Never Stopped Loving You (8 page)

Chapter Eight

Kara crossed the bar in a one-woman mission to get back to her stool and into the safety of Whitney’s area. Wade wouldn’t dare cross that line again in front of Whitney and she planned to be next to her friend like they were two crayons stuffed in an already-full box. Not just for her own sanity and to keep her from kicking Wade in the shins, but she also really needed a friend right now. Like they used to be.

And also someone to hide behind in case Tate and his judgmental staring returned to the bar too. Though as the seconds ticked off and neither stepped in, she figured Tate was right alongside Wade and hopefully keeping the peace between Wade and John. That was one thing she could count on. Tate was respectable and all about the upkeep on the Chester name even though he didn’t put the hours in at the farm. There would be no parking-lot fighting so long as he stood watch.

With a quick slip, she skirted around two couples dancing to a slow tune and found her bar stool. It was hard to climb on with the heavy weight still strapped on her shoulders. Before Wade grabbed John by the neck, the truth had been on the tip of her tongue. Then Wade ruined it. She looked at “Bartender Brandon,” as Whitney had called him, and shoved away the lightweight fruit mix. “Rum and Coke. And nothing diet.”

Whitney’s brow lifted as he got to work. “What happened?”

She started to answer with the truth, but with the crowded bar and music to talk over, no thank you. She was trying to maintain a reputation. “Nothing.”

Whitney’s face fell. A long breath slipped past her lips. “Don’t push me out. Not again.”

Kara put her hand over Whitney’s. “I’m not avoiding you, just not here.” She glanced around, already knowing people were watching her. Hell, she’d gone out with John. Wade followed with Tate, and now she was back inside alone. “People are already watching, I don’t want them listening in too.”

Whitney’s tongue clicked in her mouth. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Get off this stool? The ends of her nerves were fried. If she managed to get on her feet, the odds of walking across this room without shattering into a thousand pieces were slim to none. She knew this was a bad idea. Knew she never should have come to the bar, but it was hard to tell Whitney no. And Whitney had wanted to come here so, damn it, she was going to suck it up and be here. “No. No, really. I’m fine. You’re still having a good time.”

Tasha, Patrick’s wife who she’d met earlier at the farm, dropped in a chair on the opposite side of Whitney. Her arms stretched over the bar top. Her palms flat, fingers spread wide as she stared the bartender down in a similar motion Kara had just performed. Damp tendrils of curls surrounded her pinked face. The ponytail that had been swinging and bouncing a few hours earlier was now halfway down the back of her head. “Make it something strong and make it fast.”

Whitney glanced to her with a brow raised. Kara didn’t know what she was thinking, but it didn’t take seconds to find out when Whitney glanced to the bartender. “And make it to go.”

Bartender Brandon laughed. “Nice try, Whitney. This ain’t no fast-food joint where I sack it up for you and toss it out a window. You order it here. You drink here. Then you leave.”

Years ago Kara would have pictured Whitney batting her eyes and making this begging noise thing from her throat. Kara had seen this in action several times, but it didn’t happen. Instead she stared the man down. “I want a bottle, Brandon. A full bottle of something and then we’re going to get out of your hair.”

His brow rose as he mixed. “No.”

Whitney’s grip on her purse straps tightened. “Don’t be a jerk. Give us something good and these three women hanging over your bar will be out of here before our PMS unloads on your customers and wrecks everyone’s night and your tip jar.”

He stared at her a moment and Kara laughed silently as he debated between the bottle or getting three women off his bar.

His chin lifted. “Where are you going with it?”

Whitney’s brow rose. “To our cars. We’re going to take turns smackin’ the hooch while driving the strip between the local high school and First Baptist Church. Back and forth. All night. Spittin’ out the window and throwing our gum wrappers on the ground.”

Brandon wasn’t amused.

Whitney rolled her eyes. “Home, Brandon. We’re going to take it to my house.”

He still didn’t look convinced. Kara cleared her throat. “I need some rum to make a rum cake.”

Whitney snorted and glanced to her. “Right. Rum
cake.
That’s what we’re going to do.”

He lifted a rum bottle from under the counter. As Whitney reached for it, he held it out of her hands. “You don’t open this until you get there.”

“I know.”

He gestured first to Kara, then to Tasha. “These two stay with you unless someone drives them home. And that someone doesn’t include you.”

She reached but he pulled it back. “Yes. Fine. Whatever, come on.”

“And I expect a slice of this
rum cake
you have planned.”

“Dang.” Kara glanced at the counter.

With a big grin he handed the bottle out and Whitney snagged it. She reached in her purse and came out with a twenty, but Brandon had moved on to another customer.

She made a face, jammed it in the tip jar and slid off the stool. “Let’s go, ladies.”

Tasha put her fingers to her mouth and a high-pitched whistle went up, louder than the jukebox and over the commotion of the room. The busy, loud room dropped to dead silence aside from the drumming beat. Patrick glanced up right away from his conversation and met her gaze. “I’m going with Whitney.”

He nodded and she grunted under her breath. “Like he’s going to care.”

“Let’s go.” Whitney got both their arms while holding the bottle. “Girls’ night in.” She nodded. “At my house.”

Kara didn’t have a clue what had snaked up Tasha, but she was damn thankful for it. Someone else’s problem was way better than her own. Whitney and Tasha busted out the front doors like girl power on a mission. Kara hung back and tried breathing to convince her stomach into calming down. Would they still be out there talking?

She stepped out into the night that seemed twenty degrees warmer than it had five minutes ago. John’s truck was gone. Wade and Tate were missing from the parking lot and cool relief coated her neck.

She dropped in the front seat and sat back while Whitney drove them to Chester House. The farm was quiet for the most part, but lights were on in the barn. She stepped from the car. “I’ll shut the barn lights off and meet you inside.”

Whitney shook her head and danced to the front porch even though there was no music. “Wade’s in there working.”

“On what?”

“His house. The barn is mostly storage and it’s weird to have dates to bring home and such when you live with your sister. He’s been on a one-man construction crew transforming the old barn into his new home.” She squinted in the dark. “But since Tate’s truck is here, he’s probably in there too.”

Wade bringing girls home was not something she wanted to think about. “Good idea.”

Whitney saluted the sky with the bottle and yelled at the top of her lungs. “
Night
,
Wade!
I’ve got company.
Keep your cranky ass out of the house!
” She smiled down at Kara and Tasha. “Come inside, ladies. I want your story first, Kara.”

“Not much to tell,” she muttered. The conversation outside had ended before she got started. “And now I have to make rum cake. I don’t even know a recipe for that.”

“Momma’s cookbooks are on the top shelf of the pantry.”

Mrs. Jana’s cookbooks? Though the night sucked ass, she took the front steps two at a time to see those books. For hours she’d pored over those pages. Sometimes with Mrs. Jana. Sometimes alone.

“I just want something to drink.” Tasha walked the last of the way in and fell onto a bar stool, arms flat across the top in the same basic form she demonstrated at the bar. “A drink and moment of silence that doesn’t include
where’s my xyz?
All day long. If it’s not the boys, it’s Patrick when he gets home. I’ve never seen so many people lose so much junk. Do I look like a bloodhound?” Her gaze landed on Kara. “Do I? Do I bark? Do you see a long tail? No, no you damn well don’t. I am more than a search-and-find kit.”

Kara didn’t know the woman enough to know how to respond. Hell, she’d just met her this afternoon and barely at that. Already, she could see how Tasha ended up being friends with Whitney, though. Kara offered a nod of agreement while Whitney dug out three juice glasses and passed them around.

Whitney twisted off the bottle top, poured the glasses quarter full and toasted. “Drink! And screw the men.”

Those two polished off their shots in less than half a second. Kara nipped at hers while she pulled out bowls and spoons. She was not getting drunk and wasted tonight. She could barely handle life sober. Like hell was she trying it out drunk.

Whitney filled glasses for another round and paused with the bottle mouth over Kara’s glass. “Oh, I already refilled yours.”

“Yep,” Kara lied and sipped again. When those two downed theirs, she tossed hers in the sink at her back. She placed her empty glass down next to the other two. A loud, female thwack of a united group of women sounded out and Whitney poured again.

Even with little sips, Kara wasn’t stupid. There was nothing on her belly and Kara hardly ever drank. “Let me get your momma’s cookbook and get this cake going before I start seeing double.”

“I’ll have you another ready to go when you get done!”

“I fully expect you to.” Kara hurried to the pantry and grabbed some crackers before reaching for the cookbook. She crammed as many down her throat as possible, got another handful and came out with Jana’s handwritten cookbook. The binder was slick against her palms as she remembered. The drawing Kara and Whitney had colored was still stuck in the front flap. She hugged the old book to her chest as she returned to the kitchen.

She placed it on the counter and rubbed her hands over the familiar smooth plastic cover on the binder. She turned the pages as Tasha and Whitney took another shot, and found the section marked Cakes. There was a rum cake in here somewhere. And probably a whiskey cake and vodka cake and any kind of cake with alcohol as there was an entire subsection under Baking marked With Alcohol. Mrs. Jana had always kept a wide variety of everything since she often entertained.

Kara pulled out flour, sugar and a few other things. Everything was largely in the same spot as when she’d baked in here years ago. There were so many memories made in this kitchen. Mrs. Jana wasn’t her mom, but she was more of a mother to her than Kara’s ever was or ever would be. When tears started in her eyes, she blinked them back and looked at the women laughing and leaning on each other with their glasses tightly gripped. Tasha was telling some story about Patrick not being able to find his underwear earlier that night.

Kara could easily remember how she and Whitney had been that way. She blinked and returned to the recipe. Probably a good thing she was baking. It was easier to resist drinking as a way to try and fit in the moment with them.

She followed the recipe, mixing and adding everything together and got it all in the pan and slid it in the oven. The girls were making heavy use of the rum. She poured out the rest of the liquor she’d need for the glaze and returned to her barely sipping “drinking night,” but still enjoyed the burn sliding down her throat. It was much better than the itching knot lodged in there.

Whitney glanced at her with red eyes. “All done?”

“For the next hour or so.”

“Awesome. This chair is killing my ass.” Whitney hopped off the stool, grabbed the bottle and led them down the hall to the den where she crashed on the couch.

Kara had no clue how many shots they’d taken, but by the emptying bottle and the loud talking, it was probably a lot.

Tasha sat up, her finger pointing forward from her glass. Cheeks flushed red and hair a hot mess from where she’d ran her hands through it, backward. “Brandon was watching you again.”

Whitney sat a little straighter. “He can watch all he likes.”

“Brandon?” Kara started to ease on the floor to be closer, then thought better of it. With two drunks the last place Kara wanted to be was downhill. She moved and sat across the love seat instead.

“Bartender Brandon.”

Ah, the guy at the bar. She blinked, trying to recall something about the man, but had been too distracted with straightening out her own stuff to pay much attention. “Do we have a problem with Bartender Brandon?”

“No.” Whitney drank. “No, we do not.”

“Yes, yes we do too,” Tasha corrected with a look at Kara. “Bartender Brandon likes Whitney. Like, like-likes her.”

“Does not,” Whitney said in a tipsy, singsong voice.

“Does too,” Tasha echoed in the same tone. “He’s totally into her.”

“Then why did he turn me down when I suggested coffee, smarty-pants?” And at that, Whitney skipped the cup altogether and took a straight pull from the bottle.

Tasha’s lips pursed, hand flicked up in the air with a one-shoulder shrug. “He’s shy.”

Whitney shook her head. “He’s a bartender. It’s impossible to be shy and be a bartender. They have to talk to everyone. Plus, he doesn’t have any trouble flirting with other girls.”

“Ha!” Tasha pointed and laughed with cheeks fired so red and eyes so shiny Kara figured she could see herself in them. “So you admit it!”

Kara watched the back and forth. The fun. The laughter. The pointing and good times. She stared down in her clear glass. She’d been replaced. Not that she didn’t deserve it. She was happy Whitney found another girl to do this with after Kara had treated her so horribly, but that didn’t stop the ache.

Whitney filled glasses again and thankfully put the bottle aside. “I admit that, yes, he flirts with other girls.”

“You admit that you totally watch him when you’re in there to know that he flirts with other girls.”

Whitney’s lips pursed. “I watch him to make sure he doesn’t spit in my drink.”

“Liar.” Tasha met Kara’s gaze, her voice slurred. “Tell her she’s a liar.”