She stuffed his bill into a cash box. “You’re wasting your time, you little shithead. Ain’t no chance of charming a woman who once changed your poopy diapers.”

Grimacing, he adjusted his Stetson then placed a hand flat on her table.

With a little more force than was necessary, she stamped the back of his hand with the Cowboys Bar & BBQ logo. He wondered how long he’d have to pay for scaring the bejeebies out of her that Halloween. A good two decades had passed but he figured a woman probably wouldn’t ever forget wetting herself in front of a bunch of ten-year-old boys who later made sure the whole town knew of her misfortune.   

He indicated a tin sign posted on the wall behind her. “Any takers tonight?”

Without turning to read it, she harrumphed. 

He lifted a shoulder. “Well, a fella can hope.”  

Though the honky-tonk had been around since the 1800s, the sign was closer to Bernadette’s age. 

Cowboys: No shirt, no service. Cowgirls: No shirt, free beer.

He’d never heard of anyone actually testing its promise. More’s the pity. 

Pushing through the door a perfect blend of beer, popcorn, smoked BBQ, and feminine perfume washed over him. He allowed a minute for his eyes to adjust and wished, not for the first time, he could package that unique scent, take it with him, and shoot it intravenously anytime the stress of work became too much. 

Located in the basement level of what was now the town’s cinema, the place was legend throughout Texas and in full form for eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. The cover band had filled the sawdust-strewn dance floor with shuffling couples twirling to I Like It, I Love It. A group of old timers played poker in the corner. A bevy of girls in tight skirts and cowboy boots tossed back shots of whiskey. Two of his six brothers threw some of the free popcorn at him.

Acknowledging them with a lift of his chin, he brushed the kernels from his shoulder and wound his way toward the pool table in the back. Tall as he was, he barely cleared the pressed tin ceiling with his hat on. His brother, Ben, had to take his off or remain crouched when he stood.

Paul added his name to the chalkboard, then sauntered behind the bar and walked up behind Miss Odette. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. “How’s my favorite gal?”

She lifted her crepe-like cheek for a kiss, pulled the tap handle, and filled a glass for one of the customers. “Watch those hands of yours, mister. My boobs droop so low these days you’re mighty close to the danger zone.”

Chuckling, he gave her an extra squeeze, then grabbed a Lone Star. At eighty-two, Miss Odette was just as much a fixture of Cowboys Bar & BBQ as the scarred oak floor and old Tonk piano, its faded keys still exhibiting a bit of life when someone deigned to give them a little attention.

“Good crowd.” He cracked open his beer and took a deep pull from the longneck.

She indicated the cash register behind her. “Beer’s not free no matter how charming you Bradford boys are.”

“Well hell, that’d be oh-for-two tonight.” Pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, he deposited his money inside the cash drawer. “I’m putting in enough for two.”

“That all?”

“Going down to Houston tomorrow. Need to keep my head clear.”

The band started in on Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy, clearing the barstools.

Finn Stewart slipped onto one of the vacated seats. “What’s in Houston?”

Circling to the proper side of the bar, Paul settled next to his best friend and wondered if Miss Bernadette had stamped Finn’s hand with as much force as she had his. Finn had been a willing and active participant that infamous night, but if Paul asked, Finn would call him a wuss so he answered the question instead. “The National Real Estate Conference is in Houston this year.”

“Didn’t you just go to one of those?” 

“Not since last year. That one was in Vegas.”

“Oh, yeah.” He checked the score of the Rangers game on a big screen opposite the pool table. “Gonna be humid as hell in Houston this time of year.”

“It’s always humid down there.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl Miss Odette slid in front of him. He winked his thanks, then returned his attention to Finn. “You have any money on the game?”

“Not tonight.”

The band took a break, bringing a flood of people back to the bar. He and Finn relinquished their seats to some women, then moved away from the press of bodies. They raised their voices over the din and discussed the usual—work, baseball, and women. 

“Speaking of women,” Finn said, “my sister’s boyfriend of six months dumped her this afternoon.”

“That sucks. She okay?”

He scraped the label on his beer. “She’s pretty upset. Blubbering. Holing up in her apartment. Bashing men one minute, then herself the next.” He whipped his head up. “Hey, what part of Houston is your conference in?”

“North Houston. Why?”

“Very far from The Woodlands?”

“It’s in The Woodlands. At the Marriott across from the mall.”

“Demi Lee’s in The Woodlands.” He gripped Paul’s arm. “You think you could go by and check on her?”

Paul pulled a face. “Not that I wouldn’t do anything for you, buddy, but a crying, emotional, inconsolable female? You serious?”

“I’m really worried about her. This is the second guy in a row who’s done this to her. What if she decides to bolster her self-esteem by going bar hopping and sleeping with a string of guys?”

Paul reared his head back. “Demi Lee? How old is she now?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Already?”

“I know. Hard to believe.”

Paul tried to remember the last time he’d seen her, but could only pull up a vague recollection of her in the town square a couple of Christmases ago, surrounded by girlfriends and all bundled up in coat, hat, and scarf.

Finn nudged him. “So? Will you? I’m good for a six-pack.”

“This would cost way more than a six-pack. I mean, what exactly am I supposed to do? Or say? It’s not like there’s an app for that.”

Finn shrugged. “Just Google it. You’ll find something. Come on.”

“I don’t know, Finn. I’m gonna be pretty busy at the conference. Not a lot of free time.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You have time for one little visit.”

A cheer and a curse came simultaneously from the guys concluding a game of pool. 

Paul glanced at the chalkboard and set his beer on a nearby ledge. “I’m up.”

Finn stalled him. “You’ll go, then? You’ll check in on her?”

Blowing out a puff of air, Paul rubbed his forehead. “Text me her number—and you owe me, buddy. Big time.”