CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Damn, girl! Those boots are hot!” Clay was wide-eyed, standing next to the kitchen counter with a beer in his hand when she came out of the bedroom.
Katie shrugged, knowing she had secretly coveted his reaction. She had spent the better part of an hour getting dolled up for their night on the town. Her best friend’s red cowboy boots were definitely an enhancement to her conservative wardrobe. Throwing caution to the wind, she paired the boots with her frayed jean shorts and a romantic, white peasant blouse with the first three buttons unbuttoned. She was careful with the makeup, opting for a more natural look. However, she teased her hair a little bit more than usual for the ideal effect. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she watched Clay come toward her with hungry eyes.
“I’m not sure I should let you out in public looking so fine. You look like a Hee Haw Honey,” he purred, palming her arms.
She couldn’t help the gigantic grin that spread across her face, and she spoke with a corny, southern accent in reply, “Why, you’re the only man for me, Clay Watkins. You have nothin’ to worry about.” He laughed and pulled her in for a bear hug.
It was Friday night in the heart of Nash Vegas. Clay had asked her earlier what she wanted to do or see in the Music City. She insisted on more live music, and before she could think things through, she blurted out, “and line-dancing!” Clay had the perfect venue in mind that was right down the street from his home.
Layla’s Bluegrass Inn was an infamous honkytonk on Broadway where dancing and live music went hand in hand. Walking down the sidewalk among the throngs of people, she heard several catcalls, causing her to nervously cozy up to Clay and regret her choice of wardrobe.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, holding her tight. “I won’t let any of these rednecks near my girl.”
The colorful marquee of Layla’s jutted out from the old building and was lit up like a Christmas tree, reminding Katie of an old movie house. The interior had exposed beams with metal license plates tacked up from all over the United States. Multi-color lights had been strung throughout the space, and old-fashioned chrome stools with red-leather seats were lined up against the long bar. Clay held her hand and managed to find two open stools next to each other.
“What do you wanna drink tonight?” he asked. What was it about the way he looked at her with those caramel eyes that sent butterflies to her tummy?
“I’d like a gin and tonic—but only if they have Tanqueray. Lots of lime,” she said over the loud music.
He nodded and proceeded to flag down the bartender.
A rockabilly trio was on the wooden stage in the corner, one of the musicians playing an impressive upright bass. They looked the part of typical Nashville artists with their embellished country shirts and bandanas sticking out of their jean pockets. The three-part harmonies were impressive, and their energy seemed to rub off on the entire crowd. Several folks were already dancing in the open area in front of the stage.
Clay handed Katie her drink in a red plastic cup. “Sorry about the plastic,” he said over the steady beat of a song.
“I don’t mind,” she said crossing her bare legs. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” He tapped his cup with hers while running his index finger across the skin of her thigh, sending shivers up her spine. She smiled at him over the rim of her cup, intertwining her fingers with his.
“Does it taste okay?” he asked. She couldn’t help but relish the fact that he was indeed a southern gentleman.
“It’s perfect.”
They watched the trio play and the dancers come alive with the toe-tapping music. People kept filing into the building until it was standing room only.
“These guys are pretty popular. They have a great sound.”
Katie nodded enthusiastically. “Are they playing original music or are these cover songs?”
“A little of both. The bars around here want the bands to keep the interest of the patrons by playing familiar, danceable music. They have to play covers. But it’s also an opportunity to throw in some of their own music and gain a following.”
They continued to watch the trio entertain the crowd and Katie almost got the nerve to ask Clay to dance when an older couple settled in beside them when two stools became available. It was obvious they were tourists.
“Would you look at that?” the older woman said to her husband taking in the surroundings. She spoke with a distinct Midwestern accent.
Katie smiled at the woman who was decked out in an over-the-top rhinestone-encrusted blouse with shoulder-pads, making her look like she had just stepped out of a 1980’s time machine. Her teased, blonde hair rose to high heaven, and the rims of her glasses were hot pink. Her poor husband didn’t seem as interested in dressing the part, wearing a vintage Opryland souvenir t-shirt, jeans, and white Ked tennis-shoes.
“Bill, you go ahead and get your whiskey drink. I’d like a Singapore Sling with a couple of extra cherries.”
As her husband turned around, the woman eyed Katie and Clay over the rim of her glasses. “What an adorable couple. Bill?” She elbowed him sharply in the side. “Look at this adorable couple sitting next to us. Honey, are you a local or are you visiting from out of state?”
Katie squeezed Clay’s thigh to divert his attention from the music. Perplexed, he looked at her, and she winked at him, ready to play another game.
“Why, we’re both Nash-villians—born and bred in the Music City,” she replied in an over-the-top southern accent. Clay was taking a sip of his drink and almost choked. “Ain’t that right, Sugarbear?” She batted her eyelashes at him, suppressing a grin, hoping he would play along.
Clay cleared his throat before responding in a deep, rumbly voice. “That’s right darlin’.” Katie bit her tongue so she wouldn’t laugh out loud.
