Free Gambling on a Secret by Sara Walter Ellwood Page A

last time I dragged your sorry ass out of here, if you leave and kill some innocent person, her behind’s in the sling same as yours.”
    Dylan swore under his breath.
    Zack Cartwright never drank, at least not more than an occasional beer, and he never drank alcohol and drove. He’d lost his wife to a drunk driver, leaving him a single father of a little girl.
    Damn it, all he wanted was a drink, which he wouldn’t get at the Longhorn. Standing, he leaned over the table. “You know I don’t drive when I’m drunk. I’ll walk home first. But I’ve decided I don’t want a drink after all.”
    On his way to the only another bar in Colton, Charli invaded his thoughts again. He never talked about his ex-wife, yet he’d told her about Brenda. For some reason talking about her with Charli made him feel almost relieved. Was he finally over her?
    * * * *
    “You sure you want to take your truck?” Charli climbed up into the F150 early Monday morning. Duct tape patched the leather seats in a few places. The faint smell of stale whiskey clung to the air. She promptly rolled down the window.
    Dylan closed the driver’s door and looked over at her. “Isn’t my Ford classy enough for you?”
    “Not what I meant and you know it.” She snapped the seatbelt in place. “I’m willing to drive, that’s all.”
    He started the engine and headed down the long driveway, dust churning up in their wake. “I know.”
    “You don’t trust my driving.”
    “No, I’m sure you’re as good as any other woman driver.”
    She glared at him. “That was quite a backhanded insult if I’ve ever heard one.”
    As they bumped over the steel bridge straddling the creek, he spared her a glance. “It’s not your driving.”
    “Then what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t like my Lexus?”
    “Bingo. Besides, showing up in a luxury car at a tractor dealership is like showing up at a fancy diner with dirt on your boots.”
    She refused to concede he possibly had a point. As she looked out the window, she muttered, “Maybe I’d prefer to drive anyway.”
    “I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink since last night.”
    She should ask him about his drinking, but dealing with a pissed-off Dylan for almost two hours would be about as fun as sitting in the dentist’s chair.
    When he paused at the end of the drive, she looked up at the broken arch over the gate. One more thing she had to fix. She’d wait until she had a name for the place before replacing the weathered sign.
    They were silent until they reached Highway 6. She patted her thigh, restless until she couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
    “Not as long as you don’t turn it to a country station.”
    In mid-reach of the radio dial, she froze and looked at him. “You don’t like country music?”
    He glanced at her. “Not particularly. Some of it isn’t bad. I like Southern rock, but the twangy, cry-in-my-beer stuff, forget it. Before you say something asinine about cowboys always liking country music, let me remind you I grew up in Washington, D.C. and Germany. Country isn’t what I listened to, and I’ve never acquired a taste for it after moving to Texas.”
    “I won’t turn your station, but I like country. My favorite singer is Nate McConnell. I play his CDs to death.” Someday, she’d like to meet the half-brother she’d never known she had until last summer.
    “I’ve seen him in concert a few times, and Toby Keith, too.”
    “Over in the war? I know they do a lot of USO tours.”
    “Yeah. They both put on a good show and support the troops. I’ll give them that. But McConnell is a bit too sentimental for me. Do you listen to anything else?”
    “I grew up listening to The Beatles, Elvis, James Taylor and Carly Simon. My mother loved the music of the sixties and seventies. One of her favorite bands was The Sisters McGinnis.”
    Before she could turn the switch, he said, “Jackie McGinnis is your