Man From Montana. Brenda Mott

took a long pull on his straw, red in the face.

      Danita and Beth sat down, and Hannah pulled up an extra chair and squeezed in as well.

      “Hope you don’t mind sitting with girls,” Hannah said.

      Connor shrugged. “I guess not.” He kept his eyes down on the napkin he was shredding into ever smaller pieces.

      “Just wait a few years,” Beth said. “You’ll be ecstatic to have so much female attention.”

      Connor’s face clouded over. “I don’t think so.”

      But before Kara could ponder his reaction, Hannah said, “So, Kara, what made you decide to come here after you told us no?”

      Kara fingered the cuff of her lacy Western blouse and hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as Connor. “I changed my mind, that’s all.”

      “And you didn’t call to tell us?” Hannah pretended to pout. “I’m crushed.”

      “Me, too.” Beth waved over at the bar for service.

      “I would have, but I thought you’d be partied out.” She squirmed. For her, this was a big step, one she’d needed to take solo. “I just decided you all were right. I should get out more.”

      “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Danita said. “Now if we can get you drunk and dancing, my night will be complete.”

      “It’s family night, remember?” Kara said. “And besides, I don’t get drunk.”

      “It’s family night until eight,” Danita emphasized. “Cover your ears, kid. We’re about to be a bad influence.”

      Connor rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met the guys in my dad’s band.”

      Hannah stared wistfully at the group of cowboys in tight jeans and Western hats, setting up their equipment on stage. “No, I haven’t.”

      The women laughed.

      As the barroom began to fill with patrons, Kara kept her eyes on Derrick. After introducing himself and his band, he looked her way and began to sing an upbeat song.

      Beneath the table, Kara held her hands in her lap, twisting her wedding band.

      Don’t even think about it.

      Quickly, she turned toward the generous serving of nachos Tori set down in the middle of the table. But even the melted cheese and rich sour cream couldn’t distract her from the longing that overwhelmed her.

      She’d lost something precious. Something she’d never have again.

      The song ended, and the crowd applauded and whistled.

      “Thank you,” Derrick said. “This next song is one I wrote myself. It’s called ‘Heaven.’”

      Kara watched Derrick’s fingers move across the guitar strings, expecting him to croon a sentimental love song. Instead, he sang something far different.

      “As we flew out of Denver

      My little boy said to me,

      ‘Daddy, how high up is heaven?

      Are we gonna get to see

      Jesus and His angels?

      Will they wave at me?’

      “I smiled and said ‘son,

      We’ll just wait and see,

      But I think that Heaven’s higher

      Than we’re gonna be.’

      “A few years later at the rodeo,

      My son was now thirteen,

      He sat down in the chute, just like his heroes on TV…”

      Kara listened closely to the words…the story of how the father watched his son grow up riding bulls. When the boy—now a young man—was challenged to ride a bull no cowboy had ever been able to ride before, she felt the father’s trepidation.

      And her heart broke as Derrick sang about the young cowboy’s fatal injuries, and the father’s grief.

      “Days later at his graveside, a memory came to me.

      Of my little boy’s first airplane ride,

      And what he’d asked of me.

      He said, ‘Daddy how high up is heaven?

      Will I get to see

      Jesus and His angels?

      Will they wave at me?’

      “And that’s when I knew he’d found his way,

      For when I looked on high

      There was Jesus and his angels,

      And my son stood by his side.

      “‘Daddy, how high up is hea—ven?’”

      Derrick held the last note on the guitar, and the crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. In the dim light, Kara saw she wasn’t the only one who had to wipe her eyes. It was easy to see where Connor had gotten his singing voice.

      She glanced at the boy and wondered if he were the inspiration behind Derrick’s song. Had he come close to death in whatever accident had caused his injuries?

      If Derrick wanted her to know his personal business, he’d tell her. Yet she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be held by this man. To wake up in his arms, not in an empty bed.

      She told herself she ached for Evan, that it was Derrick’s song that brought out her emotions. But deep down, Kara knew it wasn’t just the song. It was Derrick who stirred something in her.

      Something that scared her, and made her wish she hadn’t come to the Silver Spur.

      CONNOR MUNCHED on the nachos and the women’s conversation faded to so much white noise. He’d always found it easier to talk to adults than kids, but he felt kind of stupid sitting here with four chicks. Especially since they had to be as old as his dad, or older. But then, Kara had been nice to him, and she hadn’t ratted him out for playing his dad’s guitar.

      He watched his father up on stage, entertaining the crowd. What would it be like to be up there? To have everyone in the room focused on you? Connor had often wondered. It was exactly why he didn’t want his dad to know he could play. Connor knew he’d fall short of his father’s accomplishments.

      After having saved his allowance for what felt like forever, he’d bought a secondhand acoustic guitar from the pawnshop, and sworn his mom to secrecy. Between video tapes, books, and trying things on his own, he’d learned to play a decent tune. He spent a lot of time picking that old guitar, and when he’d gotten the chance to play his dad’s Gibson this afternoon, the temptation was too much to resist.

      Playing on the side of the wraparound porch was fun. It felt almost like a stage, and yet he was blocked from anyone’s view by the thick shrubbery that grew along the perimeter of the acre lot the house sat on. Plus the nearby sawmill often created a distant whine, keeping him from drawing anyone’s attention. Of course, Kara had still caught him. He’d have to be more careful about playing when someone might walk up on the porch like that. He didn’t want an audience, not until—and unless—he could pick the way his dad did.

      Maybe one day he’d come close to being that good, if he practiced hard enough. But he could never let him know how he felt.

      He sure as hell didn’t want to admit how much he wished he could be like his dad. It would be so rad to play in a band and have girls falling all over him. In his daydreams, Connor was the star; the lead singer. Women went wild over him. They swooned, and threw their underwear at the stage, the way he’d heard women often did when things got rowdy at a concert.

      But that’s all his thoughts were. Stupid dreams.

      Everyone