Black Gold Read Free

lurching across the bar to the men's room.
    "Nice going, Reggie," Carl said, behind her. "Let's double down, what do you say? I'm going to sign them both . If I do, I get Buckeye—and a second chance with you. If you can sign even one of them, we're settled up on the wedding and you can cook me a consolation dinner."
    "You're on," Regina said. Not because she had any intention of spending one more night with lying, smooth-talking Carl Cash-nee-Bettendorf—but because she wasn't about to let Chase Warner out of her sights, not until he'd signed on the dotted line and packed his bags for Nashville.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    Chase came out of the stall and headed straight for the sink. He was tempted to stick his entire head under the faucet, but he didn't think it would fit. Instead he washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and wished he had a toothbrush. He hadn't had this much to drink since the night of his father's funeral, and he'd sworn the next day on the way to the lawyer's office to hear the reading of the will that he'd never end up like his father. Gerald Warner had drunk too much, and even though Chase rarely did, he had no intention of tempting fate.
    But when he'd made that promise to himself, he had no way of knowing that six months after the funeral he'd be living in Conway, North Dakota, working on an oil rig, bringing up crude from deep underground, and living in a bunkhouse with four other men and one woman who had become his best friends. Friends who weren't about to let his twenty-eighth birthday pass without a proper celebration. And since every single one of them had bought him a shot, and Chase thought it would be rude to refuse, he'd downed them all—as well as the ones bought for him by other well-wishers, including his boss from out on the rig, and the guy who sold tamales from the trunk of his car.
    "That's right, buddy, clear your head," the man at the next sink said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna be good as new."
    Chase turned, expecting to see Calvin or Jimmy. Instead, he found himself staring at a guy in a black shirt with a black string tie, topped with a black jacket. Black jeans and boots completed the look. Very Ring of Fire, except that his smooth, tanned face was way too perfect to resemble the Man in Black.
    "I think I might’ve had a little too much," Chase said ruefully.
    "Hey, when can you cut loose a little, if not your birthday? I'm Carl Cash," he said, offering his hand.
    "You related to Johnny?" Chase asked, shaking hands and wincing at the crushing grip.
    "Heh, well, I try not to take advantage," Carl said modestly. He took a card from the pocket of his shirt and handed it over.
    Chase squinted, the print wavering in front of his eyes. "Professional talent management," he managed to read. "Nashville. Oh, you here to see Stiletta?"
    "As a matter of fact, yes, I hope to talk to her."
    Chase nodded. "Figured it was just a matter of time before she was headed for Music City. She's really got talent. I tell you what, you spiff her up a little, she'll pack 'em in."
    It was about time Sherry got a break, and Chase struggled to pull himself together so he didn't accidentally blow her chances. This guy Cash seemed decent enough, if you could judge a man's character by spending a few minutes in a public bathroom with him after throwing up, which on second thought struck Chase as unlikely. Still, Carl Cash didn't need to know Sherry had been juggling two other jobs and sleeping in the Tar Barn to make ends meet for herself and her little brother.
    "Yeah, we'll see. Meanwhile, you've got a hell of a voice yourself, Chase. You ever perform professionally?"
    "No," Chase said, suddenly on the alert. "No, no, uh-uh. Nope. Hey, I got to get back to my friends. Nice to meet you."
    He was already backing toward the door, but Carl followed. "Hey, wait up, I'm serious. I'd like to talk to you some more, maybe take a listen to your demos."
    "I don't have any," Chase said. It