Someone to Watch Over Me
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Someone To Watch Over Me
by
Jerrie Alexander
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Someone to Watch Over Me
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Jerrie Alexander
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
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Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-966-7
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
My heartfelt thanks go to the small village of folks
who helped make this short story a reality.
Barb Han for her brain storming sessions,
honest critiques, and constant support.
Jackie Pressley for reading, critiquing,
and her unfailing belief in me.
Marsha R. West for her encouragement
while I worked through this story.
To Jim, my rock. My own personal hero, thank you.
Any mistakes are my own.
Chapter One
Stacey McKinney slid back the curtain a fraction of an inch and peered out. She squinted at the Texas sun bearing down. Billowy white clouds floated across a powder blue sky. Light flooded her room but not her heart.
She’d slept in spurts. Nightmares about men with knives and waking to imagined footsteps had left her with a splitting headache.
She washed down a couple of Advil with a cup of coffee, a trick she’d picked up from her dad, and shook off the sense of foreboding that plagued her. Moving to the sliding glass doors, she performed her next routine by cracking the blinds and thoroughly scanning the apartment complex grounds and parking lot.
Geesh. You are not in Houston, and Ray has no idea where you are.
She slammed the blinds closed. Time to focus on solving her immediate problem, the lack of money.
Needing a second job to supplement her income wasn’t the end of the world. No way would she ask her father for money. He’d help financially, but he’d be full of questions. Right now, she didn’t have answers.
Moving to Oak Hill had presented more than a cash flow problem. Coming home dredged up memories of an old heartache best forgotten. The image of Cash Butler’s turbulent gray eyes still haunted her. It wasn’t a surprise when her heart fluttered over the news he was back in town. Last she’d heard he was off in some foreign country saving America from terrorists. She shrugged her shoulders. Where he lived meant nothing to her.
In a time of need, people returned to their roots. She was back, and she intended to stay.
To kill time until the Rockin’ Boot, one of the town’s popular nightclubs, opened for business, she straightened up her tiny apartment, mentally rehearsing her interview. She’d heard they needed a weekend bartender, and she planned to apply right away.
She took meticulous care with her makeup and hair. A pair of jeans, a bright turquoise blouse, and her eel skin boots finished the look. At noon, she headed for the bar.
With the parking lot almost empty, she had no trouble finding a spot up close. She took one last look in the mirror. No matter how much Take-Me-Tonight lipstick she applied or how many times she fluffed her newly colored honey-toned hair, her nerve endings weren’t going to stop sizzling until she at least tried to get this job. The worst that could happen was she didn’t get hired and wound up working at the Whataburger on Main Street.
She’d driven past the Rockin’ Boot last night and based on the number of vehicles there, the oversized dance floor still drew a crowd. The huge gun-metal gray structure hadn’t changed much. In fact, the giant neon boot on top of the building was the same.
Without experience, she feared she’d have to do some convincing, but this was important. Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she gathered her courage and opened the door. Country music, cigarettes, and stale beer assaulted her senses. She could do this.
Within minutes, a waitress had escorted Stacey to an office in the back with instructions to wait for the owner. Unable to sit still, she wandered around the room, studying autographed pictures on the wall. A few of the visiting bands and singers had gone on to become famous.
“Stacey?”
Startled, she whirled at the sound of the familiar voice. Over the years, Brady Campbell had added a few pounds, but he was still an imposing figure.
“You remember me?” She liked his firm handshake. The steadiness of it calmed her.
“Of course. You’re Russell McKinney’s daughter.” His eyes widened, and he openly stared. “Except all grown up.”
“Yes, sir.” Stacey took the chair he pointed to and waited. Had changing her hair color from light brown to blonde caused such a look of surprise?
“I understand you’re here about the weekend job.” He sat and then propped his boots on the corner of his desk.
“That’s correct.” She kept her tone positive but upbeat.
“I’m puzzled a woman with your means would want to work here.” His forehead wrinkled, and his eyebrows drew together.
“If you’re referring to my father’s money, I’m too old to let him support me.” Stacey felt the opportunity slipping away. That couldn’t happen. She’d spent most of her savings on furniture and rent, leaving only the salary from her part time job to pay the bills.
“I like your independence.” He nodded as he spoke. “How long you been back?”
“A few weeks.”
“How’s your dad?” Brady shoved his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Even under the bright lights in the office, judging his age was hard. He and her dad had been friends, but somehow Brady looked older. “He and his new bride moving home too?”
“No. They’re living outside of Houston.” She left out the exact location in case Brady developed the urge to contact her father. She had to keep her distance from her family until Ray Simmons got it through his thick skull that she wanted no part of him.
“What’s he think about you being so far away?”
“It’s only a few hours. Besides, I thought it best if I gave them some privacy.”
“I hear you.” Brady chuckled and dropped his feet to the floor. Leaning forward, he studied her for a long minute. “Let’s walk and talk. You can convince me while I finish one last inspection before we get busy. All hell is about to break loose.”
She followed him past the massive dance floor. She listened, trying to keep up and learn while they walked.
“How much bartending experience do you have?”
“Absolutely none.” She laughed when his eyebrows shot straight upward. “I see nothing to be gained by lying to you and you firing me for it my first night. But I promise I’m a fast learner.” She believed. Now to convince Brady.
“I respect your honesty.”
“Good, because I wasn’t joking, I need this job.” She hadn’t intended to sound so desperate or to cause the puzzled expression on his face.
“Take a left.” He walked the length of the dance floor. “On the weekends we set up two beer stations. One on either side. Mixed drinks still come from the bar.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“It works. Part-time bartenders work Friday and Saturday night from seven to closing. You’re looking at three or four in the morning by the time your area is straightened and restocked. A bar-back will keep your beer tubs full throughout the night. Oh, and you’ll share tips with him. Usually seventy-thirty.”
“Did you just hire me?”
“I did. You want to start tonight or tomorrow?”
“Tonight.” She jumped on it before he changed his mind.
“Then let’s get your paperwork done. Be here an hour before your shift. I expect you to be on time. Take off only if you’ve covered your station with one of the other bartenders and cleared it with me.”
“You won’t have to worry about me not showing up.”
“Good. Dress code is boots and jeans. Sexy is great for tips, but I remind all new hires to use good judgment. I run a bar not a strip joint.” Brady scrubbed his hand over his chin. “I’ll put Jonathan with you. His grandma passed some months back. He came home to put her affairs in order and decided to stay. He’s a good worker. You’ll catch on within the first few hours. The beer tub is easy to master.”
****
By nine o’clock Stacey’s feet were killing her, and she was counting the hours until closing. “When did everybody stop aging at sixteen?” She joked with Jonathan, the bar-back, while they restocked the beer tubs.
“They might look young, but they’re at least twenty-one,” he said, his face solemn.
Did he think she was serious? “Lighten up, would you? I know the age requirement.”
Jonathan’s thin frame and pale blue eyes gave him a haunted look. He dressed in Wranglers and a red western shirt. He wore a red bandana tied backwards, as if he were a highway bandit and might need to cover his face any minute. Stacey liked him right away. It would be nice to have a friend. He’d jumped right in to help her learn the ropes, and they’d formed a good team.
He nodded at the counter behind her. “You got one waiting.”
Stacey dried her hands and greeted the young cowboy leaning on the bar. “What can I get you?”
“Coors Lite, please, ma’am.”
A spear shot through her heart. She turned to Jonathan, “Did he call me,” she took a deep breath, “‘ma’am’?”
“Sounded like it to me.” He gave her a slight nod.
Narrowing her gaze, she turned back to the baby cowboy. She crooked her finger, giving him the come here sign. Leaning over the bar, she met him nose-to-nose, and in a low growl, she repeated her question, “Did you call me ma’am?”
His lips spread into a smile. “Yes, ma’am, you heard me right. My mama always said I should be respectful of my…”
“Stop and think before you finish that sentence. You bring any ID with you?” There had to be a way to punish this young man.
“Always.” He pulled out his wallet, produced a driver’s license and handed it over for her inspection.
She grinned at his birth date. Just as she expected, barely legal at twenty-two years old. She opened his beer, passed it and the license back to the young Adonis, feeling much older than the six years she had on him. Twenty-eight hadn’t seemed old until she’d reported to work and got a look at the crowd. “Well, Lance—”
“You didn’t let me finish. That’s what my mama said. My daddy always told me, ‘Son, find a beautiful older woman. She’ll show you heaven here on earth.’” He gave Stacey a grin highlighted by a tiny dimple at the top right corner of his smile.
This young cowboy was a heartbreak waiting to happen. But for someone other than her. Tall and lean with dark eyes, he couldn’t have been out of braces long. He wore a bright blue button-down shirt and a summer silver-belly western hat.
“Does anybody stay mad at you?” She forgave his comment, but he’d struck a nerve. She was older than the other bartenders. Her bar wasn’t busy and theirs stayed that way.
“Not for long. I’m interested in seeing heaven. Can I tempt you to show it to me?”
In her sexiest voice, she leaned over to him, “Sonny, your heart couldn’t take the strain. Go away, you’re holding up traffic.”
****
Stacey dragged her tired butt out of the bar and into the sweltering heat. Summer in Texas was never timid even at three forty-five in the morning. Soon the trees, grass, and lakes would be humbled by its power.
“Looks like you have company.” Jonathan’s voice had a touch of sarcasm in his tone.