He blows out a breath, then steps aside. “Come on in. You can talk to Ronny. He’s in the office.” He locks the door behind us and leads us to the bar where a pretty blonde is stockingbottles. “Darla, honey, could you get the kid an orange juice while I take his mom to see Ronnie?”
She turns and takes us in, then gives Tucker a big smile. “Sure, Tiny. Climb on up on a barstool, handsome.” She sets a glass on the counter and fills it with juice, then leans closer to him. “What’s your name, cutie?”
Tucker looks at me, and I nod. “It’s okay.”
“Tucker,” he whispers.
“Well, Tucker. Do you like pretzels?”
He nods, and she winks at me. “He’ll be fine. I’ll look after him.”
I glance back as Tiny leads me down the hall. Darla sets a bowl of pretzels in front of my son and ruffles his hair.
We stop at the end of the hall, and Tiny taps on the door.
“Yeah?” a voice replies.
Tiny pokes his head in. “This lady is lookin’ for work. Said she’s danced before. You want to talk to her?”
“Sure.”
Tiny steps back, and I enter the small office. The man behind the desk has silver hair that comes to his collar. He’s wearing a western-style shirt and a turquoise conch on a braided leather cord around his neck. More turquoise rings rest on his fingers.
His eyes drag down my body. “Where have you danced?”
I tell him.
“You any good?”
“I made a good living, yes.”
He tilts his head. “Why’d you leave the club you were at?”
I glance at the chair. “May I sit?”
“Sure. Sorry. Of course. Sit down.”
Gathering myself, I take a breath. “The truth is, there was a customer who got obsessed with me. He was in a biker club and decided I belonged to him. He told me he was taking me to Texas. I knew what that meant; he’d want me to give him all mymoney and dance where he told me to. I wanted no part of that, so I took my son and fled.”
The man leans back in his chair. “So, this ex-boyfriend gonna show up here?”
“He has no way of knowing I came to California.”
“You gonna be trouble?” He strokes his mouth, studying me.
“No, sir. I won’t be any trouble.”
“What’s your name?”
“Heather.”
“That the name you danced under?”
“At Cowboys I was Stardust, but I don’t think I should use that name here. Just in case.”
“You look like a Ginger to me.”
I nod, hoping that means I’ve got the job.
