The Maverick's Summer Love (Montana Mavericks: Rust Creek Cowboys)

by Christyne Butler

  “Besides, she’s twenty-two, so don’t go all righteous on me, Grandpa.” Nick grabbed a second handful of peanuts and started cracking the shells over a bowl filled with discarded casings.

  Jeez, that was young. Not that at twenty-eight he was that much older, but still. “You’re not interested, but you know her age?” Dean asked.

  “Rosey told me.”

  Before he could find out who Rosey was, the angelic blonde headed their way. She placed the bottles on the bar in front of them, quickly popping off the caps. “Sorry, Nick. You know Rosey’s rules. No double fisting allowed. Except on Sundays.”

  “And then you better be praying,” Nick added, finishing what Dean guessed was a well-known proverb around the bar. “I thought I’d give it a shot anyway. Shelby, have you met my brother Dean?”

  This time she looked right at him and that heat burned just a little bit hotter when he caught the full power of a pair of baby blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose and lips naked of any dressing but a sweet, if not aloof, smile. “No, I don’t think I have.”

  For a reason he couldn’t explain, Dean shot out a hand across the bar at her. “Dean Pritchett.”

  She stared at him for a moment before she placed her hand in his, the tips of her cool fingers gliding against the calluses on his. “Shelby Jenkins.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Thankful the words came out sounding normal, he tightened his grip just a bit. “Shelby.”

  “Likewise.” An emotion he couldn’t read flickered across her eyes as she pulled free from his touch. “You boys have fun. I’ll check back with you in a few minutes.”

  Gripping his beer, Dean watched her walk away before drowning his suddenly dry throat in a rush of cool liquid. His next thought popped out of his mouth before he could stop the words. “What’s a nice girl like her doing working in the Ace in the Hole?”

  “Who are you talking about?” Nick pulled his attention from the flat-screen television showing a ball game.

  Dean tipped his bottle in Shelby’s direction. “Our bartender.”

  His brother’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Well, the word around town is she’s too nice actually, if you know what I mean.”

  The meaning behind the words stung. Nothing got Dean’s ire up more than stupid rumors.

  He’d dealt with them as a kid when his weight gain and lack of stamina in gym classes had caused the other kids to talk about him behind his back. Even after the surgery, when long-distance running had brought him lean muscles and track awards, there were still comments about him being the guy in the class that girls loved to be friends with, but nothing else.

  Dean looked down the bar at Shelby. With her big blue eyes and glossy blond hair, she looked like an angel. An innocent angel. “That’s a crappy thing to say.”

  The hard edge in Dean’s words brought forth a confused frown from his brother. “I guess you’re right.” Nick straightened and reached for his beer. “I’m just repeating what I’ve been told.”

  “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  Nick nodded in agreement, but then turned his attention back to the game.

  By the time they were on their second beers, delivered by Shelby without a glance in his direction, even when Dean had paid for the drinks, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  Turning around, he found Jasmine “Jazzy” Cates and Cecelia Clifton, two more of Thunder Canyon’s volunteers.

  “Look who’s here!” Cecelia offered a big smile. “Dean, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in the Ace.”

  “Yeah, my brother thought he might need a babysitter tonight.”

  The girls laughed and Nick greeted them, suggesting the four of them grab an empty table. Dean added a couple of singles to the change Shelby had left on the bar, pushing the pile toward the inside edge so she’d see it.

  He started to follow when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw it was a call from Abby, their brother Cade’s wife. “Save me a seat,” he called out. “I’m going to take this.”

  Stepping into the corner near the door, Dean pressed the button. “Hey, Abby. Did Dad and Cade make it home okay?”

  “A few hours ago. I’m calling from your dad’s place. He and Cade are parked in front of the television watching the Rockies get their butts kicked.”

  “Yeah, we’re doing the same at the local watering hole.”

  “Ah, Cade told me about that place. Not quite the same as the Hitching Post, huh?”

  Dean pictured the Western-style restaurant and bar back home in Thunder Canyon that had gone through a complete renovation last fall. “Not even close.”

  “At least the town has a place where people can relax and have some fun. Your dad and Cade told us about all the work you guys have done since you’ve been up there.”

  “There’s still a long way to go,” Dean said. His sister-in-law went quiet for a moment and Dean thought they might have lost their connection, something that still often happened as the town had gotten its cellular service back only a few days before the volunteers arrived.

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m calling, Dean.” Abby’s voice was low, but he could hear the concern in her words. “My sister, Jazzy, went up there with the first group and the family has heard from her only a couple of times since she’s been gone.”

  “She’s been a great help, Abby, working right alongside the guys when we cleaned out the flooded elementary school.” Dean looked over at the subject of their conversation, sitting next to his brother with a beer in her hand. “In fact, she and Cecelia are here tonight with me and Nick.”

  “Oh, good.” Relief colored Abby’s tone. “Could I ask a favor? Keep an eye on her? She went through a pretty bad breakup last month, one that none of us in the family understand, because the guy she was dating seemed perfect for her.”

  As if babysitting Nick wasn’t bad enough. “Ah, look, Abs, I don’t think it’s my place—”

  “I’m not asking you to spy for me. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything...stupid. Please?”

  Dean blew out a breath. He couldn’t say no to Abby. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  Seconds later, Dean had shoved his cell phone into his pocket when the sound of shattering glass caught everyone’s attention.

  He turned and found one of the waitresses standing toe to toe with Shelby over an upturned tray and broken beer bottles on the floor. He wondered for a moment if they were going to go from shooting evil glances to swapping right hooks, but then Shelby seemed to check herself and took a step back.

  “Well, someone is getting lucky tonight.” Shelby’s voice rang out as she bent down to grab a couple of the broken bottles, holding them aloft in concession to the cheers and laughter from the crowd before tossing them into a nearby trash bin. “At least lucky enough to get a beer on the house.”

  Dean fought the urge to help her clean up the mess. Especially after the waitress only grabbed her tray and went back to a nearby booth.

  Shelby spotted him and the foot he’d put forward shuffled back. The message in her gaze was loud and clear.

  Back off.

  He turned instead to join his friends, taking the empty chair next to Jazzy. Nick and Cecelia were on the crowded dance floor with separate partners. Dean angled the chair to face the bar. Yeah, so he could keep an eye on Shelby and no, he didn’t know why, but something about her tugged at him.

  Moments later, she emerged with a tray full of beers for the cowboys at a nearby table. Chatting with the group, she even allowed one of the men to trail his fingers along her forearm before stepping back with that same aloof smile for the interloper she’d given to him.

  When she turned around, she caught him watching.

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment and Dean wondered if he should be the one to look away. However, Shelby simply spun on the heels of her cowboy boots and made her way back to the bar.

  Dean downed half of his beer before he noticed the growing pile of scraps
on the table. “You determined to peel that off in as many pieces as possible?” he asked Jazzy, watching her pick apart the silver label with her fingernail. “I thought the object was to remove it in one—”

  “Don’t start, Dean. Not tonight.” Her grip tightened on the bottle, but then she swiped a hand across one cheek.

  Ah, damn. Tears. “You okay?”

  “Just dandy.”

  He thought back to what Abby had just told him. “Want to talk about it?”

  She flipped a long blond curl over one shoulder and then looked directly at him, her eyes now dry. “As a matter of fact, I don’t, but thanks for asking.”

  Boy, he was doing worse than the Rockies, who were getting beat up by the Atlanta Braves to the tune of a dozen unanswered runs. “How about we dance instead?”

  Jazzy placed her drink back on the table. “No, thanks. I just want to sit here, okay?”

  Dean nodded. “Okay, but if you need someone to talk to—”

  “You’re a good friend, Dean.” Jazzy leaned in close and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. “But please shut up.”

  Doing as he was told, Dean leaned back in his chair, his gaze automatically going to the pretty bartender.

  His brother’s words about Shelby played again in his head. There was no way those rumors could be true. Not with the way she’d dismissed him. And why did he even care that she looked at him as if he wasn’t much more than something she needed to scrape off the bottom of her boots?

  Chapter Two

  Typical man. Never satisfied with what’s right in front of him.

  Shelby Jenkins could be thinking about any of the male patrons at the Ace in the Hole tonight, but no, the man who continued to occupy her thoughts, even a day later, was Dean Pritchett.

  All because she’d caught him looking her way more than once last night.

  Despite the fact he’d had a pretty girl practically sitting on his lap, kissing him. The same pretty girl he’d left with a few hours later.

  Okay, so Shelby would admit she’d been looking at him first when their gazes had met in the mirror behind the bar, but only because she had finally counted the money he’d left behind on the counter when he, his brother and their friends had moved to a table.

  A 100 percent tip on a bar tab for four beers?

  Her first thought had been to give the cash back to him. She was well aware of the many barroom games and Shelby wasn’t interested in being a player.

  Or being played.

  Then again, her bank account needed every dollar she managed to squirrel away and if the handsome blond cowboy thought a hefty tip was going to score points, she had no problem letting him think that way.

  Or setting him straight if he tried to use his generosity to his advantage.

  Shelby looked over the dwindling Friday night crowd as closing time approached, automatically double-checking the beer taps to make sure they were shut down. Last call had been twenty minutes ago and she was already deep into her nightly routine, knowing all the necessary steps by heart.

  Being eighteen and needing a job that kept her days free, she’d started working at the Ace in the Hole as a waitress. Moving behind the bar a couple of years later had been a breeze as she’d easily picked up the necessary skills watching the other bartenders and practicing after hours.

  Along the way, she’d also learned a few hard lessons about hooking up with a random cowboy or two. After two attempts at human companionship failed even before the first dates ended, Shelby decided casual sex just wasn’t for her. She didn’t enjoy being a means to an end.

  Besides, once they found out she wasn’t as wild and unattached as they first thought, their interest in her vanished quicker than morning dew. So, being lonely was something she’d learned to deal with.

  She’d suspected the Pritchett boys had been talking about her long before the ladies joined them, especially after the way Dean had held tight to her hand when they were introduced, but she never let on. She was used to the gossip—it’d been tailing her since she was sixteen—but it made her sad that even newcomers seemed to judge her.

  Then again, Dean had almost come to her rescue last night when Courtney, one of the bar’s newest waitresses and one of Shelby’s oldest enemies, had walked right into her with a tray full of drinks. She’d held her tongue when Courtney hissed the accident was all her fault. Then made it clear to the cowboy she could handle things like she always did.

  On her own.

  She’d cleaned up the mess, played to the crowd as expected and even smiled sweetly at the cowboys when delivering a fresh set of drinks, courtesy of the house.

  She flinched remembering the hot, sweaty touch from one guy who got a little too friendly. Something one too many of her customers felt they had a right to do from time to time.

  Small towns. Born, raised and vilified as one of Rust Creek Falls’ fallen angels, Shelby had just about all she could take of small towns.

  Which was why her long-held goal of getting out of Rust Creek Falls had moved up from someday to as soon as possible.

  “You keep rubbing the bar that way, you’re going to put a hole clean through it.” The raspy voice drifted over Shelby’s shoulder. “Or make the last few cowboys in this joint jealous.”

  Realizing she’d been wiping down the same section of the scarred surface for the past few minutes, Shelby tossed the rag into the sink. “I thought you had headed home, Rosey.” She turned and eyed her boss. “Don’t you have company waiting back at your place?”

  “Sam kept me waiting for the last three months. He can keep his pants zipped for a few more minutes.” The owner of the Ace in the Hole walked around the end of the bar, pausing to easily flip over a couple of the stools so that they rested upside down on the bar’s surface. “Besides, I can’t head out without the proper send-off. Just wouldn’t be right.”

  A nearby table of cowboys didn’t bother to hide their obvious stares as Rosey, looking mighty fine in her tight jeans, blousy pirate-style top and cinched leather vest, walked by. With her shaggy, jet-black hair brushing her shoulders, high cheekbones and slender build, Rosey looked years younger than someone who’d recently celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday.

  Still, their low groans filled the air when Rosey stopped in front of the jukebox, digging into her jeans pocket. Anyone still in the bar knew what was coming.

  The musical tastes of the Hole’s clientele ran strictly country, from the old standards of Johnny Cash and George Strait to the latest hit from Nashville’s newest queen, Taylor Swift, but not Rosey. A child of the sixties, Rosey loved her golden oldies, especially the doo-wop classics.

  Shelby propped her elbows on the bar and grinned. By the time her boss deposited four quarters and started punching in her choices, a group of people in one booth headed out. When the first “shoo-doop, shoo-do-be-doop” filled the air, one of two tables packed with cowboys finished the last of their beers and departed, as well.

  “Really, Rosey? Must you play those old songs every night?”

  The sweetness of the feminine voice coming from the corner booth didn’t hide the snarkiness that easily wiped the smile from Shelby’s face.

  High school antics reared their ugly heads again.

  “Nobody likes that ancient music,” the prissy blonde, sitting across from two of her friends, continued. “Except maybe for those born back in the dark ages.”

  Rosey stopped by a recently vacated table and cleaned up the mess left behind. Walking past the booth, she waved an empty beer bottle in the girl’s direction. “Finish up your froufrou drinks, ladies. It’s past your bedtimes.”

  The smiles disappeared from their faces and they went back to talking among themselves. Shelby took the bottles from her boss and deposited them in the nearby recycling bin, pleased that she’d somehow managed not to break a single one. “How do you do it?”

  “Hey, I’ve been dealing with wiseass remarks from customers barely over the legal drinking age too long to let one tha
t lame bother me.” Rosey leaned in close and gave her a quick bump, hip to hip. “Don’t let them get to you.”

  Easier said than done. Even with years of practice.

  Shelby forced a smile back to her face as she turned to her boss. “I’m barely over the legal drinking age, remember? I went to school with those girls.”

  “Yes, but you’ve got an old soul. Not to mention a totally different perspective on what’s important in life. More so than that cosmopolitan crew over there.” Rosey jerked her head toward the booth. “Although they’ve been pounding the drinks pretty hard tonight. You okay closing up alone?”

  This time Shelby’s smile was genuine as she leaned in and gave Rosey a quick hug. She considered her boss one part Cher, one part Betty White and 100 percent best friend despite the years separating them.

  “It’s just the sorority girls and that last table of cowboys in the corner, new hires out at the McIntyre ranch.” She took a step back. “I’m sure everyone will be gone before Elvis leaves the building.” Rosey always ended her selections with a love song from the King. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Ah, excuse me. Am I too late to get a beer?”

  The deep male voice had Shelby spinning around.

  Dean Pritchett.

  He stood just inside the bar’s front door dressed more casually tonight in faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt. A ball cap that had seen better days sat perched on his head.

  “I thought you might be closed,” he continued, tipping up the cap’s frayed brim as he moved farther inside a few steps. “Then I heard the jukebox and decided to try my luck.”

  “Last call is done, gone and put to bed.” Shelby’s standard answer fell from her lips even as her mind registered that he was alone. No brother and no pretty blonde friend in sight. “Sorry. We’re closing in less than fifteen—”

  “We-e-ell, we might be able to find a spare cold brew,” Rosey drawled, interrupting her. “That is, unless you have a problem with the music selection?”

  Cocking his head to one side, he seemed to listen intently for a moment before he spoke. “How can anyone have a problem with The Tokens? ‘In the Still of the Night’ is a classic.”