“Do you understand me?” Jill asked. “If so, nod.”

The two women on the other side of the bar had just tried to kill each other with dirty looks and barbed, hateful remarks, but they both nodded and went back to their drinks.

“Thank you,” Jill said.

Sawyer put the burger together and set it in front of Betsy. She picked it up in one hand and her drink in the other and, with a ramrod-straight back, headed to the table the Gallaghers always chose. Leaving food and beer on the table, she went to the jukebox, fished a few coins from her pocket, and plunked them in.

On her return to the table, she tipped an imaginary hat at Kinsey. Loretta Lynn’s voice filled the bar with “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man.” Betsy made sure she was staring holes in Kinsey when the words said that women like her were a dime a dozen and could be found anywhere.

“So tonight the battleground is in the jukebox. Hope we have enough quarters,” Jill whispered to Sawyer.

The next song was another Loretta song called “Fist City.” Sawyer could almost see the steam coming out of Kinsey’s ears when Betsy held up her beer in a salute. When the words said that if she didn’t want to go to fist city she’d better get out of her town, Betsy raised her fist and shook it at Kinsey.

“Would you take some woman to fist city?” Sawyer whispered in Jill’s ear.

“Damn straight! I’d tear a woman to pieces to protect what’s mine,” Jill answered. “I wonder if this is going to go on all night.”

“Looks like she’s about to have her say one way or the other. Is the shotgun loaded?” Sawyer asked.

“It stays ready.”

Several people pushed inside and claimed tables, Gallaghers sitting with Betsy, the Brennans finding their own spot, and the folks who didn’t care about the feud taking up the rest of the empty tables. Kinsey tossed back the rest of her whiskey and, without taking her eyes off Betsy, headed toward the jukebox.

Betsy’s last choice brought folks out to the dance floor for a line dance, with her leading the pack. Alan Jackson sang “Good Time,” which surprised Sawyer. He was ready for another fighting song from Loretta or maybe Tammy Wynette. But Gallaghers, Brennans, and folks that neither Jill nor Sawyer knew filled up the dance floor.

* * *

“That hussy knew exactly when her backup troops would arrive,” Jill said. “Uh-oh!”

“What?”

“Keep an eye on what’s about to happen,” Jill said.

On one shake of the hip, Betsy bumped Kinsey so hard that she had to grab the jukebox to keep her balance. Betsy mouthed “oops,” moved away, and kept on dancing with the crowd.

Kinsey headed for the jukebox and nodded toward the door.

“If Betsy does that again, Kinsey is taking her outside,” Jill said.

“Long as they don’t dent my truck, I don’t care if they kill each other,” Sawyer said.

Tyrell left the line dancers and yelled on his way across the floor, “Hey, Sawyer, we need ten cheeseburger baskets, and, Jill darlin’, if you could draw us up four pitchers of beer and give us about a dozen cups, we’d be some happy Gallaghers.”

Quaid propped a hip on the stool closest to the door. “Double that order, only put poison in theirs.”

“No can do,” Jill said. “Poison has to be done outside the bar.”

“Did you see what Betsy did to Kinsey? Of course you did, and I heard you didn’t do a thing to help my sister.” Quaid accused as much with his eyes as with his words.

“It was their fight, not mine,” Jill said.

Tyrell stopped dancing and swaggered over to the bar. “Betsy didn’t need any help. She put that Brennan bitch on the run.”

“Like I told the ladies, the fight stops at the door. You want to feud, take it outside,” Jill said.

The noise level in the bar went from rock band noisy to eerie quiet when the song stopped. Every eye in the place was on Quaid and Tyrell, and dollar bills started flying out of pockets to land on the tables. Quaid slid off the stool, and Tyrell did the same. They looked at the door, but then set their eyes ahead on the tables where their families were and circled away from each other.

“Like a couple of wiry old tomcats,” Jill said as she drew up eight pitchers of beer and evened them out on opposite ends of the bar.

“The fur will fly when they finally howl their last and really get into the fight,” Sawyer said with a gleam in his eye. “In this corner we have the pig and in this corner the chicken. One is bigger, but the other has claws of steel. Which one will win, folks?”

“Now that might be a fight worth refereeing.” Jill laughed as she wrapped cheeseburgers, stuck a toothpick in the top to hold the paper together, and set the baskets on the bar.

“What would make it different than the one with Betsy and Kinsey?” Sawyer grabbed her hand and twirled her around to the music, then brought her back to his chest for a little back-of-the-bar two-stepping.

“Hey, we need a pitcher of martinis and one of beer,” a tall, lanky cowboy ordered. “And, honey, if you want to dance, I’d be glad to take you out on the floor where there is a hell of a lot more room.”

“Rule number one, I have to stay behind the bar. Rule number two, no one but Sawyer can be back here with me.” Jill smiled. “Haven’t seen you in here before. Gallagher or Brennan?”

“Neither. I jumped over the river from Oklahoma and came to party. Heard there was a damn sexy redhead down here in Burnt Boot, so I came to check things out,” he flirted.

“She’s sittin’ right back there in the corner,” Jill said.

“That one looks like she’s done been through the wringer. I’d rather have a pretty one like you, darlin’. What are you doing after closin’ tonight?”

She set two pitchers on the bar and took his money. “I’m goin’ home with this cowboy right here.” She pointed at Sawyer. “He’s the one I came with, and he’s the one I’m leavin’ with.”

“Just my luck. Day late and a redhead short, and I do like sassy redheaded women,” the man said.

Sawyer broke open a bag of frozen fries and dumped them into two baskets, lowered them into the grease, and swayed back and forth to the music. Watching his hips move like that jacked Jill’s hormones into overdrive. Who would have ever thought she’d think a man flipping burgers or sweeping up a floor was as sexy as one throwing hay bales or fixing fence? Bulging muscles, a damn fine body, brown eyes, and arms that made her feel oh, so safe—it didn’t matter what they were doing.

“I guess Kinsey let Betsy have the last word, because the last three songs have been line dancing ones,” she said. Hopefully talking about music would take her mind off the way those Wranglers fit Sawyer’s butt.

“Don’t speak too early, darlin’,” he said as the first single guitar notes started.

“Dear God,” Jill gasped.

Kinsey was in front of the jukebox, and when the haunting music of “I Know These Hills” came from the speakers, Jill recognized it immediately.

Every eye in the place darted between the two families, but when nothing happened, folks filled up the floor in a slow country waltz. Kinsey pointed at Betsy and smiled sarcastically. Betsy nodded and pointed back.

“That music haunts my soul every time I hear it,” Sawyer said.

“The singer is Sara Beck. Her tone reminds me a little of Alison Krauss,” Jill said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Sawyer said. “Changing the subject here. What do you think would happen if a Gallagher fell in love with a Brennan these days? Like if Betsy went after Quaid?”

“God help Burnt Boot if they did.” Jill shuddered. “But in all honesty, I can’t see Betsy with Quaid. He’s way too tame for her. Maybe Declan or Eli, but not Quaid.”

The next song that played was “How Deep the Water Runs.” Sawyer and Jill both leaned on the bar. His hand covered hers when she shivered.

“It’s spooky after last week,” she said.

The third song was “Killing Season.” Kinsey’s eyes locked with Betsy’s, and neither of them blinked. The words said there’d be no rest in the killing season. When the lyrics mentioned the Lord’s Prayer and the devil’s law, Betsy blew Kinsey a kiss, turned her chair around, and raised her cup in a toast to all the folks at her table.