Suddenly, Tully’s words popped into his head.
Every young girl needs to feel graceful at least once in her life.
Jaxon didn’t know why those words had struck such a chord with him. Maybe because her enthusiasm had taken him by surprise. He couldn’t help wondering why such a goody two shoes would be so excited about Honky Tonk Heaven’s reopening.
Not just a goody two shoes, but also a deputy sheriff. Rowdy bars were nothing but work for law officers. Sheriff Gentry had been called out almost nightly to break up fights and help corral drunks. Tully had to have seen how much extra work the bar had made for her beloved father. She had to know how much extra work it would make for her.
Unless she had no idea what actually happened at a bar at night. But how could that be? She had to be around twenty-six years old. Certainly, she’d been in a bar. If not while living here in Promise Springs, when she had been away at college or while she was at the police academy.
Unless, she’d been too much of a goody-goody.
In which case, maybe she didn’t have a clue.
Maybe she thought country bars were where girls drank lemon drop martinis before they were whirled around the dance floor like graceful figure skaters.
Jaxon knew better.
He’d gotten to see firsthand the brawls, adultery, catfights, and drunken craziness as soon as he’d turned fourteen.
It hadn’t been legal for him to be in the bar during operating hours, but when his mama needed help, she didn’t care about legalities. At fourteen, he’d started washing glasses in the back, taking out trash, and keeping toilet paper in the bathrooms. At sixteen, he cleared tables, ran errands, and restocked beer and liquor. At seventeen, he was bouncing—which consisted of tossing rowdy drunks out, keeping country fans from rushing the stage if a famous singer showed up, and making sure no one had sex in the bathrooms. His brothers had done the same when they got old enough to be of any help.
Poppy was the only one Mama didn’t want around the bar.
Which probably explained why she didn’t hate the bar business as much as the rest of them.
And Jaxon hated it.
As he stood among the bar's ruins, he should feel some kind of loss. Some sadness. But he only felt pissed off that he was right back where he started.
Working at Honky Tonk Heaven.
Dawson must have felt the same way because after only a few seconds of looking around, he kicked a charred table leg out of his way and headed for the open doorway.
“Fuck this.”
Jaxon and Huck hurried after him. Jaxon to reason with him to stay . . . Huck to physically make him. As soon as they were outside, Huck dove on Dawson’s back and clung like a long-legged monkey.
“Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not quitting, Dawg.”
Dawson tried to break Huck’s chokehold. “You should talk about quitting, Huck. You never stick with anything. Now let go of me, you little shit.”
“Hell, no! If I let go of you, you’ll punch me.”
“Damn right, I will.”
“Then I’m not letting go.”
Dawson looked at Jaxon. “Do something!”
Jaxon shrugged. “Why would I do something? Huck’s right. You made a commitment, Dawson, and you need to see it through to the end.”
Dawson pointed a finger at the building. “We can’t turn that into a functioning bar in three months, Jax. It can’t be done. Now get off me, Huck, or I won’t just punch you. I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Nope.” Huck tightened his hold. “You’re not going?—”
A faded red Jeep came sailing into the parking lot at a breakneck speed. Thinking it might run them over, Jaxon grabbed his brothers to pull them out of the way. But the Jeep came to a dust-spitting halt before it reached them. The driver’s door flew open and a woman jumped out in a tight tank top and cut-off jean shorts so short that the white pockets hung beneath the tattered hems. With the curled brim of the Kubota trucker’s cap shading her face, it took Jaxon a moment to recognize her.
It didn’t take Huck any time at all.
