Free His Temporary Wife by Leslie P. García

appointment,” Esme explained, not looking at
     Rafael. “I’m going to go home and change, then I’ll come ride, if that’s okay.” She
     smiled. “I’ll have a glass of tea then, if you’ve still got some.”
    “I have to go, too,” Rafael put in, and Esme knew he’d shot her a glance before addressing
     the Petersons. “Nice to meet you, Irving. Connie. Hope things work out for you both.”
    “Ms. Salinas, wait …” She turned as he fished a business card and pen from a pocket
     and jotted something down. “Here.” He extended the card, and she reluctantly reached
     out to take it. No point in making the Petersons part of this whole charade.
    “That might help you with the questions you had about jobs around here,” he added
     smoothly, then nodded again to the Petersons and left. When he started backing out,
     she said goodbye again and walked to her truck, buckling in and checking the rearview
     mirror before curiosity got the best of her and she glanced at the card again.
    Lillie Mae. Silver Boot and Booty. Ask her.
    Lillie Mae. She’d spoken to the woman weeks ago, when she checked out the Irvings
     before considering their place to board Domatrix. She’d only been in town a couple
     of days, but she’d heard the name everywhere. An old woman, from what little she knew,
     whom everyone in Truth seemed to adore. And she knew the Silver Boot and Booty—the
     newest bar in town, right next to the traditionally named Silver Dollar, which she
     supposed had been the first building in town. But why she was supposed to go talk
     to a strange old lady in some bar that represented a real economic threat to her aunt?
    She backed out faster than she should and hit the asphalt with every intention of
     going home, changing, and coming back. She didn’t know when she changed her mind,
     but she knew when she passed Cattle Guard Road that she was going into town. And talking
     to an eighty-year-old woman about Rafael’s proposition. Crazy. She couldn’t think
     of another description for what she was about to do. The fact that she laughed out
     loud in the empty cab of her own truck didn’t worry her nearly as much as it should
     have.

Chapter Six
    There was a longhorn steer wearing a saddle, tied to the hitching post outside the
     Silver Boot and Booty. There was a golf cart parked next to the longhorn. And the
     few people walking along the sidewalks in front of the buildings weren’t even glancing
     at them. Esme shook her head. Rose Creek had been as small—maybe marginally smaller—than
     Truth. There had been eccentrics there, too, but nobody rode longhorns and parked
     golf carts outside saloons. Either she’d fallen into a rabbit hole, the whole town
     was crazy or—hope flared—someone was shooting a music video. She’d seen lots of weird
     stuff in country music videos. In fact, hadn’t Cody been photographed somewhere on
     a longhorn that looked a lot like this one?
    Holding on to that fragile hope, Esme grasped the rail running alongside the steep,
     enclosed stairs and descended into the Silver Boot and Booty, Truth’s newest bar.
     The rock exterior and deep stairwell were at odds with the garish neon sign, but the
     interior was as bright and gaudy as the neon. Light gleamed on a polished hardwood
     floor. The bar took up most of the front of the establishment—high, polished wood
     that reflected almost as much light as the floor. The tables scattered around were
     along the sides and towards the back, leaving most of the inside space for dancing.
     Not as cluttered as her aunt’s place, or as dark.
    “Hey, there!” a friendly voice called from behind the bar. A cheerful woman with steel
     gray hair nodded at her. “We’re really not open, but if I can help you with something
     …”
    “You’re not open?” Esme questioned, waving her hand at a table near the front, but
     not the one nearest the bar. A man in western garb sat there, a glass of something
     in front of him,