Free The Barons of Texas: Jill by Fayrene Preston Page A

song, trading licks as if they could read each other’s minds, making their guitars talk to each other in a language that everyone there seemed to understand at some level. She was no expert, but even she knew she was hearing something transcendent.
    She felt the shawl being whisked off her shoulders; then Colin led her toward the back of the room. She glanced at him just long enough to see that he had her shawl over his arm, then returned to inspecting the club.
    Blue neon made random pathways of light across the ceiling and walls. The neon revealed large, stark, black-and-white photos of blues legends, all holding their beloved guitars. She recognized the names—Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf and other masters. Other pictures showed Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith.
    Interspersed among the portraits were other black-and-white pictures of old black men, sitting in rocking chairs on their run-down front porches, playing their guitars. The pictures plainly said that the men might not have glass for their windows, but their souls were full, fed by their guitars and the music they made. Other pictures showed black people walking up and down rows of cotton, stooped over, picking and fillingtheir burlap bags. Under all these pictures were brass plaques that simply said The Birth of the Blues.
    Colin’s hand extended past her and pointed to an empty booth of midnight-blue leather. She slid in, and Colin slipped in beside her. Her nerves jumped at his closeness.
    The music was loud, but a long way from earsplitting. Nevertheless, he put his mouth close to her ear. “Move over a few more inches and give me some room.”
    She gestured to the other side of the booth. “What about sitting over there?”
    He shook his head and gave the waitress a smile as she walked up to them. Jill had no choice but to move closer to the wall, though it did no good, because he simply followed her until his side was against hers.
    The blond waitress, who had an ample bosom and a pin on her white blouse that spelled out Maggie, gave Colin her entire attention. But Jill did manage to get in her order of white wine. Colin ordered beer.
    As Maggie sashayed off, leaving menus, Colin slid his arm behind her along the top of the booth’s leather back. “What do you think of the place?” he asked, leaning toward her, his mouth once again close to her ear, his breath warm on her skin.
    She swallowed a feeling of panic. He had her pinned against the wall and the back of the booth. He was too close, too male, too overwhelming, and though he was no longer actually touching her, he was. In every way she could think of. Somehow she managed a smile. “Great music.”
    His smile held such genuine pleasure it almost took her breath away. “I’m so glad you like it. I love it.”
    “Those two—” she nodded toward the two guitarists “—are something special.”
    “What?”
    Even though she didn’t understand why he couldn’t hear her, she positioned her lips close to his ear. “The two guitarists are really special.”
    He turned his head to reply so fast that he caught her off guard, and his lips brushed hers before she had a chance to turn her head. She literally jumped about half an inch. He placed his left hand on her forearm and slowly rubbed his palm back and forth over it. “You’ve got to learn not to flinch every time a man touches you.”
    She looked down at his hand on her arm and nodded. He was right. It would never do to jerk away from Des. But then, this was Colin. “Normally I do much better.”
    He nodded in agreement. “You do—as long as you don’t perceive the person to be a threat to you in some way.”
    It was an odd thing for him to say, and probably true, though she had never bothered to analyze why she did things. But Colin was fast changing that and, in the process, making her feel extremely vulnerable.
    She did her best to edge away from him, failed, and decided to look around at the other patrons. As soon