I've been working heavily on my work in progress all week, so instead of sharing any of it, I'm giving myself a much needed break. So, we're leaving the Gulf side of Florida and heading to Texas, near the old famed highway of Route 66, near Amarillo. There's a honky tonk along that rundown road called The Lonesome Steer. It's Friday night and Tyler Desmond is there shooting pool when he's accidently hit in the neck with an errant dart thrown by a woman named Lacy. Now, Lacy has a bit of a nervous problem. Once she gets rattled, she can't shut-up. She just keeps on talking...and talking.
She leaned up on her cowgirl boots. Warm breath feathered across his neck. “Show me where the dart hit.”
He merely pointed. By now his head throbbed more than the wound. Woman, for the love of heaven, shut up.
Fingertips ran over his skin, and he felt current zap clear to his calloused feet. “Honestly, you can barely see it. Might want to rub a little antibiotic cream on it before you go to bed tonight, though. That’s what I do when I get a paper cut, or slice my finger cutting veggies. Should be okay in a day or two. A little iodine wouldn’t hurt, but then not everyone likes iodine.”
God, the woman’s like a verbal buzz saw. Pain pounded the backside of his eyeballs, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
“Let me buy you a beer. The least I can do is compensate you in some way. Like I said, it was an accident.” She pursed her full, pink lips again—a bad sign. “Funny thing about accidents…”
To shut her up and bring some relief to his headache, Tyler did the one thing he knew would stop her incessant chatter. He kissed her.
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