Blackbird Lake by Jill Gregory

Author:Jill Gregory
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 042525982X
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“Well, what do you know.”

Surprise charged through Brady as he drank his beer in the cavelike darkness of the Spotted Pony.

The place was a dive. No doubt about that.

It was small and crowded and dark, with sticky wood-planked floors, all sorts of moose and deer antlers lining the paneled walls, a jukebox and a pool table that had seen better days—and not much else in the way of decoration.

But the music rocking the joint was a whole lot better than he’d ever expected. They’re not bad, he thought, not bad at all. Actually, they’re damned good.

The Spotted Pony Bar and Grill perched on a cliff twenty miles outside of town, halfway up Eagle Mountain. Tonight it was packed to the rafters—which wasn’t saying much as it couldn’t hold more than fifty people, tops.

The air was thick with smoke and filled with the smells of spilled beer and whiskey, greasy burgers and fries, all mingled with cheap perfume and too much aftershave clinging to the various bikers and truckers and cowboys and their women who frequented the place.

Delia Craig and Eddie Chisholm sang their hearts out front and center on the small makeshift stage, belting out a vigorous cover of Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One.” They sang with a gusto that had boots tapping and people humming along. Eddie was on fire with his guitar, and slightly behind them, Steve Tuck played the drums like nobody’s business. Even so, Brady found himself unable to keep from watching Madison. Though it was difficult to see her clearly, he could still make out her distinctive, richly spiraling voice singing backup. He couldn’t get a good glimpse of her face since she was tucked way in the back, farthest from the lights that glowed around Delia and Eddie.

It looked like she was wearing her usual dark sweatshirt and jeans, as if she were trying to be invisible, to blend into the darkness and dingy walls. But her voice, rich and low and as pure as a starry night, penetrated the darkness and made him stare.

She was better than good. Better even than Delia, who sang with verve and sass and power. Madison sang with soul. And heart. And the quiet grit of passion.

It was Delia with her long, swingy, honey-colored hair, bright tangerine lipstick, tight purple T-shirt, and snug jeans decorated with glitter who got all the hands clapping, the boots stamping, and the whistles, but it was Madison’s sultry voice that gave substance to the song, that added depth and range and a touch of irresistible sexy exuberance that made it soar.

When the song ended, their last number of the night, the Wild Critters waved to the applauding, boot-stamping crowd and quickly jumped down from the stage.

Brady pushed to his feet and ambled around the tables toward the bar, where Madison was accepting a Coke from the bartender. He watched as she and Delia slid onto the only two empty bar stools in the place. Eddie and Steve were already starting to haul the drums and equipment out the door.

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