over,” she said, still not believing it herself. “I knew those biddies from the historical society would reject us.”
She hadn’t really been talking to the others. More to the world in general, if for no other reason than to distribute some of the pain that had landed on her shoulders with a bit more equity.
Seeing everyone else looking at her, Cat busied herself behind the bar, making their signature drink, the Cosmopolitan. Cat and Laine had chosen it as a joke three years ago when they’d taken over the bar from their mom, because Kendall was about as uncosmopolitan as any dusty little Texas town could be.
It was only after she realized she’d forgotten to put any liquid in the shaker—which contained only ice—that she acknowledged how shaken up she was. She quickly corrected the situation, going heavy on the vodka.
Then, because everybody seemed to be waiting for her to say something—or else explode—she added quite mildly, she thought—“The city wants a new road, so we’re out. Did you really think we’d change anything tonight?”
Passing out the drinks, she eyed the three other women, waiting for the “it’ll be okays” to start. Laine appeared on the verge of tearing up; Gracie sighed, looking depressed rather than sad; and Tess seemed more nervous than anything else.
None of them looked the way Cat felt about the loss of this last fight to cling to a way of life her family had held dear for two decades—absolutely furious and utterly heartbroken.
Laine appeared close, however, at least as far as the heartbreak went. The sheen of moisture in her eyes cut deeply into Cat. Her sister never cried. She was the rock—the steady foundation of the family—and the antithesis of Cat. Her older-by-six-years sister was solid, smart and reliable. The calm one. The good one. The angel.
Solid, smart and reliable were three words that had never been used to describe Cat, the younger Sheehan sister. And nobody in his right mind had ever thought of her as good. Her blond hair and green eyes might appear angelic at first glance. But her attitude and never-ending ability to get into trouble had made her seem much more destined for a pitchfork than a halo as a kid.
Her adult life hadn’t changed anybody’s opinion.
She’d been called the rebel, the bad girl. Her mother had dubbed her the wild child at the age of three when she’d tried climbing headfirst out of her bedroom window to run away from home so she wouldn’t have to start preschool. Laine had hauled her back inside by the laces of her Buster Browns that time.
But nothing was going to save Cat from falling now, especially not if Laine started showing emotion over this. Or worse, appearing helpless, as the slight tremble in her lip and the shakiness of the hand holding her martini glass indicated.
“How are we going to explain this to Mom?” Laine asked, sounding bewildered.
Laine at a loss? Unsure what to do? The sky was gonna start falling at any minute. And Cat just couldn’t take it, not on top of everything else. So she raised a brow and gave her sibling a challenging look. “Had faith in the system, Laine, dear?”
Bingo. Her sister immediately stiffened. As usual, when Cat went on the offensive, she inspired rapid mood changes, often involving anger. Or sometimes laughter. She’d used the technique all her life and it was a damn good defense mechanism, if she did say so herself. Including now.
Laine’s eyes darkened and her jaw tensed as she crumpled the letter in her hand. “Yes, I did. This isn’t right. How can they just take away everything we’ve worked for?”
Cat nearly sighed in relief. A teed-off Laine, she could handle; a bereft one, she couldn’t.
Everyone kept talking, but Cat couldn’t bring herself to listen. The others all had a sad stake in this, but they weren’t going to lose quite as much as she was. Her business, her job, her way of life. Even her home.
Okay, the three tiny rooms over the bar weren’t much of a home, but they were hers. She loved retreating into her private little world, listening to the late-night whispers and creaks of the aged oak paneling downstairs as the old building settled ever deeper into its foundation. A foundation that had, until the city’s road project, seemed incredibly sound.
The trill of birds in the lush walled garden right outside her window woke her every morning. And the tinkle of glasses and muted laughter of their regulars lulled her to sleep on her rare nights off. She loved those sounds. As much as she loved the smell of the lemony polish she used daily to bring back the lustrous shine to the surface of the old pitted bar.
She loved the hiss of a newly tapped keg. Loved the clink of glass on glass when she poured a neat whiskey. Even loved the whirr of the blender when she had to make girlie drinks for the froufrou crowd that occasionally wandered in for happy hour.
Mostly she loved sitting here, alone, late at night when the place was closed, picturing the faces and voices of everyone who had passed through here before her. Her grandparents. Her dad, who’d died so many years ago. She could still see his wide Irish smile as he slowly pulled a draft of Guinness for a customer, explaining that the nectar of Ireland was well worth the wait.
Gone. All the things she loved would be gone. Washed away, like sidewalk etchings in the rain, by city officials who had no idea they were washing Cat’s entire world away, as well.
No job. No business. No home. No future.
No identity.
Just who was she going to be when this was all over?
She sipped her drink, depressed and overwhelmed at the thought. She’d gotten so used to her place in the world, stepping in at the bar at such a young age because it was what the family always figured she—the so-so student but A+ party girl—would do. She’d dated poor excuses for men and never been serious about any of them. Worst of all, she’d put away any glimmer of an idea that she could do something different with her life. Like fulfill a long-secret dream to go to college and become a teacher.
She’d shoved all of those things aside, and for what? A business that was going under, a family who had drifted apart, and a life that seemed…empty.
You can change it. Change everything.
She couldn’t thrust the unexpected thought out of her mind…maybe she should take this as a sign to move on in a completely unexpected direction, to walk a new path.
She could change. Become somebody new.
The idea grew on her. Since she had no choice, maybe the time had come for her to try something else. To change some things about herself—from her attitude to her hairstyle. Her clothes to her social skills. She could work on her education—slowly—to see if she really would be as good at teaching English to teenagers as she thought she might be.
She could work on her notoriously bad language, her secret addiction to romance novels. Maybe she’d even break herself of her awful habit of getting involved with even-badder-than-herself bad boys, who were ever-so-safe to fall for since they never aroused any ridiculous expectations of happily-ever-after. Just happily-between-the-sheets.
Yeah. No bad boys.
“Who are you kidding?” she mumbled under her breath, doubting she was that frigging strong.
“Did you say something?” Tess asked.
