by Susan Stoker
Rider frowned. “I haven’t been looking. Besides, we aren’t all as old as you, Beckett. You’re lucky Kinsey came back to town, or you’d be as single as the rest of us.”
Becket’s lips curled in a contented smile, and he reached for his fiancée’s hand. “I am lucky she came back to town.”
“Damn right, you are,” Kinsey declared. “But we’re not here to talk about the new girl in town, as interesting as she sounds. We’re here to celebrate.” She lifted her beer. “Happy birthday, Chance.”
The other brothers lifted their drinks and echoed Kinsey’s sentiment. “Happy birthday!”
After taking a long pull on their drinks, the brothers lowered them and stared around at each other.
“Thirty-one, huh?” Rider clapped Chance on the back. “So when are you settling down and getting married? Seems we need to get busy populating the family tree with little Graysons.”
“We can leave that to Beckett and Kinsey.” Chance shook his head. “I’m not in a hurry to find a ball and chain. I like being footloose.”
“That’s Chance-speak for I can’t get a date, and I don’t give enough of a damn to figure out why,” Rider said. “What we need is an online dating service so we can meet women.”
Chance raised his hand. “No way. I prefer to find my own.”
Nash agreed with Chance. Online dating wasn’t for him, either.
Rider’s brows rose. “And how’s that working for you, Chance, old man?”
With a shrug, Chance took another swig of his beer, keeping silent.
“Want me to get you boys another round of drinks?” Kinsey glanced around. “Seems Audrey is short some waitresses tonight.”
“Bad night to be short, what with the rodeo in town.”
“I’m surprised Jackson isn’t here to help,” Kinsey said as she glanced around. “He’s always here on big nights.”
Jackson Gray Wolf emerged from the doorway behind the bar with someone behind him. About that time, Kinsey shifted, blocking Nash’s view.
Chance gave a low whistle. “Hey, who’s the hot redhead with Jackson?”
Nash craned his neck, unable to see past Kinsey. Chance’s mention of a redhead had Nash’s every nerve on alert. Surely it wasn’t the pretty Phoebe he’d rescued on the side of the road earlier that day.
Rider leaned sideways and gave a hoot of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s her!” He glanced at Nash. “Your pretty bride came looking for you, Nash. Whatcha gonna do?”
“She didn’t come looking for me.” Nash scooted back his chair, in an attempt to get a look at the woman with Jackson, without appearing too interested. He’d never hear the end of the teasing from his brothers.
“You know I could hold off making the repairs to her tire if you want to take a shot at asking her for a date,” Rider said.
“I’m not going to date her. She just broke up with her fiancé.” Kinsey finally moved, and Nash got a full view of the woman. She wore an Ugly Stick Saloon tank top similar to the ones the other waitresses did, and she’d changed into denim cut-offs that showcased long, slender, toned legs he could imagine wrapped around his waist. She’d combed the riotous curls and secured them in a French braid at the back of her head. He liked her better with her hair loose and crazy around her face. “I doubt she’s interested in starting another relationship so soon,” he muttered.
Rider’s grin widened. “So you admit it. You thought about it, didn’t you?”
“Not once,” Nash responded, refusing to give Rider the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Yeah, Nash had thought about asking her out. But the fact she’d run away from her own wedding should be a bright red flag where Phoebe Smith was concerned. She’d left her fiancé at the altar. If she’d done it once, she might do it again. Not that Nash would ask her to marry him. But she was interesting…and beautiful…
No. His fingers tightened on the bottle. Nash wasn’t interested in a woman who couldn’t make up her mind before such a huge event as a wedding. He almost felt sorry for the schmuck she left behind.
“Well, if you’re not asking her out, then I will.” Rider pushed to his feet and started for the bar and Phoebe.
Nash hooked his finger in Rider’s belt and yanked him back into his chair.
“Hey.” Rider glared at him.
With a nod toward Phoebe, who was lifting a tray full of beer bottles and whiskey shooters, Nash said, “Looks like she’ll be working for Audrey. Give her a break on her first night.”
Phoebe held the tray in front of her, the beer bottles teetering as she worked her way across the floor under the weight.
“Hey, Audrey, who’s the new girl?” a man called out.
Audrey smiled and shouted above the noise of the juke box and the men all talking at once. “Everyone say hello to Phoebe. She’s new in town and new to the Ugly Stick. Give her a big howdy.”
Cowboys raised their hats and everyone in the saloon shouted as one, “Howdy!”
Phoebe’s cheeks turned a bright red as she arrived at a table full of dusty men, fresh from the rodeo. One by one, she set bottles on the table. With only one left in the middle of the tray, she reached for it at the same time as one of the men pinched her ass. Phoebe jumped, squealed and lost control of the tray. The last full beer bottle slid sideways and tipped into the lap of the man who’d pinched her.
Nash was out of his chair and halfway across the room before he realized he’d even moved. But he wasn’t nearly as fast as Audrey.
She made it to Phoebe before Nash, grabbed the spilled beer off the floor, said something funny and had the entire table laughing. Then she wagged a finger at the cowboy and warned him to leave the new girl alone. Phoebe had enough to worry about.
The cowboy nodded, his face contrite under Audrey’s chastising. “Sorry, Miss Phoebe. It won’t happen again.”
His buddies roared with laughter and clapped him on the back.
Phoebe and Audrey gathered all the empty bottles and returned to the bar with no further trouble.
“Not interested, huh?” Beckett stood beside Nash. “You sure were up in a hurry. And I know it wasn’t for another beer. The bar is in the other direction.”
“Doesn’t mean anything. After rescuing her on the side of the road, I feel responsible for her welfare.”
“Yeah. And she isn’t cute enough to make you jealous of the guy who pinched her.”
Nash’s brows descended. “It’s sexual harassment.”
“And he apologized,” Beckett pointed out.
“Still, he bears watching.”
“He?” Beckett asked with an arched eyebrow. “Or she?”
Nash had enough of his brother’s taunts. Rather than stick around for more of their good-natured abuse, he pushed through the front door and out into the open night air. The moonless sky was no less bright with the blanket of stars shining down on the Texas landscape.
He breathed in and let go of the tension he hadn’t been able to shuck since he’d met the fiery-haired temptress on the road to Hellfire. If he’d known then she’d be staying in Hellfire indefinitely, he might not have been so helpful. Oh, who was he kidding? An hour after he was supposed to have reported in for shift change, he’d dragged his ass into the sheriff’s office. When he filled out his report, he’d found himself deleting half of the words he’d typed on the screen.
The sheriff and the county records didn’t need to know the woman was young, and pretty with pale, moss green eyes. They sure as hell didn’t need to know she bit her bottom lip whenever she was nervous and that the action made Nash want to kiss her every time she did it. When he’d finally made his way to the ranch, he’d had every intention of going for a long ride on his horse to clear the woman from his head.
The ride had to be postponed as he’d promised to go with his brothers to the Ugly Stick Saloon to celebrate Chance’s birthday. If he could have gotten out of it, he would have. But today was his brother’s birthday and they’d promised each other to pick up
where their parents had left off after their untimely deaths. They were family, and family stuck together.
Except when they were pushing him toward a woman who had trouble written all over her pretty face.
Nash walked across the gravel parking lot, tempted to climb in his truck and head back to the ranch. He’d done his duty and drank a toast to his brother’s birthday. They wouldn’t begrudge him calling it a day, considering he’d been on duty since five o’clock that morning. But the farther away from the saloon he walked, the more it called for him to return.
Hell, the saloon wasn’t what called for him to return. His protective instincts were on high-alert for the little redhead on her first day as a waitress. He couldn’t ignore her or go home now that he knew she would be there all evening, surrounded by a bunch of rowdy cowboys, who would most likely drink themselves stupid and come on to every waitress in the bar—including Phoebe and Audrey.
Jackson would be there to help Audrey close up. He always was on rodeo nights. He loved his wife, the mother of his baby girl, and didn’t want her to be manhandled by a drunken cowboy. Audrey was just as much of a temptation as the other waitresses with her strawberry blonde hair, short cutoffs and bright red cowboy boots. She’d made something out of the Ugly Stick Saloon and the bar was getting a reputation for the place to go when cowboys and travelers were anywhere near the tri-county area.
Resisting the urge to return to the saloon, knowing he couldn’t keep his gaze off Phoebe, Nash walked around the building, staring out at the hayfields bathed in starlight. He loved the wide-open spaces and the fresh, clean country air.
After four combat tours before he’d turned twenty-seven, he was glad to be home. Two years of ranching later had barely taken the edge off his military duty. With more nervous energy than even he could stand, he’d signed on with the local sheriff’s department. It was just another way to stay busy and continue the ingrained need to serve and protect the people of his country and community. Otherwise, the transition back to the civilian world would have been even harder, and he might have ended up like some of his buddies who couldn’t seem to find their way home.
He had his family, the ranch and the open spaces where he could escape when he needed to. Lights shined on him from a vehicle turning around at the back of the building. Nash glanced to the side to make sure he wasn’t in the way. As a deputy with the sheriff’s department, he couldn’t help but study the make and model and commit the license plate to memory.
Most of the vehicles in the parking lot were trucks or SUVs. The vehicle making the turn was a dark, four-door sedan, either navy blue or black. The windows were darkly tinted, disguising how many people were inside. And if that weren’t enough to make the hairs on the back of Nash’s neck stand at attention, the vehicle moved slowly, as if the driver were looking for someone or something.
Nash stood near a tree, outside the glow of the pale yellow light on the back porch of the saloon. He doubted the sedan’s driver had seen him, or he probably wouldn’t be casing the joint or the other trucks and SUVs in the parking lot.
As the sedan rounded the side of the saloon aiming for the front, Nash followed the glowing brake lights.
The sedan performed the same routine, driving the length of the parking area, turning and driving just as slowly back. Finally, the driver pulled out onto the highway and sped off.
Armed with the license plate, Nash called in to Martha, the woman on night duty at dispatch.
A few moments later, she called back. “The vehicle belongs to a Frances Maynard, an eighty-year-old woman living in Fort Worth.”
Which could explain why she was driving so slowly, but not why she was in the area to begin with—unless she was looking for her husband. In which case, the car should have been in his name as well. “And it wasn’t reported stolen?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I saw it cruising around the Ugly Stick Saloon. You might have someone call Mrs. Maynard and ask her if she knows where her car is.”
“This late at night?”
“If it was stolen, the sooner we know, the sooner we can recover it.”
“Will do,” Martha said and ended the call.
With that odd feeling still prickling the skin on the back of his neck, Nash rounded to the front door and entered the saloon, his gaze going automatically to the redhead serving drinks to his brothers.
Rider was smiling and talking to Phoebe, like he always did with the women. Normally, his flirting didn’t bother Nash. Rider fancied himself a ladies’ man. Only this time, it rubbed Nash the wrong way. Maybe his brothers were right, and he was jealous of any man flirting with Phoebe. So what? Didn’t mean he wanted her for himself. He just didn’t want anyone else to have her.
He cursed beneath his breath and marched across the wooden dance floor to the table he’d been sharing with Beckett, Kinsey, Chance and Rider. Audrey had come to sit with them, taking the seat Nash vacated.
When he arrived at the table, she hopped up.
“No need to leave.” Nash genuinely enjoyed Audrey’s company, her sharp mind and business sense when it came to running the Ugly Stick Saloon. She’d helped more than her share of what he called “stray” humans get back on their feet when they hit hard times. The woman had a big heart and an open door. If someone needed something, she was there to help.
“I have to get back to work,” Audrey insisted. “I just wanted to wish Chance a happy birthday. Sit,” she commanded. “Phoebe was about to take orders.”
Nash sat in the chair, still warm from where Audrey had been. When he glanced up at Phoebe, her gaze met his. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it, before asking. “Can I get you anything?”
“Long neck, Bud Light,” he said, his voice gruff, the urge to kiss that bottom lip stronger than ever before.
Phoebe nodded, spun on her heels and hurried away.
“Hey,” Rider said, a frown denting his brow. “She didn’t take my order.”
“If you weren’t so busy flirting, you might have told her,” Beckett said.
“You snooze, you lose,” Chance added with a smirk.
Rider shrugged. “That’s okay. I need to move.” He glanced around the saloon until his gaze landed on two women sitting at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor. Clapping his hands together, Rider grinned. “I’m seeing double tonight. Maybe I’ll get twice as lucky.”
“Aren’t they a little young for you?” Beckett asked.
“As far as I know, they’re single, live on their own and are over twenty-one.” Shooting a frown at Beckett, he added, “I’m not that much older.”
“Nine years is a big gap to a twenty-one-year-old woman,” Chance agreed.
“Eight. I’m not thirty yet. And you’re just jealous you didn’t see them first.” He tipped his head toward them. “Tell you what, I’ll let you have one of them, while I dance with the other.”
“Assuming they say yes.” Chance stood. “You can have both. I prefer my women a little more seasoned.”
Rider rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder, his lips twisting. “That’s right, you’re in the over-thirty age group now. You like them a little slower so that you can catch them.”
Chance punched Rider in the arm. “Keep it up, little brother. You’re turning thirty in a couple of months.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be secure in the knowledge that you will always be older.” Rubbing his shoulder, he made a beeline for the Banks twins, Hayley and Alexis.
Nash shook his head. He and Rider used to tease each other endlessly when they were teens. One year apart in age, they’d had the same friends in school and went to the same places. Since Nash had joined the army, he’d lost some of the ease of familiarity they’d shared as kids. Realizing he and Rider weren’t as close as they once were made him sad. The war had changed Nash. Joking around like he had before deploying to the Middle East and Afghanistan wasn’t as easy. He’d seen too much death. At times, he wished he cou
ld be that kid again, without a care, his mind still innocent of the atrocities humans suffered at the hands of terrorists.
“Sorry I took so long,” a soft voice said.
A beer appeared on the table in front of him. While he’d been watching Rider and Chance spar verbally, Kinsey had dragged Beckett to the dance floor. Nash sat alone but for the redheaded waitress leaning over him. He inhaled, expecting the scent of honeysuckle, only it wasn’t honeysuckle, instead she smelled kind of citrusy. Nash almost opened his mouth and said he wished she still smelled of honeysuckle.
Phoebe laid her tray on the table and slipped into the chair beside him, her bare knee touching his jean-clad leg.
In that moment, Nash wished his leg was as bare and touching hers, skin-to-skin.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you for helping me today. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You were like a knight in shining armor, swooping me out of the mess I’d gotten myself into. Now, I have clothes, shoes, a place to stay and a job. All in less than twenty-four hours.” Her smile widened, and she pulled a wad of cash out of her pocket. “And the bar patrons tipped me enough to pay for a tire.”
He curled his fingers around hers and the cash. “You need to call the rental car company and have them pay for the repairs.” The woman who hadn’t had a cent to her name, probably didn’t have food in her pantry, yet she was more concerned about fixing a tire to a vehicle that didn’t belong to her. “They probably have insurance to cover tires and fender benders. You should keep your cash and buy a loaf of bread.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. “But I want to pay your brother first. I’d like to have it back as soon as possible.” She pulled her hand away and toyed with the edge of the drink tray. “Umm, the rental is paid through next week. I hope I can figure out some kind of transportation by then. I’ll get the rental car company to reimburse me later.” Phoebe jumped to her feet and grabbed the tray. “I’d better get back to work. There are so many thirsty men in this place.” She rushed away, glancing back with a worried expression, her bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth.