Chapter 6

The cowboy was vigorously strumming his guitar, tapping his boot on the

pavement in a brisk rhythm. His expressive mouth was doing just that–expressing

whatever he was singing, with gusto and a certain amount of face-scrunching to

portray emotion. Curtis watched for a while, not bothered that he could hardly

hear the music from where he stood. He liked the way the man moved: steady steps

back and forth with the beat, but accompanied by a more graceful, sexy sway of

his hips. He’d taken off his overcoat, and swapped his silk waistcoat for a

leather one, enough to keep him warm but less restricting. It fitted his torso

in all the right places, as far as Curtis could see. The cowboy leant over the

guitar, hugging it to his chest like a lover, plucking the chords with both

care and confidence. He seemed to be doing it all from memory: there were no

sheets of music that Curtis could see.

Curtis’