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Cucaracha.”
    Forest Connors greeted us underneath one of the sprawling chandeliers. He smiled his big-tooth, politician’s smile and waved his broad hand. He was wearing a black suit instead of a tuxedo. And black cowboy boots.
    El Diablo.
    “Madeline,” he said, inclining his head in my direction.
    “Mr. Connors,” I replied.
    “Glad you could make it, son!” he said, clapping Carlton on the back.
    Carlton gave his dad an awkward sideways hug, and said, “You know I never miss one of your weddings, Dad.”
    “Aw, shucks, son! Cut your old man a break.” Forest Connors chuckled.
    “I read somewhere that married men live longer,” I piped up.
    Forest Connors looked down his nose at me as if I were some kind of flea or tick.
    “Hell, Madeline! Why would anyone want to grow old ?” Forest Connors boomed. He pointed his finger and stabbed it in my direction. “Better to lead a fast life, die young, and look good in your coffin. Right, Son?” he said, nudging Carlton.
    “Whatever you say, Dad.”
    “Life is short, Madeline. I can always make more money. But I can’t make any more time,” Forest Connors said. He winked at Carlton and walked away.
    It was disarming. The way Forest Connors walked and talked. With his snakeskin cowboy boots and Texas twang. On the outside, he had the genuineness of a pure country bumpkin—the type of guy you see driving a tractor on the side of the road. Chewing on a sprig of mint.
    And yet, it was his eyes that bothered me. When I looked into his hawkish dark eyes, I saw that Forest Connors was a solid force of a man. Those eyes held sheer raw, unadulterated power.
    For the rest of the night, whenever I was around Mr. Connors, I felt uneasy. When I laughed, I laughed too loudly. That type of thing. Secretly, I thought Carlton’s father believed women should be seen and not heard.
    Perhaps it’s because he had a slew of ex-wives. And Carlton told me they were each less challenging than the previous.
    Forest Connor’s latest addition to the Connors clan was a blonde bombshell named Holly. She was thirty-nine years old, a former Miss Texas pageant finalist, and a plastic surgeon’s wet dream.
    Whenever Carlton saw her blazing toward us in her fire-engine red wedding dress, he’d look at me and say, “Holy Shit. Here Comes Holly!”
    “Talk about eye candy,” I said, conspiratorially.
    “Stale eye candy,” Carlton said, and we both laughed like criminals.
    I know he secretly resented the silky white Mercedes convertible his father had given Holly as a wedding gift—parked outside the hotel entrance for everyone to admire, with a big red bow wrapped around it—especially since Carlton still bumped around in his rusty Honda.
    But there was more to it than that, I thought.
    “I don’t understand why my dad is never satisfied with one woman. I guess my old man prefers the all-u-can-eat buffet,” Carlton said, as we danced to the wedding band playing an awful rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl.” He encircled his arms around my waist and held me tightly.
    “Apples don’t fall far from the tree, babe,” I teased.
    Carlton smiled his sexy, sideways smile. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he whispered. “I’m a single entree kind of guy.”
    And I, of course, being the sucker that I am, totally believed him.

Chapter 11
    I arrive at The Tavern early, of course. I’m dressed in wrinkled jeans and a stained white T-shirt that says, “South Padre Island.” On the back of the shirt, in tiny blue letters, it reads, STAND STRONG 2 THE WINDS OF CHANGE.
    So here I am. In a smelly bar. Waiting for my brother. And standing strong to the winds of change.
    The bartender approaches me armed with this smarmy smile.
    “You look like you could use a drink, Missy,” is his opening line.
    “Thanks, but I’ll just have a coke.”
    “Sure you don’t want me to pour a shot of Jack on top?”
    “It’s not even noon,” I say.
    “Time is what you make of it.”
    See, here’s the