was probably one of the youngest people in the bar. And Phoebe was definitely the youngest.
She gazed at the stage, but there were no flashing lights or gyrating singers to hold her visual attention. Just four guys in dark glasses focusing on their instruments. Three couples danced cheek-to-cheek on the postage-stamp dance floor.
Phoebe's eyelids drooped, and her chin almost fell off her hand where she rested it.
Wyatt was struck by a sobering reality. She was as out of place here as he'd been at The Pit. She was bored senseless! He had to get her out of here before she wrote him off as a hopeless fuddy-duddy.
He paid for their drinks, let Phoebe take a couple of sips of her coffee, then took her arm. 'Come on.'
'We're dancing?' she asked dubiously.
'We're leaving.'
Once they were outside, she gave him a bewildered look. 'Aren't you enjoying yourself?'
'I was. You weren't.'
'I'm having a great time,' she argued.
'You almost nodded off in there. Let's just say our taste in nightclubs doesn't coincide, and do something else, okay? Do you want to stop someplace for a bite to eat?'
'Sure, I guess.'
She reached for the passenger door handle, then froze, her gaze focused on something down the street. 'No, wait, I have a better idea.'
'Let's hear it.'
'Do you like country music?'
Uh-oh. Was this more evidence of their clashing musical tastes? 'Not my favorite,' he admitted.
'I loathe it,' she said, smiling mischievously. 'There's a kicker bar down the street. Want to try it out?'
He looked where she indicated. Sure enough, there was a place called Diamonds & Studs, all lit up in neon, complete with a bucking bull that moved. 'Have you lost it?'
'You felt out of place at The Pit. I felt like an alien at the jazz bar. In a kicker bar, we'll both feel like outcasts. Come on, it'll be fun.'
Her infectious grin got to him. 'You're on.'
Phoebe insisted on paying their cover charge, since the cowboy bar was her idea. When they got inside, they found themselves in a sea of cowboy hats and pointy-toed boots, denim skirts, jeans with round impressions in the back pocket left by cans of chewing tobacco. Shirts with pearly snaps. Handlebar mustaches.
And the twangiest guitars Wyatt had ever heard.
Phoebe sauntered up to the bar. 'Can we have a couple of beers?'
'Make that longnecks,' Wyatt said, getting into it.
People stared. Phoebe just smiled.
They tried to line dance and failed miserably. They managed something called the Cotton-Eye Joe, but it was more like an endurance test than a dance. They both collapsed at their table when it was over, laughing hysterically. One man after another-total strangers-asked Phoebe to dance.
'Can't you see I'm with someone?' she told one man impatiently. Then she sat in Wyatt's lap.
They drank their longnecks, though Wyatt barely tasted his. He was intoxicated by Phoebe, by her sense of adventure and the way her cheeks turned pink when she felt embarrassed.
Tonight was
'You don't know any country songs,' Wyatt argued.
'I'll fake it,' she said. 'Don't all country songs sound the same, anyway?'
She chose a song by Patsy Cline, and, as it turned out, she knew it. She had a voice like a down-and-dirty angel, and she set the place on fire.
She set Wyatt on fire, especially the way she looked at him when she sang, caressing the microphone. Mmm, mmm.
She got a standing ovation and the host asked her for an encore, but she declined. 'That is the only country song I know,' she said. Then she put an arm around Wyatt. 'But I'll bet my friend here can do a mean Clint Black.'
Wyatt nearly choked on his beer. He was as tone-deaf as a fire hydrant. 'No, no thanks,' he said hastily. 'I think it's about time we call it a night, Miss Patsy, don't you?'
She smiled demurely. 'Okay.'
The minute they made it outside, they dissolved into laughter once again. 'You should have seen your face,' Phoebe said, 'when I suggested you do Clint Black.'
'You conned me! You're a closet kicker music fan!'
'No, no, it's just that I learned that one song in my voice training class.'
'You sounded pretty good. Why'd you give it up?'
'I just told you, I don't know any more country songs.'
'No, I mean, why'd you give up the whole acting-performing thing? You're obviously seething with talent.'
She sobered. 'Thank you, but it takes more than talent. You have to have ambition and persistence and connections and luck, too. I quickly found out there are lots of women with looks and talent in L.A.'
He threw his arm around her shoulders. 'Well, I'm just as glad you gave it up. I don't like sharing you with the world. You can sing to me anytime, though.'
'A private concert, huh? That'll cost you.'
'I already bought you two drinks. You're not holding out for dinner, too, are you?' he teased.
She slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled close. 'Let's go home.'
Their taste in nightclubs might have clashed, Phoebe mused, but their goals for the rest of the evening dovetailed perfectly. They kissed on the elevator on the way up to the third floor, and again in the hallway in front of Wyatt's front door, and again when they got inside.
Clothes fell by the wayside. They left a trail of shirts, pants and underthings from the entryway all the way to Wyatt's bedroom, stopping to kiss every few steps. By the time they reached the bed they were both gloriously nude.
Wyatt started to switch on a bedside lamp, but Phoebe stopped him. 'I like it dark.'
'I want to see you.'
Phoebe felt inexplicably modest. As a model she'd developed a thick skin when it came to comments about her body. She'd gotten used to shedding her clothes at a moment's notice, sometimes in a communal dressing room.
But when it came to the bedroom, she was downright shy.
'Maybe next time.'
'I'll hold you to it.'
She was gratified to know there would be a next time. The more time she spent with Wyatt, the more she appreciated what he was-a strong, mature, virile man who wasn't afraid to try new things, and who wasn't afraid to admit when he'd made a mistake. He held strong opinions and had firmly drawn tastes, but there was always room for compromise.
As he tenderly pulled her with him onto the bed, her heart swelled with a new and different feeling, something unique. She hesitated to name it but it felt wonderful.
He made love to her slowly, with subtlety and finesse, qualities completely lacking in other lovers she'd had. She relished the gentle pace, letting her pleasure build slowly, without that urge to take everything as fast as she could get it because otherwise she might not get it at all. Wyatt, she knew, would never leave her wanting.
Afterward, they lay in bed for a long time, talking softly.
'I'm sure we have lots of other things in common,' Wyatt said.
'You mean besides this?' She stroked his belly, then fondled him. 'And a loathing for country music, of course.'
'How about sports?'
