An impasse. Big surprise.

After the day she’d had, she wasn’t in the mood to let her baby sister run roughshod over her. Harper stood. “Just when I think we’ve both escaped Mom’s influence . . . you’re acting exactly like her.” She walked briskly to her bedroom and slammed the door.

Mature, Harper.

She fell back on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. Trying to stay one step ahead to keep her stress level down was a losing battle. She couldn’t give their landlord notice until she knew they wouldn’t be living in their car.

Oh, really? Or is there another reason why you’ve been dragging your feet about finalizing your intent to move?

No. Being in limbo had nothing to do with Bran and everything to do with her sister.

Maybe the crack about Bailey acting like their mother had been unfair. But Harper had watched Dawn, the master manipulator, at work for years, and she recognized the signs. Putting Harper on the defensive was the first indication that Bailey was hiding something. But what?

The outer door slammed. Since her eighteenth birthday, Bailey had stopped telling Harper where she was going or who she was going with. Harper didn’t want to spend another night alone, dissecting the deteriorating situation with her sister. Nor did she want to brood about Bran Turner and that intense interlude in the trailer at the auction today.

Not that she had a clue what had caused his uncharacteristic behavior.

Wasn’t like she had anyone to talk to about relationship stuff, especially since what was going on between her and Bran wasn’t really a relationship, just sex. Liberty had a ton of experience with sex, but access to her was limited—plus her older, wiser sister wasn’t known for her warm fuzziness. Celia was on the road and winning. Like many athletes on a winning streak, Celia held on to certain superstitions. She started and ended each day the same way. Ate the same food. Listened to the same music. Talked to the same people. She even wore the same clothes until the streak ended. Since Harper hadn’t been on Celia’s daily call list when the streak started, even if Harper left a message, Celia wouldn’t return her call, in case that one change would jinx her winning streak.

So, yeah, maybe she was just a tad annoyed with everyone—friends, family, her lover. It was Friday night. Maybe it was time to make new friends. Drinking friends. Because all of a sudden, Harper was in the mood to drink.

She rifled through her closet. She chose a stretchy button-up Western shirt, swirled with patterns of gold, brown, and rust. She paired the dress shirt with a gold lace camisole and pulled on her slim-fitting Levi’s, threading a brown rhinestone belt through the belt loops, centering the modest rhinestone buckle between her hips. Needing further proof that she could still look like a girl, not a ranch hand, Harper fixed her hair to fall in loose curls around her shoulders. She applied enough makeup that it didn’t appear she was wearing any makeup at all. The final touch was slipping on her dancing boots just before she scooted out the door.

Buckeye Joe’s wasn’t swamped. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

Susan glared at her, as usual, when Harper ordered a whiskey Coke. But also as usual, Susan had no problem taking Harper’s money.

She almost headed to her usual table hidden in the back, but she realized that sitting alone, avoiding people, defeated her purpose tonight, so she grabbed the first barstool at the closest empty table.

And what is your reason for being here?

To have fun. To win friends and influence people. For some reason that cheesy rah-rah Dale Carnegie phrase made her laugh out loud.

“I’ll have what you’re having, since it appears to have the effect I’m looking for.”

Harper spun on her barstool.

A petite woman, no bigger than a minute, leaned against the wall. She had short black hair, cut pixie style, which reinforced her elfin image. In this light, her enormous eyes looked purple. Her smile nearly spanned the distance from her left cheek to her right cheek, and that darling smile was offset on both sides with deep dimples. Good Lord, she was cute as a button. Everything about her was delicate, feminine, and tiny, making Harper feel like an overblown, bubble-headed, busty blonde in comparison.

Harper realized that not only was she staring but she hadn’t answered the question. “Umm. It’s a whiskey Coke. And the only reason I laughed is because I don’t normally drink alone. So you’re welcome to join me.”

The invite seemed to shock the pixie chick, but she grinned. “I’d love to join you.” She hoisted herself onto the barstool and thrust out her hand. “Janie Fitzhugh.”

“Harper Masterson. I take it you’re not from around here?”

“Used to be. A long time ago. A lifetime ago, actually.” Her eyes clouded briefly and then she offered another deeply dimpled grin. “Anyway. Everything comes full circle, doesn’t it? I’m back here to do a job.”

Harper knew firsthand that jobs were few and far between. “Is this a temporary job?”

Janie shrugged. “We’ll see how it plays out.”

The waitress stopped by their table and Harper ordered two drinks for herself. Janie followed suit.

“So, Harper, please don’t take this the wrong way, but why is a beautiful woman such as yourself sitting alone in this dive?”

“Take a guess.”

“Man trouble?”

“Partially.” She slurped her drink. “Don’t think I’m some kind of unload-my-problems-on-a-stranger freak, but everyone in my life disappointed me today. I thought I’d see if Jack Daniel’s would improve my attitude.”