“Was this place originally a barn?” I ask, glancing up at the upper level that still looks like a hayloft. I hope the customers don’t go up there since only a thin wooden railing would keep someone from tumbling off into the crowd below.

“I believe so,” he says. “It’s been a honky-tonk for as long as I can remember. If you haven’t guessed, we’re hurting for good entertainment around here.”

“I can see that.”

A waitress, an older woman with grey hair and a wrinkle-lined face, greets us.

“You brought a friend this time, I see,” she says, winking at Sam.

Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know him?

“Do you want to stay in the dining area or eat in the back with the music?” she asks.

Sam looks at me for an answer.

“Near the music?” I say, knowing that he would always want to be right in the middle of the action.

She leads us through the large crowd of diners to a big cavernous room with tables and a stage. A country music band made up of four long-bearded men is playing a fairly decent version of an old Waylon Jennings song.

“Take your choice of tables,” she says, waving her hand at several tables near the stage.

Sam points instead to an empty table set up against the wall.

“As the night goes on, the music gets progressively louder,” he explains. “I doubt you’ll want to be right in front of the stage.”

Sam places the bottle of tequila on the table and pulls out my chair.

“What do you need to go with whatever is in that paper bag?” the waitress asks. “Mixer? Coke? Orange juice?”

“Lime, salt, and shot glasses,” Sam answers.

“Oh no,” she says. “Let me guess. Tequila again? Will your friend Toby be joining you?”

“Not tonight,” he answers. “I’m on a date.” He places a hand possessively on my thigh.

“Thank goodness for that. The two of you almost got thrown out of here last time you were drinking tequila.” She turns to me. “You need to watch him close and keep him out of trouble tonight. I’ll be right back with menus.”

Sam slides his chair over closer to me and slings an arm over the back of mine.

“So what did you do last time you were here?” I ask.

He shakes his head and laughs. “I honestly don’t remember. Toby might, but I sincerely doubt it. I’ll have to ask him. Do you like country music?”

“I like all kinds of different music. It depends whatever kind of mood I’m in.”

I never listen to country music.

My musical tastes run wilder and darker. Sam would be shocked to know the last time I listened to live music was in the middle of the night at an underground club. Less than a month ago.