Episode One

I hate crowds, Jenna Steely silently groused as she pushed her way through the crowded bar room. The Friday night crush of cowboys and their groupies seemed even more oppressive than usual. And Jenna, her near phobia of crowds firmly rooted, found it annoyingly ironic that she’d been born into a family who owned the oldest and most popular bar and grill in the tri-county area.

Jenna’s great-great-great-however many greats-grandfather Joe Steely opened Steely J’s originally as a bar and saloon way back sometime in the 19^th century when West Texas was mostly inhabited by cattle and the few pioneers brave enough to challenge the indigenous population.  Back then it had served whisky and bourbon to outlaws and cowboys. It was her grandfather, Tate, who had opened up the grill back in the 1950’s, serving burgers, ribs and steaks—man food, he’d called it—to the cowboys and lawmen who’d inhabited the area by then.

As the newest generation of owners, a few people called out to Jenna as she made her way through the crowded bar. She’d known most of them all her life. And she would have been more annoyed about having grown up in such a public atmosphere if the dang bar hadn’t paid for her business degree as well as the cherry red Jeep Wrangler parked out front. As it were, the old plank floored bar also kept her in the expensive chocolates she loved. For an attention phobe like Jenna, however, the drawbacks ran about neck in neck with the benefits.

As she neared the bar area, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and Jenna instinctively glanced to the back corner booth. She knew who’d she’d find there well before her vision landed on one particularly strapping cowboy.

Dang it, she inwardly groaned, quickly averting her gaze. Pushing between two cowboys, she leaned against the bar.

Aiden Blackston.  Figures. The one Friday night she got desperate enough for one of Dewey’s burgers he’d be there in all his swaggering alpha cowboy glory. Son of a…she let the thought trail off with a grimace.

Pulling her shoulders back, she forced herself not to glance back at his table. Instead, she leaned across the heavily scarred bar.

 “Look what the cat dragged in,” her brother, and co-owner of Steely J’s, growled, never lifting his head from the frosty mug he was filling from the tap. “What brings you out from under your rock?”

He slid the frothy beverage across the counter and gave her that toothy grin that had kept her from pummeling him when they were kids. Lifting herself up on her elbows, she leaned across the bar top and noisily kissed his cheek.

“Got hungry,” she admitted and squirmed as a new influx of cowboys crowded her against the bar. She wished suddenly that she’d gone back home when she’d realized that she’d forgotten her keys. She could have avoided this panicky feeling that was suddenly seizing her lungs.

Forcing air into her lungs, she asked, “Dewey not at the grill tonight?” One of the cowboys beside her gave her a salacious wink while another tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar top, presumably awaiting the next frosty mug Jack was filling from the tap.

“Nope,” Jack shook his head and continued to fill and slide mug after mug of beer to any number of cowboys who were there to get their Friday night drunk on. “Had some family business up in Okie. Finn’s on tonight.”

Dewey had been the chief cook at Steely J’s since long before Jenna could remember. Possibly he was a relic left over from when her great great however many great’s grandfather, Joe had first opened the bar sometime back before running water and electricity had been invented. And she loved the old man.

Knowing her penchant for mild panic attacks when faced with a crowd, as well as her habit of forgetting things like keys, the old cook usually left the back entrance unlocked for her to sneak in for a burger or a steak whenever the craving for his cooking kicked in.  When she’d arrived earlier the door had been locked and Jack had just confirmed her grim conclusion.

Unlike Dewey, the other cook, Finn Stewart, hated her. The old codger resented her partial ownership in the bar—working for a woman was not high on his list of favorite past times—and he refused to show her any favoritism. His staunch stance was ‘eat in the bar with the common folk or go hungry.’ She’d have better luck sweet talking a skunk out of spraying her than convincing Finn into fix her a plate in the kitchen. Never mind that she was the owner. The cooks were the boss of a successful grill.

Jack winked knowingly at her. “Want me to get you a go-box?”

The bar area was getting more crowded by the minute and the mild feeling of panic she’d been fighting was quickly turning into her heart pounding out of her chest and her throat closing up. 

This is stupid, she thought and closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply. She’d been practically raised in this bar. The noise and the crowds—it should all be old hat to her. It was silly to let a little thing like a room full of cowboys and their conquests keep her from enjoying a good meal.

With an audible groan, Jenna turned to face the crowded bar room again.  Purveying the scene in front of her, it seemed as though the crush of people dancing, shooting pool or whatever it was they were doing—had quadrupled in size. Jenna froze, virtually paralyzed at the thought of braving the writhing bodies to find a table or even finding her way to the exit. Forget deep breathing. What she needed was an airlift right out of their before she passed out.

Before she could work herself up into a full on panic attack, a pair of strong hands firmly gripped her shoulders and led her away from the bar.