ghost.
I read the banner out loud?—
Darcy’s soul mate couple will marry by Independence Day! Who are Darcy’s Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet? Don’t miss any upcoming weddings at The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel—the next one could be the match!
I step behind the bar and put my hands on my hips. “Daddy, what are you doing? Is the Texas heat finally getting to you?”
He’s too busy fiddling with the banner to even turn around and look at me. “Darlin’, I know you’re in charge for good now, but I’m still allowed to offer ideas and suggestions. And we need a new gimmick. This bar needs another spark.”
“We have enough going on this summer,” I say to the back of his gray head. “We’ve got a wedding booked. We conduct guided tours of The Cowherd and its jail cell. And I was just about to do this.” I hold up a bottle of brandy. “Who wants a Jane Austen brandy on the house?”
Old Dye Jenkins looks over. Dye’s wife, Donna, left him for the postman and rather than have to see her around town with her new family, Dye started coming here on the daily with his dog, Rusty. To me, it feels like Dye soaks up every last morsel of human contact he can get before he has to go home alone to the same house and same bed he shared with Donna. He’s our best customer.
