She fingered the strings of the well-loved and oft-used guitar and thought about her father's guitar. The last time she'd seen it, hell the first time she'd thought about it for years, it was leaning against the back wall of her bedroom closet. Alone. In the dark. Hiding away the memories, the music, the pain...

She closed her eyes against the burn of tears. God, this was the last place she needed to suddenly turn into a watering pot-surrounded by gauchos and a ...