Freight Trained (7 page)

"Okay, ladies, are you ready to get your groove on?" Ellen asked, beeping the locks on her SUV.

A chorus of rowdy whoops intermingled with a few shrill whistles was the answering response and with a resigned sigh, Abby turned to follow the crowd through the parking lot. 

Maggie appeared at her side, linking their arms.  "Before we go in, there are a few rules you need to know."

Abby gave her a small, disbelieving smile.  "There are rules?"

"For the Abby-is-going-to-have-fun-tonight plan to work, yes."

"I'm not sure your definition and my definition of fun are the same things."

Maggie gave her arm a hug.  "Abby-Abby-Abby, trust me."

Figuring Maggie was an unstoppable force, she decided to give in graciously.  Who knew, maybe she'd have fun.  She was willing to try for one night at least.  "Okay, what are the rules?"

"Rule number one, you must do as I say, when I say it."

Abby opened her mouth to object, but Maggie held a finger up, edging her words in first.  "And no arguing."

Abby snapped her mouth closed with a scowl.

"Rule number two, and this one is very important."  Maggie's expression turned serious, her eyes losing their teasing sparkle.  "You drink only drinks that I or one of our girls put in your hand, and don't drink anything you've left unattended."

"I wasn't planning on drinking."

Maggie's eyes got that sparkle again.  "Oh, but you will.  Don't forget rule number one," she said, with an evil eyebrow wiggle.

"I must do as you say, and I suppose you're going to tell me to drink."

"Right you are, Abby girl," Maggie hooted.  "Last rule, no leaving with any man.  This is girls night.  We all come together, and we all leave together.  No woman left behind and all that jazz."

Abby started shaking her head before Maggie even stopped talking.  "I wasn't planning to."

"Planning and doing are two different things, but don't worry," Maggie patted her arm, "I know you won't break the rule.  It was mostly invented to keep Deb in line."  She tipped her head back and laughed.

Abby's ears were assaulted the moment she hit the door, made worse when she actually walked through it.  Country music blared from some unknown source that she'd yet to detect.  Not a fan, she had no idea of the song nor the artist, she only knew it was an upbeat, lively tune.  Not to be outdone by the music, the packed roomful of people, shouted, yelled, cheered, whooped, and hollered to be heard by their fellow companions.

The interior was much the same on the inside as the outside, old, rustic.  Signs decorated the walls.  Some advertising various brands of liquor, while others cautioned patrons "No spitting on the floor" or "Beware: men consuming alcohol."  A large bar filled a good amount of space and had a crowd three rows deep surrounding it.  The mirrored wall behind the bar had rows of glass shelving that reached the ceiling, holding hundreds of liquor bottles. 

The cloying heat of too many bodies in one space had Abby actually grateful that Maggie had stolen her sweater.  For modesty, her pride would've forced her to wear it, and heatstroke could have been a real possibility.

A flash of something from the corner of her eye caught her attention.  A tall, big-haired blonde, glam-a-zon in a kick-ass, skintight outfit, strutted on rhinestone, platform sandals across the room.  Abby, as well as most people in the room, watched her progression as she walked to the bar.  Like the Red Sea parting, a line of sight opened, giving her unhindered passage to the front of the bar.

"We managed to snag a table in the back.  Come on," Maggie said, as she latched on to Abby's arm.

Abby still looked in glam-a-zon's direction.  The crowd had swallowed her up, but the top of her teased, blond hair was still visible.  Stunned and maybe a little in awe, Abby turned to Maggie and blurted, "Who the heck was that?" 

"Heidi Summers."

Still sharing, Abby said, "I want to be her when I grow up." 

"No, you don't."

"What, why?"  Heidi was confidence personified.  Anyone who could strut around, head held high with such assurance, had it going on.

Maggie leaned in closer to be heard without yelling.  "Because she's here every Saturday night and never leaves alone."  Maggie stood back up, one eyebrow raised in a "do you get the picture" gesture.

Abby looked back, trying to get another glimpse of Heidi.  Yeah, she got the picture, and although she could never see herself having sex with strange men every weekend, she still couldn't help but want the confidence to do so. 

She felt another tug on her arm, gaining back her attention and followed Maggie to their table.  It was small, and there was no way two more people would fit at it.  Maggie proved her wrong.  Grabbing up two extra chairs from a nearby table, she shoved them in at an angle then motioned for Abby to sit.  A waitress in a barely-there outfit arrived, setting a large tray of shot glasses filled to the brim with a golden liquid on the table that all the women lunged for in unison. 

"Here." 

Abby looked down at the drink Maggie placed in her hand.  "What is it?"

"Tequila shot." 

Abby watched as Maggie brought her glass to her lips, tilted her head, and swallowed its contents in one go.  She looked back down at her drink.  "I've never had strong spirits before."  She'd had a beer once but didn't like the taste so never had one again and a few glasses of wine at the wedding of a distant cousin but never hard liquor.

Maggie laughed and when Abby gave her a puzzled frown, she explained, "I've never heard anyone call it spirits before.  Sounds so proper."

Abby felt her cheeks heat, and she lowered her head. 

Maggie jabbed her with an elbow.  "Hey, don't be embarrassed.  It's cute."

And by "cute" Abby was sure she meant weird.  An image of Heidi, strutting in her rhinestone sandals popped into her head.  Abby was sure she had never been labeled a "cute" anything.

"Okay, Abby, drink it down."

She gave Maggie a skeptical look.

Waving a finger, Maggie said, "Remember rule number one."

Abby raised the glass, giving it a sniff.  Scrunching her nose in distaste, she said, "I don't know if I can drink this."

"I won't lie, the first shot will be rough, but the second will go down a lot smoother."

"I have to drink more than one?"

Maggie eyed her up and down.  "Your size and weight, never drinking before, I'd say three shots should be good.  Loosen you up without getting you totally shit-faced."

Abby raised the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and mimicking Maggie, tipped her head back, drinking the shot in one swallow.  Then promptly lost her breath.  Her eyes flew open as the liquor burned its way down her throat.  Finally, after several long seconds, she was able to take a deep breath, which in turn started a round of uncontrollable coughing.

The table erupted in laughter and for once, she was so focused on regaining proper function of her lungs, she didn't care she was the center of attention.  Maggie handed her a glass of water that she gratefully took, guzzling its contents to soothe the burn.

Once she regained her composure, she glanced around the table noticing all the girls smiled at her, real smiles, not fake, snide, or calculating ones (even bitchy Deb), and Abby found herself smiling back.  "Well, that certainly hit the spot."  The table erupted into another round of laughter and this time, Abby joined in too.

* * * * *

Cole strolled into the bar, well, technically it was the general store by day but at some point someone had put tables in the back for the locals to sit and have a drink at the end of a long day.  The tradition most likely started with a couple of the old-timers gossiping over a couple of beers and over time grew into the local hangout.  Cole went because it was the only place in town to buy a beer and not have to drink it alone.

He tipped his chin to Rich Crenshaw and Sheriff Sam Brody before taking the empty seat at their table.  "Been here a while?" he asked, indicating the six empty beer bottles littering the table.

Rich picked up the full beer in front of him and took a swig.  "Been here a couple of hours.  Ellen's out for the night.  Went to Dusty's."

Cole raised his brows.  "And you didn't go with her?"

"Said it was ladies night, no boys allowed or some shit like that."

The Sheriff gave a loud snort before taking a sip of his own beer.

Rich gave him a dirty look.  "What?"

But it was Cole who answered.  "That doesn't bother you?"

Now it was Rich's turn to snort.  "Nah, she's with a big group.  The usual girls plus the new gal, Abigail O'Neal."

Cole's back stiffened.  He'd driven by Abby's house not ten minutes ago.  The place had been dark, all the lights off, but her car had been in the drive.  He assumed, even though it was only nine, she was in bed for the night.

"Was up at her place the other day," Rich said, taking a swig of his beer.

"Who?  The O'Neal woman's?" the Sheriff asked before Cole had a chance to.

"Yeah, she seems real nice.  Was having trouble getting her water on.  It was a quick fix, not a big deal, unlike the current project I'm working on."

"Problems?" the sheriff asked, picking up his beer and settling back for a long conversation.

"Yeah, been working up at the Henderson's.  Seems their...."

Cole lost track of their conversation.  His sole focus now centered on Abby at a bar overflowing with dick-headed piranha looking for only one thing.  Fuck it.  This being noble crap was a load of horseshit.  He obviously didn't know how to be a nice guy because a rage was building inside him at the thought of Abby vulnerable at some dive bar.  He smiled to himself, rippin' off heads then fuckin' his girl sounded like the perfect way to spend the rest of his evening.  He abruptly stood.  "I gotta go."

"What?  But you didn't drink your beer," Rich said, looking up at the now towering Cole.

Rich may be fine with his girl gallivanting around by herself with no male protection, but Cole sure the hell wasn't.  He slid his beer across the table.  "It's all yours."

Chapter Seven

Abby couldn't stop laughing.  Deb (yes, bitchy Deb) was shaking her thing on the dance floor, and Abby thought it was hilarious.  She was creating quite a crowd
—
mostly guys trying to inch their way into her vicinity
—
and she soaked up the attention.  Abby and Jane were the only two left at their table, the rest of the gang were scattered about, and Abby had lost track of them long ago.

Sometime earlier, at about her third or fourth shot, she had morphed into a more outgoing version of herself.  She felt relaxed and carefree, and her hazy, drunken mind wondered why she couldn't feel this way without the benefit of liquid courage. 

Maggie appeared out of nowhere, two drinks in her hands.  She handed one to Abby.  "You ready to get your thing on?" she asked, with a nod of her head in the general direction of the dance floor.

Abby shook her head vigorously.  "I don't dance."

"A couple more of those and you will."  Maggie pointed to Abby's drink. 

That was enough incentive to stop drinking.  Abby looked down at the shot she held and thought, fuck it, brought the glass to her lips and downed it in one go.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Maggie whooped.

"Ladies."

Abby turned in her seat, looking behind her.  Three men had approached their table all dressed in western garb
—
jeans, long-sleeved, snap shirts, and boots
—
wearing welcoming smiles.  Abby was quick to note, they were all good-looking, but the tall one in the middle was especially cute.  He gave her a wink when she stared at him maybe a bit too long.  She quickly faced forward in her seat to hide her flaming cheeks.

"Well, hello there, boys."  Of course, that was Maggie.

"Would you ladies care to dance?"  One of the masculine voices behind her asked.

"We'd love to."  Again, from Maggie.

Abby felt a warm hand land on her shoulder but before she could react to it, she heard a low growl.

"Get your fucking hand off her."

Instantly recognizing the voice, Abby whipped her head up.  Cole stood before her, the table length between them.  She felt the hand leave her shoulder and heard, "My mistake, didn't know she was taken," from the masculine voice behind her.

"I didn't know she was taken either," Maggie mumbled quietly.  Abby pulled her eyes away from Cole long enough to glance her direction.  Her wide eyes and slacked jaw a mirror of the shocked expression Abby, more than likely, currently wore. 

It took a moment for her brain to catch up with what was happening, but when it finally did, she was still confused.  She asked Cole, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't look at her, still glaring at the guy behind her.  "Get your stuff, we're leaving."

Now, Abby knew she was more than a little drunk, but he did not just say what she thought he did.  "What?"  Her disbelief came out as a breathy whisper.