Chapter One


Feathers and braids in her blond hair, gray tank top clinging to her wiry frame, flared jeans slung low, Grace was throwing ’em back at Louie’s and the jukebox was blaring “Born to Be Wild.” It was past closing time and the windows were dark, except for the occasional flash of lightning. She couldn’t hear the thunder, only the song, which, she supposed, made a great sound track for a girl like her. The pulsing beat egged her on. She bobbed her head and mouthed the words, letting the deep bass course through the soles of her cowboy boots as she pushed them against the rung of her bar stool.

 The place smelled like stale beer, cigarettes, and a whiff of cooking oil. Louie kept it as nice as he could but a bar was a bar. Be it ever so humble, there was no place like Louie’s when it came to getting shit- faced. 

Thunder roared and the mirrors caught the lightning, reflecting light around the room. From somewhere in the ceiling, raindrops splashed on the bar— plink, plink, plink— like the echo of shell casings during a shoot- out. Grace dipped her forefinger in the water and pressed it against the varnished surface. Grace was here. The next raindrop washed her print away. 

“Maybe it’s time to build an ark,” she said to Earl as she hoisted a shot of fine tequila to her lips. Saltshaker and lime wedge stood at the ready on a soggy paper napkin to her right. 

Her burly cowpoke last- chance angel was hunkered on the stool beside her; he smiled a tad and said, “You’d
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