“They’re fixin’ to start the mouse races!” Nora called, her face bright with excitement. “Let’s go!”

They were across the bar in a flash, Mari squeezing her way between cowboys for a better view. The betting was lively as the entries were held up above the crowd for introduction. A mouse named Pink Floyd was a narrow favorite. She put a dollar on Mouse O’War and screamed at the top of her lungs with the rest of the fans as the doors were pulled up on the tiny starting gate and the racers started their mad dash down their lanes for a reward of peanut butter and stale cheese.

Mouse O’War nosed out Godzilla for the win. Pink Floyd jumped the rail and made a mad dash for freedom, miraculously dodging the heavy boots of his disgruntled followers and disappearing under a video poker machine along the wall.

Mari collected her winnings and made her way back to the table just as her supper was being delivered. Nora intercepted a cowboy en route and herded him onto the dance floor as Hal Ketchum came roaring over the speakers-“Hearts Are Gonna Roll.”

The burger was heaven. Mari sank her teeth in, closed her eyes, and groaned in heartfelt appreciation. Half a pound of prime Montana beef on a spongy white bun. She could barely get her hands around it. Melted cheese oozed out the sides and over her fingers.

“I never saw a woman eat the way you do, Mary Lee. How do you keep that sweet figure?”

Will slid into the booth across from her and plunked a long-necked bottle of Coors on the table. By the looks of him, it wasn’t his first. His blue eyes had a blurry sheen to them. The incorrigible grin was lopsided. His dark hair tumbled across his forehead. He hooked a giant onion ring off her plate and bit into it, flashing handsome white teeth.

“I work it off.”

“J.D. work it off for you?” he said archly.

Mari didn’t blink. “A gentleman wouldn’t ask a question like that.”

Will squinted and craned his neck, looking all around the bar. “Not a gentleman in the place. Not a gentleman for miles. No one here but us shit-kicking losers looking to get lucky or pass out.”

He was feeling sorry for himself. He’d been feeling sorry for himself since-hell, forever. At least two days. Wasn’t it two days since he’d seen Samantha? His ex-wife, ex-wife, ex-wife. It seemed like two days that he’d been working on alternately tormenting himself and trying to wash her out of his memory.

“I met your wife last night,” Mari said, haptizing her burger in a puddle of ketchup.

She kept an eye on Will while she chewed, trying to read his reaction, wondering what was at the heart of his trouble-his drinking? his wife? J.D.? Maybe he was just a jerk, but she didn’t want to believe it. There was a sweetness to Will’s charm, a genuine sense of innocence to his clowning, even though she imagined he was guilty of many things. He cheated on his wife, which should have made him despicable, but Mari couldn’t get past thinking there was some deeper reason than a testosterone imbalance.

Lucy would have laughed at her.

His grin tightened and soured. He put the onion ring back on the plate. “Oh, yeah? Was she having a high old time dancing with the rich boys?”

He could picture it too easily now that he’d had a chance to torture himself with the possibilities. Sam with her hair down, all that long black silk swinging around her shoulders. He saw her in high heels and a skimpy dress with a glass of champagne in her hand, laughing, smiling, dazzling the city boys.

“Actually, she didn’t look very comfortable there,” Mari said. “She seems too sweet to be hanging out with that crowd.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t see her hanging out with me.”

“That might have something to do with the fact that you’re too busy coming on to anything with two X chromosomes. I’ll give you a clue here, Will: infidelity is not a trait most women find desirable in a husband.”

Will tried to find a snappy comeback, but his brain stalled out. He started picking at the label on his empty beer bottle instead. He was a jerk. He was a heel. He was a loser, a screwup. He had told himself he wanted out of his marriage, and he’d even managed to fuck that up. He felt as though he had thrown himself into a pond and now his feet were caught up in the weeds and he was getting sucked under, drowning in confusion. He didn’t know how to get out.

He had pushed Sam away; now she was getting drawn into the swift current of the good life. How could he even hope to get her back? Why would she want to come back? What was there to come back to? Hell, he would have taken the diamond life in a flash and never thought twice about what he was leaving behind.

What does that say about you, Willie-boy?

He peeled a strip down the center of the label, lifting an O out of Coors.

“Look,” Mari said. “It’s none of my business. God knows I’ve got enough to think about without butting into your life. She just seems like a nice girl, that’s all.”

“She is,” he murmured. Looking up, he flashed her a grin that was as phony as a three-dollar bill. “So why do you suppose she got hooked up with a jerk like me?”

“Maybe you should ask her that.”

“Maybe she thought she could redeem me, huh?” He held up the beer bottle beside his face as if he were posing for a commercial. “Sorry, ladies, not redeemable. No deposit, no return.”

A waitress came by with a tray of drinks for another table. Will snatched a bottle of Coors and set his empty in its place, flashing the woman a wink and a devilish smile when she would have chewed him out.

Mari shook her head in amazement. He gave the impression that life was just a game of three-card monte and he was the wheeler-dealer with all the charm and all the luck, but she had the distinct feeling he wasn’t at all sure which card was the queen. The smile was a front. The charm was a smoke screen to hide the secret fear. She couldn’t find it in her to dislike him.

“Mary Lee,” he said, waxing philosophical. “Did you ever feel like a pair of left-handed scissors in a world of northpaws?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, “I have.”

Nora returned from the dance floor, flushed and euphoric. Will tugged on her frizzy ponytail and teased her about her choice of dance partners, trying to goad her into going back out on the floor with him. When she refused on account of exhaustion, he turned to Mari.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Work off that burger, chow hound.”

“I don’t think you’re sober enough to stand up.”

“Hell no, but I can dance. It’s sorta like people who stutter being able to sing. I am the Mel Tillis of the Texas two-step.”

She went with him against her better judgment. He proved to be a better dancer drunk than any man she knew sober. He was athletic, graceful, with a natural feel for the rhythm of a song. They danced until her calves felt as though they might explode, and then they danced some more. Mari reasoned that if he was dancing, he wasn’t drinking-though he still managed to empty a couple more bottles-and if he was dancing with her he was dancing with someone who wasn’t about to invite him to bed after the bar closed down.

At midnight Nora declared the evening over. She had to get her beauty sleep before the breakfast shift. Will followed them out the side door, trying to cajole them into staying another hour.

“Come on, Mary Lee,” he begged. He caught hold of her hand and tried to reel her in. “One more dance.”

“No dice, cowboy. I’ve had enough, and so have you.” Mari pulled her hand from his, pulling Will off balance. He staggered sideways a step. “Maybe you’d better find someone to drive you home.”

He tucked his chin back, offended. “I can drive.”

“Yeah, right into a tree.”

“Mary Lee’s right,” Nora said, holding out a hand palm-up. “Hand over the keys, Romeo.”

Will shuffled back a step. “Jeez, what is this? Thelma and Louise? I don’t need a couple of women bossing me around.”