By Gary V. Powell
She was pretty as the Sierra Madres in winter, leaving her girlfriends behind to sip their beers. The boy she danced with couldn’t rope calves much less break broncos, while she could have ridden bulls into the ground. I sipped Bourbon and watched her rhinestones shimmer, her hips sharp enough to rip denim.
When I crossed the floor to ask, her eyes said she’d noticed my eyes. Her rope-burned hand said she wondered what I’d been waiting for.
I boot-scooted her across Texas, two-stepped her into Old Mexico and back, swirled her over Arizona and through the bayous of Louisiana.
When the band’s final encore was over, I cut her loose from the herd, steered her to my pick-up, and drove into high desert. Under the light of a Sonoran moon, in the shadow of Saguaro, we listened to Willie and danced all night, sand laughing in our boots.
Gary V. Powell’s stories have been widely published in both print and online literary journals including The Briar Cliff Review, The Thomas Wolfe Review, The Newport Review, and Blue Lake Review. In addition, several of his stories have placed or been selected as finalists in national contests. In 2012, he has work forthcoming at Fiction 365. moonShine Review, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. His first novel, Lucky Bastard, is due out later this year with Main Street Rag Press. He lives near the shores of Lake Norman with his beautiful wife and amazing son.