Lyla sits at the bar, moving her Stoli on the rocks around on the bar, watching the water drip down the sides of the glass. Drip, drip. She doesn't look up as someone sits down next to her.

"Is this seat taken?"

It's a drawl. A Texas cowboy thing. Lyla doesn't look over. "Nope," she says.

"For such a pretty little lady, you sure look sad."

That voice. It's so damn annoying. Lyla looks over at him and forces a smile. "Better?" she asks. He's wearing a cowboy hat. Seriously?

"Can I buy you a . . .?"

"Stoli on the rocks. Yes, yes, you can," she responds. "Hal, another Stoli on the rocks, please," she motions toward the bartender. "This kind gentleman is buying."

"Sure about that, Lyla?" the bartender raises an eyebrow at her. She's been in here often enough over the last several days that he's beginning to feel somewhat protective of this lone Stoli fan.

"Absolutely," Lyla nods emphatically.

The bartender - Hal - shrugs, pouring her a refill. "And for you?" he looks at the cowboy.

"Whiskey, rocks," the cowboy nods. "What's your name, beautiful?" he looks at Lyla.

"Lyla," she smiles. If you pretend you're happy, eventually, you are happy, she thinks. Or something like that. That's the thing about stupid expressions; they're so stupid you can't even remember them properly.

"I'm Jack. Nice to meet you, Lyla," he drawls. "You live around here?"

She starts to nod, then stops. "No, I don't," she says. "I live in Austin. Am here on - visiting. Family."

"Well, I'd sure love to get to know you a bit before you head back to Austin," he smiles.

"Yeah, sure, what the hell," Lyla shrugs. "Why not?"