Honky Tonk Hearts
Lonely hearts seem to gravitate to the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk. A few miles outside Amarillo off historical Route 66, the large wood-paneled structure boasts a large neon star with a single flashing steer riding away from it. Owner and bartender, Gus Rankin, has seen his share of the wandering souls cross his bar and dance floor over the years—he’d even like to think he helped a few find true love along the way.
Thank you Paty Jager for inviting me to share a little about Honky
Tonk Man and why I wrote the story and for letting me visit on Western
Wednesday! Yee haw!
When Editor, Stacy Holmes, emailed and invited me to write for the
series I was in the middle of another project and didn’t become intrigued until
I took the time to consider the possibilities.
In the end, the image she painted of Gus Rankin, the owner of the
Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk won me over.
Every once in a while Gus sneaks back to his messy office, takes a break
in the rickety, torn leather chair and props his feet on his desk as he smiles
at the bulletin board filled with pictures from couples that have tossed aside
their lonesome hearts to take a chance on love.
Blurb: He has rules for a reason.
Pool
shooting, guitar playing, honky tonk singer, Jace Monroe, has a knack for
hooking up with the wrong kind of women, rich ones who don't take him or his
music seriously. So when he meets a down-to-earth, honey-haired waitress at the
Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk, he thinks his luck has finally changed.
Rules
have never been her strong suit.
The
last place Sunny Brooks wants to be is on her daddy's thriving ranch, but her
mother needs her. To escape the constant concern for her mother's health and
stay out of her father's overbearing presence, she spends most nights out at
the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk and eventually in the arms of Jace.
But
when misconceptions come to light, the sweet music they make together might be
silenced forever unless she can show her honky tonk man that some rules are
meant to be broken.
Excerpt:
Finally, he cleared his
throat and glanced down at his boots. “I don’t get involved with rich girls.”
“Pardon?” She blinked up,
not quite believing what she thought she heard.
Swallowing hard, he looked
away again, and then back, but at a spot somewhere over her shoulder. “I don’t
go out with rich girls,” he repeated.
What was that supposed to
mean?
“You have a lot of rules. No
money, no rides, no rich girls.”
“I have my reasons.” His
eyes met hers, deadpan.
“Are you serious?” She
blinked again in disbelief.
No reply. Just a blank stare
and slight twitch in his jaw.
She clutched her knees and
leaned forward. “Well good for you.” Worn down from fretting over her mother
and tired of his rigid rules, she stood, brushed the dust from the back of her
jeans, and stormed off.
Why bother straightening him
out about the state of her wealth—or rather lack of it—when he hadn’t even
thought to ask first or consider her feelings before dumping her.
What surprised her when she
climbed back into her truck and tore up the roadway was how much it hurt. She
hadn’t known him long enough to feel this much pain. An invisible fist grabbed
her heart and tightened until she had to gasp for a breath.
Tears stung her eyes. The
bastard had broken her heart.
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