Page 26 of Cowboy Heat

I hate it.

It frustrates me.

Now, I take my time feeling out the pain. It’s low on the scale, a dull ache I managed to hit just right.

For a second, I contemplate taking the meds I’ve put in the center console in my car but decide against them in the next.

I’m just going to a bar.

With Kissy.

I haven’t been avoiding her, but I can’t say I’ve been eager to invite her to the ranch. Last time she was there, she was trying to keep her friend from bleeding out. That image is still in my head, spinning back into focus when I think about asking her to meet me.

I didn’t cause the attack on Alice Dean, but I can’t help feel like I’m a magnet for the trouble that did cause it.

“Don’t borrow trouble, Baby Beau.” Maximus’s words echo in my head the second the guilt starts in. The first time he said those words to me was when I was eighteen. The second, I was in a hospital bed in Orlando more than a decade or so later. “Deal with what you can deal with. The rest is going to happen with or without you worrying yourself into an early grave.”

Maximus was like that. Always quick with words that punched.

Yet here I am back to struggling.

Why can’t I find rest?

Why can’t I find quiet?

Why is it humidandcold right now?

I move through the Louisiana night and make my way to the bar’s front double doors. I thought Alabama weather was interesting; I was sorely mistaken that its indecisive weather was the only one.

The Branch might have several cars in the lot, but once through the front door, the place doesn’t seem as crowded. There’s a large main room that encompasses the bar straight ahead and along the back wall, tables and booths that go out to my right, a cozy sitting area with a pool table farther back, and a small hallway just past the bar that leads to somewhere else—I assume the bathrooms.

Everything is either dark wood or metal, and both are worn. There’s a wall of faded stickers behind the bar—most look like they’re from brewery companies—and there’s a modest collection of table settings on each table that includes hot sauce, a roll of paper towels, salt and pepper shakers, and a miniature tree. I see the one closest to me has a tree that looks like it’s supposed to be a part of a Christmas train set display.

The bar, like the town, feels out of pocket.

Which is probably the point.

Near the windows at the very back right corner box is an honest-to-goodness jukebox where a man belts out “We Didn’t Start the Fire”.

I seeKissy’s hair bouncing around before I see her smile and then wave. Several patrons swing their gazes my way as I walk to her. The bartender, a burly dark-skinned man with a shirt that hasThe Branchemblazoned across it, gives an impassive nod.

Kissy’s sitting across from a woman who must be her friend June.

When I come up to the table, she’s the one who scoots over so I can move into the booth next to her.

Kissy confirms before I can take the seat. “Beau Montgomery, this is mydearfriend, June Cole. June, this is Beau.”

June outstretches her hand, and we shake as I take the seat in front of Kissy.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Nice to finally meet Robin Tree’s newest,” she says. “It doesn’t happen often around here.”

I’m now right across from a beaming Kissy. She’s wearing her hair down, and several bracelets and rings shine under the yellow light of simple hanging bulbs above the table. From the walk-up, I know she’s wearing jeans, but the yellow blouse she has on is stealing the show. It’s tight in most places but draping down to show a neckline I haven’t seen yet. This time, there’s no work blazer to cover any of it up.

I make sure to keep my gaze above board.

“So I’ve been told,” I respond. “I have to say, though, I’ll take being new to town over being new in school every time. That’s a particular pain in the backside.”