Blue Skies Read Online Free PDF Page B

the devil and never get burned. Hank had always tuned his mother out, chalking off her lectures to the generation gap and too much Bible reading. Now he wished he’d paid more attention. Just a few months ago, he’d read an article about teen sex, and it had said that a large percentage of twelve-year-olds were sexually active. How in bloody hell had he managed to stumble upon a virgin in her late twenties?
    For just a moment, Hank started to feel angry. Looking at it rationally, this whole mess was actually her fault, not his. She had been looking for trouble, hanging out in a rowdy honky-tonk, and she’d damned well found it. How was he supposed to know she’d never been with a guy? She’d been dressed to kill in those skintight jeans, just asking for someone to hit on her.
    Hank’s anger flagged the instant it began gathering steam. There was no law that said virgins had to wear signs, broadcasting their sexual inexperience. And there was damned sure no law against their going to a bar. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that she was pretty, and as much as he might like to shift the blame, he couldn’t hold her accountable for his own behavior. When he’d ordered her the slammer, his sole intent had been to get her drunk. She’d been staggering by the time they left Chaps, and he’d taken full advantage of it.
    An awful thought suddenly occurred to him. Why would a virgin be taking the Pill? He groaned and fell back on the grass. What if he’d knocked her up? She could be out there somewhere, pregnant with his kid. He had to find out who she was in case a problem developed.
    And if a problem developed, what did he intend to do about it?
    The answer was there in Hank’s head before he completed the thought. Coulter men didn’t shirk their responsibilities, and a child was one of the biggest responsibilities of all. From age fourteen, Hank had had that drilled into his head by his father. Get a girl pregnant, and there’ll be no walking away. You’ll shoulder the responsibility and make it right, or I’ll know the reason why.
    No ifs, ands, or buts, Hank had to find Charlie. The question was, how?
     
    At precisely ten o’clock that evening, Hank reentered Chaps. He’d timed his arrival for ten because it was normally the busiest time of night. The latecomers had usually trickled in by then, and the hardcore partiers still hadn’t left. Somewhere around eleven, people would start pairing off, and not long after, couples would start ducking out. Hank wanted to speak with as many regulars as he could on the off chance that one of them might know Charlie.
    Standing inside the doors, he scanned the crowd, hoping he’d see her. A blue-gray haze of smoke hovered in layers above the tables. The smell of beer, whiskey, and sweat drifted to his nostrils, the uneven cacophony of raised voices in constant competition with the blare of music. Occasionally, a decibel above the din, filthy language spewed from the rumble like backwash from a gutter grate.
    Being at Chaps again brought Hank’s memories of Charlie into clearer focus. Glancing at the table where she’d been sitting last night, he recalled her saying she didn’t know how to dance. At the time, he’d believed she meant country-western dancing, but now he wondered if she’d ever danced at all. The same went for a score of other things. At one point, he’d worried that she wasn’t accustomed to drinking hard liquor. He’d also noticed a shy hesitancy in her response when he kissed her. The memory made him cringe. Where the hell had she been all her life, in a convent?
    Hank sorely regretted now that he’d had so much to drink. If he’d been sober, he would have realized something was off plumb and never would have touched her.
    If wishes were horses, poor men would ride. He’d gotten sloppy drunk, and he had touched her. That was the bottom line.
    Hank made the rounds, stopping at first one table, then another. At each, he launched into the same spiel,