Winning The Cowboy's Heart. Karen Rock

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      And why did he care about his new stepsister’s opinion?

      Disappointment washed over him. She was gone. He kept strumming, continued singing, but his earlier excitement faded. A few minutes later, he ended the song with a rowdy flourish to roof-raising applause. Heath and the rest of the band broke down their equipment, loaded it in Remmy’s van and then sauntered back into Silver Spurs for some tall cool ones.

      Clint signaled the bartender and ordered beer. “Who are you looking for?”

      Heath quit craning his neck. “No one,” he lied. He sought out Jewel’s fire-engine red hair for no good reason except the connection sparking between them. Had he just imagined it?

      Not that he’d pursue her, even if he weren’t already engaged. She wasn’t even his type. He liked gals who wore makeup and nail polish, who fixed their hair pretty and smelled like flowers. Soft and sweet. Jewel, on the other hand, was scrawny and hard-edged, a prickly tomboy cowgirl who preferred horses to people and was as approachable as a cactus. Not to mention they were now family, and he was engaged to a woman he was supposed to love forever.

      “Last call!” shouted the bartender to the mostly cleared honky-tonk. He slid them three cans of Bud.

      “Has Kelsey made any of our shows?” Remmy asked.

      “She’s busy with work.” Heath gulped his beer and scanned the room again.

      Kelsey, a tireless volunteer and fund-raiser at the local animal shelter and food shelf, also helped at her father’s ranching supply company, Hometown Ranching. When he and Kelsey married, she expected him to leave his family ranch, Loveland Hills, and join the business. He tugged at his limp collar again. Nothing against their enterprise, but working the open range left him free to sing to the cattle, compose songs by the campfire and gig in the local honky-tonks. He’d have to give it all up...

      Once he agreed to a wedding date and said, “I do.”

      Their families expected him and Kelsey to marry, seeing as they were high school sweethearts and got engaged after graduation ten years ago. Kelsey was sweet and generous, his first love. So what was stopping him from setting a wedding date with her? It’d make everyone happy...

      “Can we get your autograph?” A trio of gals shimmied close, wriggling in their boots and fringed skirts as they stared Heath up and down like he was the last steak at a family reunion.

      He shot them a giggle-inducing smile and signed the backs of their phone covers with an offered Sharpie. They flicked their hair and batted eyelashes long enough to scare a daddy longlegs.

      “Call me, sexy.” One of them shoved a paper in his pocket before traipsing out the door, Silver Spurs’s last customers.

      Heath read a cell number on the note followed by a <3 Jaimey and crumpled it up.

      “Did you make up your mind about Nashville?” Clint snagged the paper, drained his brew and chucked the can in the recycle bin behind the bar.

      “Hey!” groused Kevin, Silver Spurs’s owner. “Make yourselves useful and put up some chairs.”

      “You got it.” Heath quit drinking, despite his dry, hoarse throat, and headed for tables grouped around a pool table.

      “Do you ever say no?” Clint caught the dishrag Kevin hurled at him and wiped surfaces as Heath cleared.

      “He’s a people pleaser.” One of the waitresses, June, held out her tray for the empties Heath collected. “My therapist says I’m one, too. Means you always make everyone else happy except yourself. That’s why I owe five hundred bucks to Pampered Chef.”

      Clint slapped the dishrag on another table and swished it across the wet-ringed surface. “Are those pans solid gold?”

      June laughed and her earrings, peeking from beneath a short pouf of strawberry blond hair, danced. “My friends threw parties all month. I had to order from each or I’d offend them.” She shifted her weight and sighed. “See? Can’t say no, just like Heath. Though that’s why we all love our heartbreaker.” Her nails lightly scraped his cheek as she patted it. “Just remember: ‘to please is a disease.’” She sashayed away.

      “I’ve said no before.” Heath diligently stacked Kevin’s chairs, despite needing to get home for some shut-eye. In four hours, he’d be vaccinating calves alongside his brothers. He rubbed his gritty eyes, then hoisted another chair.

      And what was wrong with wanting to make people happy?

      “Like when?” Clint scooped peanut shells into a pail.

      “Ummmmm...” Heath’s brow creased as he searched out an example. “I didn’t let Pete Stoughton borrow my bike.”

      “Dude, that was in eighth grade,” Clint laughed.

      “Still counts.” Heath positioned the last chair and hustled back to his half-finished beer. The empty bar top met his eye. He bit back a request for another when Kevin pressed a hand to his back as he straightened from the mini fridge.

      “What about Nashville? Are you saying no to that?” Clint tossed his dishrag into a bucket filled with cleaning fluid.

      “Nashville?” Remmy ended what’d sounded like an argument on his cell phone and joined them. “What’re you talking about?”

      “Clint’s been posting our videos on YouTube. Some Nashville person saw them and wants to give me a tryout.” Heath propped a hip against the bar, his tone casual, as if this wasn’t the biggest thing that’d ever happened to him.

      “Some Nashville person? It’s Andrew Parsons!” Clint grabbed a cherry from the garnish bin and tossed it in his mouth.

      Remmy’s eyes bulged. “You’re fooling, right?”

      Heath shook his head and despite his best effort to act unruffled, the movement was jerky, tense.

      “He owns Freedom Records.” Remmy shoved his longish hair from his face. “They’re the biggest country music company in America. Heath’s gonna be famous.”

      Heath held up a hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s only a tryout. A snowball in hell has a better chance than me earning a contract. I’m not sure if I’m even doing it.”

      Clint jabbed his index finger into Heath’s chest. “You gotta do it, dude.”

      “You want me to leave the band?” Heath shoved his balled hands into his jeans pockets.

      Clint shrugged. “Once you make it, you’ll bring us with you.”

      Heath scuffed floor dust with his boot tip. “What’s wrong with just gigging?”

      “Nothing if you want to get paid in beer and pocket change and never have anyone except Carbondale hear your originals. You’ve got talent. Don’t waste it.” Clint ambled behind the bar and popped the tops off some longnecks when Kevin disappeared into the back room. “Wouldn’t you like to make real money?”

      Heath lifted the offered beer and sipped. Writing and performing music had never СКАЧАТЬ