Page 10 of Bred By the Cowboy

7

ANGUS

I don’t likewhat I overheard when Dolly was on the phone. Not one bit.

Dolly being made to feel guilty about her situation. About living with my family. It isn’t fair. She has been dealt a hard hand and is making the most of it, and taking it like an angel. She’s grateful and willing to do so much to prove her gratitude. Not one complaint out of her, either.

Then her mother treats her like that. I already had a low opinion of that woman, given she abandoned Dolly to her situation in the first place, and this clearly does no favors for her.

I want to hold this girl, to protect her, to do so many other things, but I have to find some way to express this and I’ve never been all that good at that.

After dinner, she comes along to the Burly Bar wearing a cute little pair of cowboy boots and a dress to match. She knows this isn’t the sort of place for a shimmering cocktail dress and heels, it’s a bit too roughneck for that. Everything’s made of wood, the bartender has a curly mustache, and there's about a hundred gallons of ten-gallon hats among the bar patrons.

“You need a little cowgirl hat of your own,” I say as we sit down in one of the booths.

“I have one, actually. I thought about wearing it, but I decided against it. Seemed like overkill.”

“Nothing’s overkill with you, Dolly. You’d make anything look fine.”

She blushes red. I head to the bar and get a pair of beers, and as I expect, Tony doesn’t give me any trouble for bringing someone ever so slightly underaged into his bar. I crack open the caps and hand her one, and she takes to sipping it immediately. No Burly resident really waits til twenty-one to indulge.

A drunkard goes onto the bar’s little stage and looks at a screen, which fills with words as some guitar starts to pick up over the bar’s stereo system.

Dolly raises an eyebrow. “Karaoke? Here?”

“Tony tries to keep it traditional, but the times are changing. He has little things to get people in here. Besides, wannabe cowboys like to sing just like anyone else.”

The drunkard starts to fumble through one of the Rolling Stones’ hits. Mick Jagger this guy ain’t.

“You should head up on stage, Dolly. Show everyone your golden voice.”

“Golden voice?” She laughs. “I don’t know, is this the type of place that would appreciate that?”

“I’d appreciate it,” I say.

It doesn’t take much more than that. “Alright. I’ll put in my request,” she replies, then she goes up and does so.

We sit, listening to a few more songs, and enjoying the show. The other singers are entertaining, if not technically competent. It’s a mix of country and rock and roll, Willie Nelson back to back with Black Sabbath.

Dolly’s name is called, and she smirks. Her curvy little self walks up to the microphone, and the country guitar twang hits.

She looks my way and starts to sing. She chose ‘Stand By Your Man’ by Tammy Wynette, and she goes right into it. Full of soul and passion, all directed at me, suggesting that I’m the man she wants to stand by during those cold and lonely nights. I’m more smitten with her than ever, falling more in love with her than I ever thought possible.

Dolly’s got the rest of the bar in her hands too. She knows how to captivate a room, not just one guy. Tonight though, I know that she’s singing just for me and I don’t think I can hold myself back much longer. No matter how much I might be risking to put my heart on the line.

She saunters back to the table, and I rise to my feet to greet her. “What do you think?” she asks.

I give my musical criticism with a kiss. Strong, sudden, with all of my passion. She’s surprised at first, but soon melts into me. She’s meeting my passion with her own, our tongues dancing, and we’re both left gasping for air.

“I can think of somewhere else I would rather be right now,” I say, my hands around her waist.

“I’m in your arms, can’t think of anywhere else I might want to be.”

“Besides this bar, I meant.”

“Oh, I suppose I could think of somewhere in that case.”

Hand in hand, we walk right out, our stay at the Burly Bar being a whole lot shorter than what I expected. In my truck we ride away, exchanging glances, passion boiling over. With what we want to do, going home isn’t an option. The last thing I want is my dad wandering in. But I know of a good place. With a beautiful view, and plenty of privacy.

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