Page 48 of The Wrangler and the Tenderfoot

I considered it. “I like old maps,” I said. “And music. I’m crap at playing, but I can listen for days.”

Tess perked up. “What kind?”

“I’m super eclectic. My playlist will be Eminem, then GNR, then Britney, followed by Hank Jr.”

They all laughed at that, even Sloane.

Ash pointed at me. “You’re gonna fit right in.”

The music shifted. Two-stepping. The floor filled in seconds. Ash dragged Sloane out, protesting, but they fell into a quick rhythm with Ash leading, Sloane deadpan but not resisting. Tess stayed at the table, watching, her eyes glazed but content. Midge sipped her whiskey and scanned the crowd.

I let myself relax, for the first time since I’d hit Hollow Ridge. No one was watching for mistakes, no one was waiting for the next secret to drop. I sat, drank my beer, and let the world be simple for a while.

It didn’t last, of course.

Halfway through the next song, I spotted Bill Hargrove at the bar. He looked the same as ever, pressed plaid shirt, hat tipped just so, boots with a spit-shine that bordered on pathological. He nursed a Lone Star, attention on our table. Not once did he look away. I clocked the moment he noticed me looking. He set his beer down, wiped the rim with his thumb, and made a tiny nod. Not a greeting. An acknowledgment.

I let it go. A man didn't survive as long as Bill Hargrove without learning how to play the long game.

The next round came fast, delivered by a waitress who knew Midge by name and tossed a coaster at me with a grin. “This one’s from the gentlemen at the end of the bar,” she said.

I didn't look. No reason to give them the satisfaction.

Ash and Sloane returned, sweating and half out of breath. Ash stole a gulp of my beer, wiped her mouth, and said, “Now that’s cardio.”

Sloane was pink-cheeked but grinning. “You’re a menace, Navarro.” I was pretty sure it was the first time I’d seen her smile.

Ash bowed, unrepentant.

Tess watched the door. I leaned in. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “Just not used to this many people. You ever get that?”

I thought of all the places I’d been where the only company was a phone and the voices in my head. “All the time,” I said.

She smiled.

Sloane eyed my nearly-empty glass. “Want another?”

“Sure,” I said.

She signaled the waitress, who brought over a bottle. We talked about nothing for a while, the best taco trucks in the region, who could drive a stick shift, which was everyone but Tess, the time Sloane hacked the county’s traffic cams to prove she was right about a speeding ticket, she’d been doing the speed limit, but “right” was subjective.

The music paused, a slow song now. On the floor, the couples drifted into a lazy spiral.

Midge nodded at the bartender, who poured her another without being asked.

The front door swung open, and Levi Coleman entered.

It wasn’t a coincidence. Not a chance. He wore a blue pearl-snap, fresh-washed jeans, and an expression that said he’d practiced his swagger in the mirror until it looked just right. He scanned the room, saw us, and made a beeline to the bar.

The girls saw him too. Ash muttered, “Great,” under her breath. Sloane’s lips went tight, but she didn’t move. Tess slid her hand into her lap, squeezing the napkin till her knuckles paled.

Midge watched.

A minute later, Levi sauntered over, drink in hand, and planted himself at the edge of our table. “Ladies,” he said, scanning the group. “Didn’t expect to see the whole Maddox bunch out in numbers.”

Midge gave him a smile like a loaded .38. “We’re supporting the local economy, Levi.”