Chapter 3

Skyla knew everyone was staring, so she did what she did best. She put on her big old Texas smile and she went into aw-shucks mode.

"Thank you, ma'am," she told the hostess, who'd put her at a great two top close enough to the stage to enjoy whatever little oodling singer came back to that guitar, but not so close she couldn't hear herself think.

"I'm a fan," the little gal said, handing her a menu.

"Well, stop on back by when you get a breath and I'll sign something for you." She should have ordered in and waited for the damn band…

"Oh, no. No, that's tacky and Cherry would have my ass in a sling." She got a tickled grin, the pretty dark eyes just dancing. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Big Diet Coke. Small Jack Daniels." She made motions with her hands to indicate sizes.

"Yes, ma'am. FYI, the pesto chicken jalapeno pizza is to die for."

"Oh, hell yes." She grinned, making hand motions again. "Big pizza, tiny salad."

"Salad wagon is open, and it's only $2.99 with your meal."

"Sold, honey."

"Cool. Plates are at the trunk end, the ranch is homemade, the bacon bits are real bacon."

"This might be heaven," she teased. She waited for the hostess to leave before going to grab a plate. Salad bars were few and far between these days, and there were no paparazzi around to measure her plate. Sure, it would show up on social media on someone's TikTok, but fuck it. She was hungry.

People were watching, but they were mostly polite. There was a little gaggle of teenagers in the corner, damn near vibrating, taking selfies with her over their shoulders as the mothers watching the group fussed about it.

But she got back to her table unaccosted and just in time to get her drink, so it was all good. She didn't like for folks to be alone with her liquids. That was how weird tabloid stories about her stripping down to her bra and support hose happened.

The lights on the dance floor dimmed, and she glanced up, curious to see who the dude with the guitar was going to be.

The "dude" ended up being a long, lean drink of water with bright pink and dark purple hair in a dapper little side comb. She had eyebrow piercings, a nose piercing, and her exposed throat was covered in black and gray rose tattoos.

And just in case the Dr. Martens and the Levis didn't make it clear, what was printed on her long-sleeved t-shirt sure did.

Scary Lesbian. Boo.

Damn. Skyla poured the Jack into the Diet Coke and stared unabashedly. That was…oddly hot. Not really her type, she thought, but hot. She liked a cowgirl a little more like the lady at the bar, who was obviously taken.

She didn't talk, just picked up her well-loved guitar, and began to pick, fingers dancing across the strings, the opening chords of "Danny's Song" sounding. Now, that was an oldie but a goodie, and she did know all the words.

A happy cry of "Kirsten" filled the air.

So, this one was popular.

Skyla sipped her drink, closing her eyes as the lady started to sing. It was easier to get the feel for the talent level that way. The voice had a sandpaper rasp to it but was fairly deep and had a nice round tone to it.

The guitar playing, now. That was exceptional. Kirsten was a musician more than she was a singer.

She made that guitar sing, and her sense of phrasing was absolutely lovely. When Kirsten flowed into "Cat's in the Cradle", Skyla tapped her foot and hummed along. She had to stuff her mouth with salad to keep from singing. This wasn't her show.

The crowd swayed and sang, and she moved to "Come to My Window" and then "If It Makes You Happy."

This girl knew her audience.

She munched her way through her pizza and salad, enjoying the show. But the singer herself was watching Skyla and looking a little nervous. Damn.

She held it together, though, even managing a totally respectable cover of Bonnie Raitt. Shit, the girl could play, and she caught herself singing along, because hello? Lead singer disease.

Unfortunately, she discovered that everyone in the bar was watching her, and the stud on the stage was just playing, not even pretending to sing with her.

Whoops. Her cheeks heated, and she lifted her hands like, "What can I say," as she trailed off. She mouthed, "Sorry," at the lady under the spotlight, because it was kind of a dick move of her to steal the show.

Kirsten shrugged, opened her hands, and nodded. "And that, my loves, was the perfect ending. You girls have a good night. I'll be back Thursday."

Shit. Now she felt like a douche.

"You want a box for that?" the server who had been refilling her Diet Coke asked.

"I would. I would also love to buy the entertainer a drink, if she'll stick around to have it. I feel awful."

"Nonsense. That was amazing! You have a gorgeous voice. I'll see if Kirsten's sticking around. Evie and Chey left already, and I don't see either Cassie or Devon…"

Obviously, this was a regular thing. It was fucking adorable.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." It was the least she could do. Well, that and put a tip in the tip jar, which she should get up and do, but then that would just call more attention to herself.

The waitress went to talk to the guitar player, who glanced over at her, said a few more words, and then waited for a to-go box and a glass of Coke.

Then she brought the box right to Skyla, calm as anything.

"Hey, there. Thanks for the drink." Kirsten the singer lifted her glass, then handed Skyla the to-go box.

"You're welcome. Lord, I'm sorry about that, but man, you can pick." That was the truth, so why not say it? She loved a musician, even if they weren't singing in her genre. It was a thing. She gave credit where credit was due. God knew, this business was tough enough on women without them duking it out on each other.

"No worries, and thanks." Kirsten's voice wasn't any less husky off stage, but it wasn't vocal shred. It wasn't taught.

"No problem. I like some good bar music." She gave Kirsten a sunny smile because she was feeling good. Mellow. Jack and Coke and pizza did that to a girl.

"Well, they have a DJ on Friday and Saturday, and there's open mic on Sunday."

"Where else do you play?" It popped out, and she didn't really want to take too much time to analyze that right now.

"I don't." She got a wry chuckle. "I teach acoustic, bass, mandolin. I wait tables here a couple of nights a week. Not many places here desperately need a girl with a guitar."

"Oh." Her cheeks heated. "I just figured with the ski lodge there would be bars and coffee shops."

"Nope. The ski lodge is little, but Summit Springs is tiny. I hope you have fun. There's a bunch of outdoor sports stuff to do."

"My band all want to go skiing." Skylar was more the hot buttered rum in the hot tub type.

"MM Outfitters. They're the best in town. They have packages and shit."

"Thanks. I'll check in with them in the morning." She sipped her drink. "Though I got to say, I could just sit here and wait for lunch tomorrow."

"You'll find it's a little dark around three a.m." Kirsten teased, offering a wink. "Do you need me to have Cherry call you an Uber?"

"Oh, I didn't drive." She grinned. "I can get back, though, thanks."

"Good deal. It's not scary out there. Just watch the ice." Kirsten nodded and drained her Coke. "Have a good one and enjoy your vacation."

"Thanks." She wanted, badly, to ask Kirsten to stay, to sit with her and shoot the shit, but that was presumptuous and probably weird and too fast and clingy. She just loved other musicians, that was all.

It was weird, wasn't it? How much it seemed as if being famous was all about thousands of friends.

It was a little lonely.

"Night." Kirsten went to grab her guitar, and that meant it was time to pack it in and go back to the rental house. She needed a shower. And maybe her vibrator.

She could imagine a long hard-body drink of water touching her and making her sing.

In fact, between that and the Jack, she was getting warm enough to walk back.

Sighing, she stood up, flushing as another round of applause sounded. But she took a bow with a flourish, flashing her trademark dimples. If she knew one thing about show business, it was that you never left the stage without giving the audience what they wanted.