When Last We Loved by Fran Baker

the butt end of his stogie between his small, sharp teeth and clamped his jowls shut. “A little girl like you needs a hand if she wants to be taken seriously. Otherwise... ” His beady eyes warned her of the dangers awaiting vulnerable hopefuls.
    “I understand,” she said, ignoring Allen's glassy-eyed glower. “If you do ever find the time to drop by the Stardust, though, we'll see if we can't work out some sort of deal that suits us all.” Right now, she really didn't care whether she fit into his schedule or not. “I appreciate your interest in me, I really do.” Cassie's nerves were at the breaking point, and if she didn't get a moment's peace before she went back onstage, she was liable to fall completely to pieces.
    “What if they don't like the song?” She was beside herself with a case of the jitters.
    “You'll never know until you try,” Scrappy assured her.
    “Why am I doing this to myself?” she groaned. “Why didn't I just stay put in Coyote Bend and run the cash register at Ray's drugstore or something? Who needs this kind of agony? I must be nuts!”
    “Remember those padded cells we were talking about earlier?” He grinned and strummed a chord on his banjo. “This will put you another step closer to claiming what's rightfully yours.”
    “Thanks. I needed that.” Cassie's voice was shaking almost as much as her hands were.
    “Hey, it's a good song. Quit worrying.” Scrappy threw an encouraging arm around her shoulders.
    “You're just saying that because you wrote the music.” She still wasn't convinced.
    “Have I ever lied to you?”
    ''Yes.'’
    “When?” His eyes were widely innocent.
    “The day you told me that you and Kris Kristofferson were fraternal twins.”
    “Oh, that.” He shrugged, dismissing the whole matter. “I wasn't lying. I was hallucinating.”
    Their laughter broke the tension and they took their places among the familiar instrumental props on the flatbed stage.
    Cassie's professional training arrested her emotional turmoil when the announcer introduced them at intermission. She didn't tell the audience that she'd written the song she would sing because she wanted it judged on merit alone. The simple story line was aimed directly at women everywhere who were attracted to men they shouldn't want and couldn't have, and Cassie was vulnerable to the core. She'd written it with her own situation in mind, and she sang it with deep emotional feeling:
    "I've told you before
    I'll say it again
    Don't want what you've got
    Don't now, didn't then.
    “Don't bother coming ‘round
    You're wasting your time.
    Find yourself another lady,
    I'm doing just fine.
    “I wish you'd receive
    This message I'm sending,
    I want someone who's giving
    Instead of just lending.
    “So take off, big man
    I'm not for you.
    Here it is for the last time,
    Baby, we're through.”
    As the final strains of the music faded away, the audience whistled and stomped its resounding approval. Cassie hugged herself in delighted relief before moving on to the next number.
    “I told you so,” Scrappy mouthed over the raucous cheering that accompanied their exit from the arena after the performance.
    “I hope to hell you didn't blow your chance with Purdy.” Allen had weaved his way over to the van and was doing his sullen best to end the day on a sour note. Cassie's self-control was strained to the snapping point, but she didn't argue with him.
    “Harlan's a busy man. I don't know if he'll take the time to see you again or not,” Allen groused.
    “If he's serious about wanting to help us, then wild horses couldn't keep him away,” Cassie retorted. She bit her tongue. This wasn't the time or the place for a lecture. Tomorrow morning, though, she sure intended to talk him up one side and down the other. Cassie hoped Allen's head would pound like a parade was marching through it in the morning, but she said no more than a curt good night before she hopped into the passenger's seat and slammed the