jeans and a skimpy top. “I told Bear I’d be here over an hour ago. He’s probably got some little slut in his lap already.”
“You mean other than you?” Brittney Wade, the bookkeeper for Forcet Construction drawled, stopping to wait on Lou. The more practical Brittney had planned the evening and volunteered to be the designated driver, which was good considering Lou felt woozy from the mojitos the girls had made for Lou’s twenty-seventh birthday gala. Lou celebrated the small victory in Mary Belle letting her take off the silly tiara the woman had bought her. The shoes were bad enough.
Mary Belle paused to flip Brittney off. Brit laughed. “Kidding. Just kidding.”
Lou made it up the wooden plank steps, blinking at the flashing beer signs and advertisements for bands playing the honky-tonk soon. She didn’t think this was such a good idea. Rendezvous wasn’t the kind of place she belonged in…or at least hadn’t for a long time. “It’s been fun already, girls. We don’t have to stay out all night. We have work tomorrow and Waylon and Lori have school tomorrow and—”
“Not another word,” Brenda Pierpont warned with one finger. “You’re twenty-seven years old and never go out. This is our treat. Don’t ruin it for us, ’kay?”
Lou gave the older woman who ran the construction office a pained smile.
“Okay, then,” Brenda said, smoothing her orangey hair back and the shirt over her poochy belly. Brenda had been the one who insisted Lou wear makeup tonight and had indulged her own desire to be the host of What Not to Wear by outfitting Lou in her daughter Jillian’s wardrobe, namely a too-tight T-shirt that was low-cut and blinged-out with colored sequins. Lou looked like a rainbow had vomited on her.
Lou tackled the last step, praying she’d mastered walking in the shoes that were already rubbing blisters. This was why she loved her steel-toed work boots. But she could do this. For her friends’ sake.
Mary Belle turned and swept her with her bright eyes. “You don’t look like Lou Boyd. No one is going to even recognize you. Get ready, baby, men are about to be on you like flies on cow shit.”
Lou winced. She’d let them kidnap her, and truss her up with tight clothes, makeup and dangly earrings—all with the ultimate intent of taking her to Rendezvous for Ladies’ Night to celebrate her birthday.
In all honesty, Lou would have rather eaten chocolate pudding and watched some Netflix, but her coworkers had gone to such trouble and seemed almost giddy about taking her out for fun. “I’m not looking for a man, Mary. Well, not for a while anyway. I can’t really date with two kids to—”
“Um, they’re in high school now, Lou. And they’re not your kids. You’re entitled to a life, so stop being a martyr. No one likes a martyr,” Brit said, jerking her head toward the entrance to the honky-tonk. “So get your ass in gear, Louise.”
Trapped. And she didn’t appreciate being criticized just because taking care of two teenagers didn’t lend itself to a carefree lifestyle. After all, she had to get her brother up for a Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting tomorrow, and her day at the construction company started at 7:00 a.m. She had a family to tend to. No matter what Brit said.
There was reality and then there was Lou’s reality. The reality of no life. No love. Oh, sure, she’d tried. She’d dated, but no matter. No man wanted a woman with two kids to raise—even if they were her brother and sister.
Lou had learned long ago to wish differently didn’t do one damn bit of good. She wasn’t a martyr—just doing what had to be done by taking care of Waylon and Lori the only way she knew how. Fairness wasn’t up for consideration.
But she was here, shellacked with makeup and too tipsy to drive herself home. Might as well try to act her age. Which was younger than she felt. At the very least, she’d have a drink, watch Mary Belle act a fool over Bear Rodrigue, and then proclaim a headache. She could be home before—she looked at her watch—eleven o’clock easy.
Oh, come on, Lou. Let go a little. Flirt with being more than what you are for just one night.
Point made, voice in her head. “Okay. Ass in gear.”
Brenda pulled open the door to the bar. “In the words of Shania Twain, ‘let’s go, girls.’”
Lou smiled back. “Sure. No harm in that.”
* * *
ABRAM WATCHED THE BAND from his perch at the end of the bar. They were good, especially the drummer. Probably barely eighteen, but she could lay a lick.
The place rocked with rowdy rednecks and coonasses. He wasn’t much of a partier—tended to be a nose to grindstone sort—but he enjoyed watching others pass a good time. It was something easy to find in Louisiana. From Shreveport to New Orleans and every town in between, the natives liked a reason to get together and indulge in fun.
The patrons at Rendezvous were no exception. The dance floor was large, surrounded by tables with two bars anchoring each side of the stage. He’d chosen the bar closest to the bathrooms only because it was the first stool he’d spied after exiting the john. He nursed the icy Blue Moon and pretended to be an anthropologist studying the local wildlife.
His eyes moved over the crowd as they ebbed and flowed onto the dance floor. Several women tried catching his eye, but he looked past them, refusing to open himself to any conversation. Mostly, everyone left him alone, only occasionally eyeballing him curiously, before going about the business of getting drunk or getting lucky.
The door opened and four women entered.
The last one made him swallow. Hard.
Damn, she was gorgeous with straight blond hair, high full breasts and long, long legs. He watched as she crowded into the woman in front of her, who by his estimate was forty pounds too heavy to be wearing the clothes she wore. He watched the blonde—and so did almost every other man in the room.
If this were the ball, then Cinderella had just walked in.
He lifted his beer and took the last swig. He’d told himself he would leave when the bottle was empty. He glanced over at the bartender who’d raised himself onto the balls of his boots to get a look at the beauty. He raised his eyebrows and whistled in admiration.
“Can I get another one over here?” Abram called.
So much for an early night.
The bartender flung a towel over his shoulder. “Same?”
“Why not,” Abram said, moving his gaze back to the woman. He couldn’t find her, mostly because several rowdy-looking rednecks had blocked his view. Followed by a few more. Then a few more.
The bartender used a church key, cracking open the beer with a practiced motion, and setting it on the bar. “Wanna tab?”
Abram shook his head and placed a ten on the bar. “This will be my last. Keep the change.”
The man nodded his thanks. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”
So he’d seen him notice Cinderella. Figured. Bartenders didn’t miss a thing. “Yeah. Is she your local beauty queen?”
“Ain’t never seen her in my life. Must be a stranger. Like you.”
