Sheri WhiteFeather - Cherokee Baby

“Sure, I could do that,” he said.

What harm was there in being her date?

In pretending, just for one night, that he was still the man he used to be.

The Corral, a shabby-chic bar, presented sawdust floors, rustic oak tables, a collection of pool tables and a small bandstand. A trio of female singers belted out familiar country tunes as cocktail waitresses squeezed through the Saturday-night clientele, delivering drinks and ready smiles.

Julianne sat at a crowded table, sipping a glass of wine and looking around. Kay and Mern had invited the other Elk Ridge Ranch guests and some of the staff to her party.

Everyone was here, toasting her with well wishes. Everyone except Bobby, the man who’d promised not to miss her birthday.

Disappointed, Julianne watched the door. Was he merely late? Or had he decided not to be her date, after all?

Glancing across the room at the dance floor, she spotted Jim Robbins and his wife stomping and clapping to the music. Jim was the friendly fellow who’d startled her and Bobby on the porch that first day.

Another couple, much younger and much hipper than Jim and his wife, laughed when they all missed the same line-dance step.

She reached for her wine and glanced at the door again.

And then she saw him.

Bobby entered the bar, carrying a single white rose. She excused herself from the table and went to greet him.

For a moment they just gazed at each other.

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