The world’s sexiest murderer stood in front of him, her fists clenched, brown eyes blazing. If Alvar cared at all about his life, he’d be scared.

But he didn’t, so he merely crossed his arms, blocking her from the entrance. “You shouldn’t be here,” he drawled. “I’m working.” And he was, waiting to escort the Boss from his office to his home.

“You didn’t return my calls,” she accused him.

Nor had he written her back. Not once during the decade and a half in prison. “We have nothing to say to each other.” Nothing he could say. “Go away, Edenia.”

“I waited for you.” She didn’t move, her six inch heels firmly planted on the busy sidewalk, forcing passersby to negotiate around her.

She’d waited for him? Why? Was he the only sucker in town? “I didn’t ask you to wait.” She could peddle her lies somewhere else.

“You didn’t have to ask. I love you.”

The words he’d always dreamt her saying. He forced a laugh. It came out harsh. “You don’t know the meaning of love.”

“I…,” Her full mouth opened, and shut, and opened again.

He wanted to kiss those flapping lips. Dios, she got to him. Even knowing what a little liar she was. “You let me go to jail, Edenia. Jail,” he ground out. “That isn’t love.”

To him. His wife and daughter may think differently. Crystal put the last pin in. “But then we wouldn’t be able to see these boots and these boots,” she tapped the shiny cowboy boot with a finger, “deserve to be seen.”

“Da-” he stopped himself in time. “Straight. Made with all American leather. Real cow. None of that sissy ostrich or kangaroo or zebra.”

Zebra?  They made boots out of zebra hide?  Crystal straightened, meeting Ken’s laughing gaze.   “Done.”

“Done?” Bushy eyebrows slammed down. “You told me,” he rounded on his son, “this was an all evening affair. Brought your mom in and your brothers and even that lunatic sister of yours.”

Then where were they? Crystal glanced around her small shop.

“They’re waiting at Mel’s Coffee Shop,” Ken explained. “They think we’re at the lawyer’s office.”  Right.  Because the tuxes were a surprise.  “The Cinema 6 is playing True Grit tonight, dad. Fortieth anniversary screening. Thought you’d like to see it.”

“True Grit.” The dad’s eyes danced. “Now THAT’s a movie.” He drew his hands, gunfighter style, squeezing his thumb triggers. “John Wayne.”

“And I also thought,” Ken looked down, making a sweeping movement with his right foot, “Miss Crystal might like to join us. If,” his chest heaved as he took a big breath, “she wants.”

“Do I want?” He was asking her out. This big, handsome, charming man. Crystal gave him her best smile. “‘I want Tom Chaney to hang for killing my father.’” She quoted from the movie she’d watched a hundred times with her own dad. “That’s what I want.”

Both men stared at her, their mouths open.

“You’re sitting beside me,” the dad declared, hugging her close.

“No way, no how.” Ken took her hand, his callused fingers gentle. “She’s my date. You sit with Mom.”

The sight that greeted her made her second guess her policy. Two huge male mountains scowled at the selection, extreme irritation written across their craggy faces.

“Good evening.” She fixed a smile on her lips, dusting off her clothes. “I’m Crystal. What can I help you with?”

“I need a da-” the older man caught himself in time “monkey suit.” More grumbles she couldn’t make out from behind that bushy beard.

“My sister, his daughter is getting married,” the younger, clean shaven one added, his baseball cap in hand. He was handsome with a weathered face, square chin, blue eyes.

“I see,” that they were here under duress. Neither of them wanting to wear a tux. “Does she have a particular style in mind?”

“She doesn’t know,” the brother confessed.

“Said I could walk her down the aisle like I am.” That was one easy going bride. They were both wearing checked cotton shirts, rugged blue jeans, scuffed work boots. “But no, her mother said we were to dress up. Surprise her, she said.” The father glowered at his feet. “More like make us look like jack-”

“Dad.” A caution. “Mom gave us this.” The son held out a clear baggie. Crystal took it, his callused fingers brushing hers, a shiver of awareness nearly paralyzing her arm.

Fabric samples. “This will help.” She circled the two of them, measuring them with her eyes. “I can’t see you as James Bond types.”

“Da…” another self censor, “English fairy” from the father.

Blue eyes met Crystal’s and they both smiled. The beard, it was a clue, reminded her of… “On a warm summers evening on a train bound for nowhere” she sang softly under her breath.

The gristly older man’s face lit up. “You know The Gambler?”

Jackpot. “My name’s Crystal, isn’t it?”

“Crystal Gayle.” He stepped closer. He smelled of sap and the outdoors. Must be lumber men. “You do have brown eyes.” He laughed at his own wit. “This here,” a big hand slapped the son’s shoulder, “is Kenny.”

“I prefer Ken.” A tolerant smile.

She smiled back, she couldn’t help it, and then forced herself to focus on the dad. “I bet you’d make a handsome gambler. You have the shoulders.” She spread a measuring tape across them. “To pull it off. Not many men do. A vest in the silver to match your daughter’s colors. A string tie. Black coat. Hhhmmm…” She paused. “You’d need a silver buckle to make it work though.” She distracted him as she measured his imposing girth.

“I have one of those,” a proud boom. “Won it in the lumberjack showdown of ‘89. Might be too flashy though, solid silver.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She ignored the son’s endearing dimple. “The flashier, the better.”