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picture of me I lost a bit of weight. Yep, seventy-three pounds.” He tapped his belly. “I didn’t write you about it. Wanted it to be a surprise. I read Country Week and EW, see the pictures of you with some of those boys. I know you like the slimmer builds. Didn’t think you’d appreciate a chubby. And got myself a twenty-five-dollar haircut. You know how men are always talking about changing but they never do. Like your song. I wasn’t going to give you a Mr. Tomorrow. I’m a Mr. Today.”
    Kayleigh was speechless. Nearly hyperventilating.
    From some angles Edwin would be good-looking—full head of black hair trimmed conservatively like a politician’s and sprayed firmly intoplace, keen, deep brown eyes, smooth complexion, if a bit pale. But that face was also very long, angular, with heavy, protruding eyebrows, like soot. He was trim, yes, but big—larger than she’d noticed at first, easily six-two or -three, and despite the weight loss he was probably two hundred pounds. His rangy arms were long, and his hands massive but curiously—and unsettlingly—pink.
    Instantly Bobby Prescott was on his feet and stepping in front of the man. Bobby was large too but wide, not tall, and Edwin towered over him. “Hey,” Edwin said cheerfully, “Bobby. The roadie. Excuse me, chief of the road crew.”
    And then his eyes returned to Kayleigh, staring at her adoringly. “I’d be honored if you’d have some iced tea with me. Just over there in the corner. I’ve got a few things to show you.”
    “How did you—”
    “Know you’d be here? Hell, everybody knows that this is your favorite place. Just look at the blogs. It’s where you wrote ‘Me, I’m Not a Cowgirl.’” He nodded at the jukebox, from which that very song was playing—now for the second time, Dance noted.
     
The suburbs and the cities, that’s what I’m about.
Me, I’m not a cowgirl, unless maybe you count:
Looking people in the eye and talking to them straight.
Not putting up with bigots or cheaters or with hate.
Remembering everything my mom and daddy said
About how to treat my family, my country and my friends.
Didn’t think I was a cowgirl, but I guess that all depends.
     
    “Love that song,” he gushed. “Just love it. Well, you know that. I told you must be a hundred times.”
    “I really …” Kayleigh was a deer in the middle of the road.
    Bobby put his hand on Edwin’s shoulder. Not quite hostile, not quite friendly. Dance wondered if this would be the start of a fight and she reached for the only weapon she had—her mobile—to dial 911 if need be. But Edwin simply stepped back a few inches, ignoring Bobby. “Come on, let’s get that iced tea. I know you think theirs here is the best in town. I’ll treat. Mr. Today, remember? Hey, your hair’s really beautiful. Ten years, four months.”
    Dance had no idea what that meant but the comment clearly upset Kayleigh even more. Her jaw trembled.
    “Kayleigh’d like to be left alone,” Alicia said firmly. The woman seemed to be just as strong as Bobby Prescott and her glare was more fierce.
    “You enjoying working for the band, Alicia?” he asked her as if making conversation at a cocktail party. “You’ve been with ’em about, what? Five, six months, right? You’re talented too. I’ve seen you on YouTube. You surely can sing. Wow.”
    Alicia leaned forward ominously. “What the hell is this? How do you know me?”
    “Listen, friend,” Bobby said. “Time for you to leave.”
    Then Tye Slocum slowly pushed back in his chair and strode to the door. Edwin’s eyes followed and on his face was welded the same smile that had been there from the moment he’d stepped to the table. But something had changed; it was as if he actually expected Kayleigh to join him for tea and was perplexed she wasn’t. Tye’s mission to summon the security guard seemed to irritate him. “Kayleigh. Please. I didn’t want to bother you here but you never got back to me on email. I just