Rose pulls her golf cart over to the side of the street and hops out.
I take in the stretch of bars and storefronts lining the dimly lit street. “So,” I question, stepping out onto the uneven pavement. “We can justleavethis here?”
She shrugs. “It’s got my name on it. Who’s going to take it?” She reaches for my arm as I start toward one of the bars. “No, come on. It’s this one here.”
Rose steers me in the other direction through a black door under a dark awning. It’s warm inside, a nice change from the cool night. The place is big for a small-town bar. Round tables fill the floorspace and there’s a large built-in bar taking up most of the back wall. Vintage signs hang from the remaining exposed brick walls and strings of naked bulbs illuminate the room in a muted, warm light, drawing my eye to the wooden beams that run along the width of the bar. It’s a mixture of rustic, chic, and .?.?. “trying too hard,” if that was a style.
But the thing that draws my eye the most is the black grand piano perched on a wooden platform at the front of the room, where a woman is playing.
“What is this place?”
“It’s called The Blue Branch. It’s our version of a jazz club or wine bar.”
I narrow my eyes. “But?”
“But it wasn’t getting much business being that, so they let a few fights start up to get people talking.”
I slide onto a seat along the bar. “To give it agoodreputation?”
Rose reaches for a menu. “That’s what Wes tells me.”
“So this isn’t a you-and-Wilder spot?”
She huffs out a laugh. “If Wilder comes out with me, he takes meoutof town.” She glances around. “Besides, there are particular regulars here the Thorne brothers prefer to avoid.”
“Sounds juicy.”
“That’s what I thought when I first heard about the rivalry between Blue River and Callahan Ranch. But it’s pretty serious. Goes way back to when Connor ran the ranch. Lost his wife because of it.”
“Dallas’s mother?”
She nods, eyes shadowed with regret but pinned to the menu. “Learned the hard way just how deep the feud runs. From what I hear, Ricky and Dusty Callahan are worse than their dad. Play dirty. What started as a battle over a river, turned into a clash of egos.”
“Who’s in the lead?”
Rose shrugs. “Ricky’s probably the only one keeping score. He and his crew have stopped going around Bones much anymore since it usually ends in one of ours winning a brawltheystarted.” She glances back. “They sort of migrated here recently. And it’s for the best. Anytime Dallas and Ricky are in the same room—there’s blood.”
I scan the menu like I’d get anything other than my usual. “How are the margaritas?”
Rose smirks. “Not as good as mine.”
We applaud the woman playing her second set. And I’mimpressed. Her fingers are fluid along the keys, her gaze trained. She doesn’t care that she’s got an audience. Or at least it doesn’t seem that way.
It usually takes me one margarita to get to that point.
She’s also gorgeous. Dirty-blonde beach waves, high cheekbones, strong build.
Bet no one messes with her around here.
She finishes her glass of water and moves behind the bar for a refill. She chugs it halfway then sets it down, eyes pinned on me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I blink. “Me?”
“Least I could do, you watched my entire set. I’m Laurie.”
I exhale a laugh with a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. You sounded amazing.”
Rose leans in, shouting over the crowd, and points to me. “Willow playsandsings.”
