Chapter 1

For possibly the millionth time, Calvin wished that his last name was anything but Lightfoot. He sat on a stool in the Crushed Nut Bar & Grill, holding a frozen bag of peas to his right eye.

Why was he holding a bag of frozen peas to his right eye? Not because he’d tried to rescue a hottie from some perverted jackass who’d gotten too handsy with her. Not because he’d gotten in a fight with a guy who’d cheated at pool or poker. And not because he’d stolen a sexy lady away from her boyfriend, who’d come after him to exact revenge.

Those would be cool, manly reasons to be nursing a black eye. Reasons any man could tell his buddies without fear of being branded a loser. Not that he wasn’t already in some circles, but still...

No, the peas were necessary because he’d tripped on a slightly raised wooden floorboard and fallen face-first into the back end of Righty McGowan’s pool stick. To say he’d seen stars would be a massive understatement. As he’d crashed to the floor and lain there in a daze, Calvin swore that a whole sky of stars had rained down on him, filling his vision until he’d wondered if he was going blind.

Calvin winced when someone clapped his shoulder from behind. It jostled him, making the peas press painfully against his wounded eye.

“Gonna make it, Calvin?”

Turning all the way around on his stool so he could bring the person into view with his left eye, Calvin encountered Righty’s worried blue-eyed gaze. “Yeah. I’ll live.”

“Glad to hear it. Tom needs to get that floor fixed,” Righty said, even though they both knew that the floor had very little to do with Calvin getting up close and personal with Righty’s pool stick.

I can just imagine the kind of razzing I’m going to get about this. Calvin forced a smile even though it hurt his eye. “Yeah, I guess so.” He took the thawing plastic bag away from his eye and wasn’t encouraged about his appearance by the grimace on Righty’s rugged face.

“Damn, son. You best go to the ER. That looks nasty,” Righty said.

Calvin laid the bag on the bar and stood up. “Nah. Mom will fix me up.”

Righty gave him a doubtful look. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Well, I entertained everyone enough for one night. Besides, I have an early day tomorrow. Night.”

“Night, kid,” Righty said.

Ignoring the derisive laughter and murmured jokes as best he could, Calvin made for the door. However, his hyper-sensitive hearing picked up what others were putting down. One woman thought it was a shame that someone who had such a nice ass was so clumsy. That wasn’t so bad, but some of the other comments were downright cruel.

Careful not to trip again, Calvin got outside as fast as possible before he lost his temper and started shooting his mouth off. The bone-chilling early November Nebraska wind hit him, making his injured eye water and throb harder. His blood ran hot, so his heavy red-and-black checkered flannel jacket was plenty warm enough.

Tugging his beat-up black leather cowboy hat down to help protect his eye, Calvin took his cellphone from his jeans pocket and was glad to see that it hadn’t broken when he fell. He hit the icon for his buddy, Pete Killian.

“Lightfoot, this better be good. Game of Thrones is on.”

Calvin rolled his good eye. “Too bad. I need a ride.”

“Where’s your truck?”

“I left it at home and had Mom drop me off,” Calvin said.

Pete sighed. “Okay. Where are you?”

“At the Nut.”

“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as this is over,” Pete said quickly, and hung up.

“Hey!” Calvin objected, but Pete was already gone. “Shit.”

He looked at the time. The TV show was only half over, and it would take Pete another fifteen minutes after that to reach the bar. What the hell was he supposed to do for forty-five minutes? He couldn’t go back inside, and he couldn’t shift and run home since he’d have to leave his clothes and cellphone behind.

With a frustrated groan, Calvin sat on the lone bench in front of the bar. He couldn’t call his mom because she was at bingo, and you only interrupted her bingo night if you had a death wish. All of his siblings of driving age were busy that night, so he didn’t want to disturb them. His dad was away at a cattleman’s convention.

So, that left only Pete. Usually when Pete picked him up, he’d take Calvin down the road a little and pull over where no one could see what he was doing. He’d leave his clothes with Pete, who would drop them off at home. Then Calvin would shift and have a good run. This was their usual routine, minus a black eye caused by extreme clumsiness. Shifting would speed the healing process and by tomorrow morning, the black eye would be gone.

He looked up when the bar door opened. Music spilled forth and the scents of alcohol and BBQ wings wafted on the wind. Candy Brannigan shuffled outside, and Calvin smiled as he realized his saving grace had just arrived in the form of a feisty, blue-haired elderly lady who would most likely need a designated driver. If he drove Candy to her place, he’d get home a lot sooner than if he waited for Pete since she lived near his farm.

Hurrying over to the door, Calvin held it open for Candy. “Evening, Candy. You’re looking especially sexy tonight.”

Candy smiled up at him. “Oh, Charlie! Your poor eyeball. Tsk tsk.” She shivered as a gust of wind threatened to knock her thin frame over. “Brr! Damn cold weather. One of these days, it’ll freeze my ass right off.”

Candy had “drunk names” for everyone. When she’d downed too many shots of JD, Calvin became “Charlie” the same way that Pete turned into “Paul”.

Calvin put an arm around her slim shoulders to keep her upright. “I hope not,” he said. “I’m kinda fond of your ass.”

Her faded green eyes gleamed. “It’s okay if you’re fond of it, just don’t fondle it.”

Calvin laughed as he guided her toward her red Buick Verano Turbo. Candy might be old, but she still liked things that went fast. “I’ll try to control myself.”