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smart one.”
     “Oh, is that his name,” Caryn said, loading her tray with the drinks Turk had lined up on the bar. “I didn’t really catch it.”
    She kept her eyes focused on the tray, afraid that the customer would see the interest in her eyes. Well, she was only human wasn’t she? Even back in New York, Zane’s model-worthy face, those pale gray eyes, the way his jeans molded precisely to his very nice rear end, would draw attention. Maybe especially in New York. Caryn had to admit that there was something irresistible about the local men: they were sun-browned, wore jeans faded and washed until they fit perfectly, and had the kind of muscles that came from hard work, not from the gym.
    “Yep. He’s part of that crew that came up from Arkansas last year to work on the rigs. Now they’ve made it through a Dakota winter, I imagine we’ll never get rid of ’em.” He chuckled again at his own joke before ambling off to watch a pool game.
    Caryn stared off at the table for a moment. Arkansas…one of the many states, along with North Dakota, that she’d never visited. Her mother’s idea of a vacation featured see-and-be-seen hot spots like Miami and Vale and Nantucket. And once Caryn started dating Nathanial, they tended to focus on destinations where he could ski or sail. That left out the nation’s midsection, an omission Caryn seemed destined to make up for now, after three decades of not knowing what she was missing.
    She focused on attending to her customers, who were beginning to settle up and make their way out into the warm June evening. When there was finally a lull, Opal leaned against the bar and dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief.
    “How are you making out, sweetie?” she asked, patting her apron pocket where she stashed tips, the coins jingling.
    “Oh, I’m not sure,” Caryn said. All evening long, she’d dumped the wadded bills and coins into her skirt pocket, unable to take the time to count.
    “Well here, let’s take a look.”
    Opal began smoothing out the bills and stacking coins while Turk set a club soda with lime in front of her without being asked. Caryn thought about asking him for one, too, but he hadn’t been very friendly all evening and she didn’t want to alienate him further by presuming.
    The two women counted in silence for a moment, then Opal folded the stack of bills and put them in her wallet, and swiped the coins back into her apron pocket. Wiping her hands on a bar rag, she said, “A hundred eighty and change. You?”
    Caryn had been trying to square up her own smaller stack of bills, but at the figure Opal named, she stopped and gaped. “Seriously? I only made thirty-two dollars.”
    Opal exchanged a look at Turk, who burst out laughing before wandering down the bar, shaking his head. Opal looked like she was having trouble keeping her mirth to herself. Dabbing at her chin delicately, she said, “Well, I think I might have had more tables than you.”
    “Yeah, I guess,” Caryn mumbled. She was surprised how much it stung, to have failed at her first night as a cocktail waitress. She’d done her best, and she thought she’d been pretty successful, considering it was her first time—she hadn’t dropped any drinks, she’d made accurate change, and she’d thanked every patron, no matter how rude or drunk. Sure, Turk had been annoyed with her from the start, especially when he’d had to re-do a couple orders she got wrong, and Opal’s patience had worn thin when she neglected the customers she kept forgetting were seated in her section. But she eventually had gotten to everyone—well, except the guys in back—and she thought she’d improved over the course of the long evening.
    “I’ll do better tomorrow,” she added in a quiet voice as she shoved the money in her pocket.
    “About that,” Opal said, not meeting her eyes. “Listen, sweetie. You gave it a good effort, you really did. Only I’m not sure you’re really cut out for this