Cowboy Player: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 3

by Mia Hopkins

  When her mother passed away, Melody had been living in San Diego with her long-term boyfriend. When she told him she had to move back to her tiny hometown in the Central Valley to help support her sister and take care of her mother’s affairs, Scott used the move as an excuse to finally end their relationship.

  They’d had their problems. But Melody hadn’t anticipated the finality of the breakup. So swift and clean. It was as if their eight years as a couple had never existed.

  With a grimace, Melody swallowed down the last of her gin and tonic. One of the bartenders whisked her glass away and asked if she wanted another. Even though she did, Melody shook her head.

  Something touched her bare arm. A warm fingertip grazed her skin from elbow to wrist. She looked up.

  “Lost in thought again?” Clark leaned close and kissed her cheek, just as he had hundreds of times before. One of the Silver Spur’s waitresses put a beer down in front of him and flashed a sexy grin. He smiled at the woman briefly and turned his attention back to Melody.

  She shook her head. “It must be hard to be you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Women. The endless parade of women fighting for your attention.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad.” Clark took a sip of beer.

  “Where are all your brothers? They usually help carry the burden.”

  “I’m on my own tonight,” he said. “But let’s talk about you, not me. Why so blue, Mel? Baby sister all grown up?”

  They turned to look at the crowd in front of the stage. Harmony had found herself a cowboy admirer. The lucky fellow was holding her close and nuzzling her neck as he led her around the dance floor.

  Was Melody sad that Harmony was growing up? No, not exactly. Nostalgic, more like—for a version of herself she wasn’t sure ever existed. Had she ever been that young and optimistic? Had she ever let herself be that free?

  “I’m proud of her,” Melody said at last. “It’s been hard. Seeing our mom get sick like that. Lots of kids would’ve dropped out. But she finished school with a 3.8. This is her first night out in a long, long time.”

  “A smarty-pants, just like you.”

  “Smarter than me,” said Melody. “She learned something useful. Solid paycheck, helping others, all that good stuff.”

  “You’re a brilliant teacher, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Diagramming sentences isn’t exactly going to save us from the zombie apocalypse, now is it?”

  “If there’s a zombie apocalypse, nothing will save us, Mel. The only thing left to do is get drunk and screw.” He held up his beer mug and winked at her. An honest-to-goodness wink.

  Melody shook her head. “You can’t help yourself, can you, MacKinnon? You’re a hopeless flirt.”

  “Flirting? Thought I was just drinking beer and being myself.” He looked down at the empty coaster in front of her. “What about you? What are you having? Gin and tonic, right?”

  He remembered her favorite drink. Melody smiled. “No, I’m good. I’m on sister watch tonight. She really wants to cut loose. Someone’s gotta hold her hair back when the vomit flies. Which it inevitably will.” She waved her hand at him. “You should go have a good time. Get yourself a nice piece. Enjoy your Saturday night.”

  Only Clark could make a shrug look so sexy. “But I’m already enjoying my Saturday night.”

  Something about the way he said those words made Melody’s skin tingle.

  As an experiment, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her arms on the bar. For a nanosecond, Clark’s dark eyes darted to her cleavage before resting on his beer. A sudden, electric thrill shimmied down her spine. Her body clenched with pleasure, knowing she could still get the attention of a man as insanely hot as Clark MacKinnon.

  But then…guilt.

  That’s Clark. Don’t flirt with Clark.

  The band started playing something loud and rowdy. Clark leaned forward. As he spoke into her ear, his warm breath caressed the sensitive skin on her neck. “You know, Lucky’s going to be doing the rodeo circuit soon. It’ll be just you and me on the road. Hours and hours together. You ready for that, Mel?”

  Melody cleared her throat. Be cool. Make a joke. Keep your distance. “You and me and a couple hundred pounds of raw meat? Sounds kinky, Superman.”

  In the crowded bar, Clark stood flush against her, his arm pressed against hers. The sleeves of his dark T-shirt molded to the broad muscles in his biceps. Where the cotton ended, his skin was smooth and hot. She’d spent enough time with Clark shut up in the van to know he smelled pretty good—soap and leather, a little drugstore aftershave. Up close was a different story. That familiar smell, mixed with the subtle scent of his skin, made the transmission fall out of Melody’s self-control.

  “I had a feeling you might be kinky, Santos,” he said.

  He moved even closer. With gentle fingers, he brushed her long hair away from her neck and tucked the curls behind her ear. Intentionally or not, his bottom lip brushed her earlobe as he whispered, “Am I right?”

  Christ. Heat rushed like quicksilver to her core, leaving her fingers and toes tingling with cold. She hadn’t been this turned on in months, maybe years. Under the bar, she pressed her thighs together to ease the hot ache that Clark had summoned with nothing more than a few whispered words and the caress of his fingertips.

  “Clark, what are you…” She trailed off and looked into his eyes.

  Was he teasing her? Was he serious?

  She and Clark had played in the creek together as little kids and slammed each other with dodgeballs in the schoolyard. She’d spent years in his company and yet, she couldn’t remember what color his eyes were. Here in the neon light, she couldn’t see his irises. But she could feel the unfamiliar heat of his gaze burning her like a thousand suns. Coming from a friend or lover, that look meant desire. That look meant sex.

  The band finished the song with a loud holler and a wild drum solo. The crowd cheered. Clark locked his eyes on her for a half-second more before Tom Shelton, the big, tough-looking bartender, set down a row of shot glasses on the bar in front of them.

  “Hey, Clark. Hey, Mel.” Tom proceeded to fill the shot glasses from a bottle of cinnamon-scented whiskey.

  Clark blinked and looked up at Tom. Melody folded her hands and rested them on her knees to keep from trembling.

  “Your brothers here tonight?” Tom asked Clark.

  Clark cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. All of ’em are busy.”

  “That’s a first. How about you? What are you two up to?”

  “Just keeping an eye on Mel’s little sister.”

  “No kidding. She’s a live wire,” said Tom. “These shots are for her group, matter of fact.”

  Melody leaned back and glanced at the bar where Harmony’s friends were sitting, but her little sister wasn’t there. Melody looked back at the dance floor. Harmony and her new cowboy friend were nowhere to be seen.

  “Clark.” She hopped off the barstool. “I’ve lost sight of my sister. Can you see her?”

  A full foot taller than Melody, Clark stood up straight and scanned the crowded room. “She was right there a minute ago.”

  “Ah, Christ,” Melody said.

  “We’ll find her. She can’t have gotten far.” Clark grasped Melody’s hand in his. With a warm, steady grip, he led her through the crowd, cutting a path for her. Together, they searched the dance floor and the area by the pool tables. They walked down the hallway leading to the restrooms and the smoking patio—still no Harmony. They were almost to the parking lot when Melody saw a flash of glitter in the corner of her eye.

  In the darkest corner of the bar, tucked into a booth, Melody’s baby sister was straddling a cowboy and sucking his face off like a lamprey on a dead flounder. The cowboy’s big hands gripped the backs of Harmony’s bare thighs and tog
ether they looked like they were doing a very private dance in public.

  “What the hell!” Melody exclaimed. “Harmony!”

  Harmony popped up, surprised. Her lipstick was smeared across her mouth and one strap of her dress hung off her shoulder. “Holy shit, Mel!” she exclaimed. She looked between Melody and Clark and after a couple of seconds, began to giggle. She was drunk as a skunk. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Yeah, the ghost of my sister’s dignity.” Melody went over and adjusted Harmony’s dress. “Get up. We’re going home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Why? Because drinking is fine. Dancing is fine. Having sex in public? Not fine.” Melody grabbed Harmony’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.

  “Easy now,” Clark said softly. He took Harmony’s elbow and helped her get her balance.

  Melody looked into the dark booth to see who’d taken advantage of her sister. “You’ve got some nerve. She’s wasted. I have a mind to call the cops on you.”

  The guy held up his hands. “Please don’t call the cops.” His words were slurred. He was as drunk as Harmony. “I just did what Clark said to do and the next thing I know—”

  Melody knocked the hat off the cowboy’s head to get a look at his face. “Holy fuck! Lucky!”

  He blinked. “I’m so sorry, Melody. We just got carried away.”

  Behind her, Clark let out a hoot. When Melody glared at him, he pressed his lips together, but his eyes were still laughing. “No harm done, Mel,” he said, holding Harmony up as she swayed on her feet. “Come on. Let’s get these two train wrecks home.”

  * * * * *

  Harmony passed out somewhere on the way between Lucky’s house and the trailer. When they got home, Clark carried Harmony into her bedroom and lay her down in her pink ruffled bed. As Clark looked at Harmony’s swimming trophies and first-place ribbons from science fairs, Melody removed her sister’s endless jewelry: hoop earrings, jangling bracelets, rings. Each cheap metal piece clanked into the porcelain bowl on the nightstand.

  When she came to, Harmony sang Carrie Underwood songs in between sighs and dreamy murmurings about what a blast the party had been. She began to complain that her sister was no fun, and why did Clark have to be such a stick in the mud tonight of all nights? All the girls said he was a good time. Apparently all the good times were done now that Clark was old. Ancient. As old as Melody, her sister who was as boring as all get-out.

  Melody tucked the pink comforter under Harmony’s chin. “Because you’re being unpleasant, I’m going to leave your makeup on your face.” She kissed Harmony’s forehead. “I hope you break out.”

  “You’re a mean old lady.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Clark brought a glass of water from the kitchen and an old pink crazy straw he’d found in the drawer. Melody held it up to Harmony’s lips and made her little sister take three big gulps of water.

  “I don’t want any more.”

  “I don’t care what you want. You’re going to drink this so that you don’t dehydrate and wake up hungover.”

  When Melody and Clark walked out of the bedroom and closed the door, Harmony was already snoring.

  “She’ll be in bad shape tomorrow.” Clark sat down on the sofa. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

  “At least her first day of work isn’t until Monday.” Melody turned on the lamp, suddenly shy even though she had no reason to be.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve been inside your house since high school.”

  “It hasn’t changed much.”

  Clark looked at the old turntable across from the couch. Next to it, a glass-doored cabinet held hundreds of LPs. “Damn,” he said. “Were all those your mom’s?”

  “Mom’s and Dad’s, all mixed together. Play whatever you want, make yourself comfortable—you want a drink?”

  “What do you have?” He took off his boots, got up and opened the cabinet.

  “Tanqueray.”

  “No beer?”

  From the kitchen, Melody watched him as he looked through the records. “Nope. And you heard Harmony. You used to be fun. One cocktail. I know you can handle it.”

  She was squeezing lime wedges into two gin and tonics when George Strait’s voice flowed deep and smooth from the old speakers of her parents’ record player.

  “Nice choice.” She walked into the living room and handed Clark his drink.

  “Classic.” He was sitting cross-legged by the record player, looking at a dozen albums fanned out on the carpet in front of him. “They were like pieces of art, weren’t they? Cardboard cover, liner notes. All the lyrics. We’re never going to have this kind of thing again. Everything’s digital. There won’t be any hard proof of the music we listened to.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing.” Sitting down on the sofa, Melody took a sip of her drink and ogled the curve of Clark’s broad back, the way his muscles stretched his cotton T-shirt, showing off the hard contours of his body. He was a looker. Always had been.

  “Maybe so.” Clark examined the covers one by one. “Buck Owens. Merle Haggard. Great stuff. How did your parents become fans of country music?”

  “My dad was born in Oleander just after his parents moved here from the Philippines. He started listening to country on the radio when he was a kid working in the fields. My mom was born in the Philippines. He loved the music and she loved him, so it made sense that she’d grow to love it too.”

  “They loved the music enough to call you Melody and Harmony.”

  “Thank God we weren’t boys. What would they have named us?” She grinned to herself. “Buck and Merle. Hee and Haw.”

  Clark turned and looked at her with a crooked smile. “Twang and Yodel.”

  “Ooh, that’s good. Twang Santos, Esquire.” She took another sip and slipped off her shoes. “Dr. Yodel Santos.”

  “Paging Dr. Santos. Dr. Yodel Santos.”

  They snickered, fifteen again and goofing off in the back of geometry class. Still smiling, Clark gathered up the vinyl records and carefully returned them to the cabinet before sitting down beside her. He held his drink in his left hand and draped his right arm on the sofa behind her. She could feel his fingers stroking her hair. Intentional? Not intentional? All she knew was that his touch made her scalp tingle down to the roots.

  “You know, I really am glad we’re working together, Mel,” he said. “Having you around—it’s going to be a big help once Lucky’s on the road.”

  She grimaced, remembering the sight of her sister riding her way to glory. “Ah, God. Lucky. Why’d my sister have to choose Lucky? Have you seen that boy tie down a calf? He’s got the fastest hands in the county.”

  “I know you care about Harmony, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They’re both adults. Sometimes these things happen.”

  Spoken like a true player. Melody took another drink as she felt her heart hardening in her chest. For a moment, she wondered if Clark were the kind of man who could walk away from a woman the way her ex-boyfriend had walked away from her. “Sometimes these things happen,” he’d say, riding off into the sunset and leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

  The image annoyed her enough to make her rude. “So that yoga goddess at the market today—was she something that happened to you?”

  Clark looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “I’m a gentleman, Mel. I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Melody blinked. “You did, didn’t you?”

  He shook his head with a smile. “You’re too much.”

  “Was she good?” Another sip. “She looked like she’d be…limber.”

  Clark took his first sip of the drink sweating in his hand. “She was,” he said quietly. “But that was the only thing she had going for her, unfortunately.”

  “I knew it!” Melody exclai
med. “What about the fisherman’s daughter? Or the lady who sells flowers? And the coffee chick with the nose ring? Or that pastry chef who buys all those flats of berries?”

  Clark let out a sigh.

  “Come on. Just tell me,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “We’re friends.”

  “All right. Fine. Don’t repeat this to anyone.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Yes, yes, she likes you not me, and yes.”

  “The coffee chick likes me?”

  “A lot. Huge crush.”

  “Huh.” Melody looked up at Clark. “Jesus. It’s like there’s this whole world of sex going on beneath the surface. Is there a secret portal or password or some kind of key I can get hold of?

  “You want in, Santos?” He smirked at her. “I got your key right here.”

  Jesus Christ, that smirk should be illegal. “I’m immune to your charms, MacKinnon.”

  “That so?”

  Her cheeks were warm. From the flirting or the gin? “Yup,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Like a little clownfish in the gooey tentacles of a sea anemone.”

  “Really? Let’s test that theory out.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, wiped his hands on his jeans, and climbed on top of her. Straddling her legs with his thick thighs, he put on a duck face and began to do a goofy lap dance, gyrating his hips like a stripper.

  She couldn’t help it. She began to laugh. “Oh my God. Cut it out, you perv.”

  He put both hands behind his head and began to undulate his torso. “Feeling tingly yet? Has paralysis set in?”

  Giggling, she tried to push him away without spilling her drink. “No, but you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “I fuckin’ love it when you talk like my nana, Mel. It’s so sexy in a deeply twisted, Freudian way.” He began to hump her knee. “Tell me you’re wearing granny panties. Whisper it in my ear.”

  She put her hand on his chest and tried to wiggle away, laughing too hard to be turned on. “I can’t imagine how other women resist you.”

  “Me neither. It’s never happened before.” Grinning, he put his big hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. On the record player, the next track started. Guitar licks, drums, a little fiddle—Melody knew the song at once.