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nearly falling out of the low cut T-shirt she wore and
with her arms pulled in tight to her sides, she was trying her
damnedest to push them all the way out.
    Shane’s cell phone vibrated for the tenth
time since he’d been here and he reached into his jeans, eyes not
leaving the back of Bobbi’s head as he retrieved it. With one
glance down he saw that there were several text messages from
Billie Jo Barker, though it was the last one that grabbed his
attention.
    Bobbi’s disappeared. She never showed for
her wedding. If u hear from her let me know .
    “Hello,” the waitress said sarcastically.
    Shane shot her a dark look that said, hold
on . He quickly typed a response— I know where she is, don’t
worry —and turned off the alerts so he wouldn’t have to answer
the hundred and one responses he was sure would come. He tossed his
cell phone onto the table, his eyes drawn to Bobbi as he settled
back into the dark corner. He should leave. He should just get as
far away from this bar and that woman as he could.
    But then Shane Gallagher and common sense
weren’t always real tight. In fact they hadn’t been buddies in a
long, long time. He propped up his booted foot on the bench across
from him, decision made.
    “Before you go, I’ll take another beer.”

Chapter Three
     
     
    The second whiskey had tasted better than the
first and subsequently, the third was so much better than the
second.
    Bobbi twirled her finger in the cold, wet
liquid, pushing the ice cubes against the glass and watching them
tumble around in a sea of amber. She stuck her finger in her mouth,
slowly sucking the drops of booze off the end, very much aware that
the old man at the end of the bar watched her, a look of
disapproval on his face.
    Which was the total opposite of the table
full of rednecks just to her left. Each and every one of them
watched the display as if they were picturing her mouth licking
something else entirely.
    Gerald would be disgusted. If he was here
right now, his face would get that pinched look—the kind that said
his boxers were on too tight—and he’d look down his nose at her.
His eyebrows would thread together as he frowned, and he would no
doubt try and lecture her on the etiquette of public displays that
weren’t exactly lady-like.
    Of course, Bobbi had never been on the
receiving end of one of those looks. Nope. She was—or had been—the
perfect girlfriend/fiancé. But she’d witnessed his self-righteous
derision first hand, when dealing with her sister Betty.
    No, Gerald Dooley would definitely not
approve of a woman chugging whiskey like it was going out of style
and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate his fiancé—she made a
face— former fiancé sitting in a crappy bar, wearing a
wedding dress that cost a small fortune, with his mother’s fake fur
stole along for the ride.
    She tossed the fur wrap onto the bar and
grinned, feeling either crazy or happy, she didn’t know which. What
she did know, was that the pressure on her chest was gone and she
could finally breathe again. She pushed her hair out of her face
and then took another long drink. The whiskey burned on its way
down, but her tongue was pretty much numb to it after two shots of
tequila and two stiff drinks.
    Danny paused in front of her, a rag in his
beefy hand. She glanced up. “Shit, you lost a crap ton of hair, my
friend.”
    His eyebrows rose so high it was comical and
Bobbi studied him carefully, suddenly feeling talkative. And free.
And talkative.
    “You know, if you shaved that tuff of
feathers off the top, hit the gym and lost that gut, you’d make a
hell-of-a lot more in tips.”
    His face flushed red, the jowly cheeks puffed
up so much that he looked like he was gonna blow. “Who do you think
you are girlie?” he rasped. “Coming into my bar, wearing,” he
nodded, “that getup and acting like you’re the fucking Queen of
England?”
    “Danny,” she began slowly, because all of a
sudden her tongue felt thick and she