Lone Star Burn_Love On Tap

by Judy Kentrus

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by RCardello LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Lone Star Burn remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of RCardello LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Love

  On

  Tap

  Judy Kentrus

  Thank you for joining me in Ruth Cardello’s Lone Star World.

  I’m also a loyal fan and love all her books.

  Jennie Reynolds and Grayson Wolff, two of my own characters,

  fit perfectly with Ruth’s family in Fort Mavis, Texas.

  I hope you enjoy their funny, sexy, heartwarming romance.

  To find out more about my books and current release,

  visit my website and sign up for my newsletter.

  I love to hear from my readers.

  Judykentrus.com

  Chapter 1

  “Evening, boss. Full house tonight.”

  “It’s Saturday night in Fort Mavis and everyone wants to let loose,” Grayson Wolff replied, and sat on the last stool at the long bar. He studied the crowd and knew almost everyone by their first name. They certainly knew him as the owner. The DJ played to his audience and turned up the volume when Trace Adkins sang “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.” The upbeat tune coaxed everyone from the booths and round tables to the seasoned hardwood floor that suffered the stomping of booted feet. As a draw, he’d added three televisions in the bar area that were always muted, since no one could hear the sound over the country music.

  Hank pulled the tap handle in the shape of a wolf’s head and filled six mugs. “Here you go, Loretta.”

  Gray smiled at one of his best workers, whose well-stacked body gave his male customers wet dreams. The guys knew enough not to get familiar with their hands. She was engaged to Boomer Evans, one of his assistant managers, who also doubled as a bouncer. Loretta was a champion bull rider and held the record riding their mechanical bull. With her auburn hair drawn up in two pigtails, she looked younger than legal drinking age, but was in her late twenties and the mother of a ten-year-old boy.

  “What’s your take on the new beer?” he asked her.

  Loretta tucked her dark blue Wolff’s Roadhouse t-shirt into jeans that rode low on her slender hips, and adjusted her shiny rodeo champion buckle on her leather belt. “Now that everyone has stopped laughing at your idea to add a microbrewery to a roadhouse, they love having a great variety of beers. They don’t know your latest addition has been aged in an American oak bourbon barrel in a climate-controlled room for a year, so that it can absorb the oak, vanilla, and caramel notes.”

  “So you were listening the other morning.” Gray insisted he meet with his serving staff every week to discuss any problems they were having and bring them up to date on his brewmaster’s latest addition to their line of micro beers.

  Someone on the far side of the crowded room yelled, “Loretta!”

  “Natives are getting restless,” she said, and lifted the round silver tray with six mugs of the dark beer. She also replenished the basket of popcorn for the table.

  “What can I get you to drink, boss?” Hank asked.

  “Nothing right now, thanks. Burt called to say he’d be delayed, but didn’t say why.” This would be the fifth time his other bartender was late in the past two months. He’d also noticed a problem with the cash receipts the evenings Burt tended bar. Gray decided this would be the guy’s last night.

  “If you get overwhelmed, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Nah.” Hank grinned. “And have you make nice with all the ladies?”

  Gray appreciated the way his best bartender handled the bar and filled the drink orders the five waitresses requested. He’d had reservations hiring the twenty-five-year-old, but Hank had the unique ability to remember what his customers liked to drink. He also knew when to stop serving one of his regulars. They didn’t argue when Hank requested one of the bouncers collect their keys.

  When Kenny Chesney started singing “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,” most of the customers at the bar joined the crowd on the dance floor.

  Gray’s eyes traveled down to the other end of the bar, and he wondered if the woman sitting on the last barstool was for real. She looked as much out of place as a rose among a field of cacti. His female customers were dressed in tight jeans, fashion cowgirl boots, and belly-revealing blouses. A few wore jaunty cowgirl hats. This one was dressed to take a stroll on a boardwalk, and the closest beach was Galveston Island. White shorts gave way to gorgeous tanned legs that were crossed at the knees, and she swung a long, slender leg to the beat of the music. Her thin camisole, the color of raspberries, accented her very nice breasts.

  He wondered how she could walk in the wedged cork sandals that had to add a good three inches to her already-tall height. Her California-blond hair was secured to the top of her head with a big clip.

  “Ever seen her before?” Gray asked, watching Hank fill four glasses with golden ale, making sure they had a perfect frothy head.

  “You mean Malibu Barbie? She came in about a half-hour ago all pissed, and demanded something to drink because she was parched, like she’d traveled through the Sahara Desert or something. I asked what she wanted to drink and she said ‘surprise me.’ I gave her a flight of pilsner, brown ale, IPA, porter, and stout. Barbie flipped them down like shots and demanded another set. I included a sample of Wolff’s Head your latest brew, and asked her which one was her favorite. She said she didn’t like beer. She’s definitely a blond dingbat.”

  “Is she trolling?”

  “Don’t think so. Two older guys tried to get friendly, but she gave them an icy, get-lost stare that would chill Frosty the Snowman.”

  Gray surveyed his customers, and there didn’t appear to be anyone older than fifty. “What older guys?”

  “You know, in their forties.”

  “So you consider me old at forty-two.”

  “No, not really.” Hank felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his neck. “You’re a cool guy and don’t have any gray hair. She’s a looker, but not like the chippies who come in here looking for a good time. She’s just different, you know, Malibu Barbie-ish.”

  “I’m glad we cleared that up.” Gray was further confused when Hank gathered the ingredients of a mixed drink. “What are you making?”

  “A piña colada, with extra fruit. She didn’t have dinner.”

  “Let me see what I can find out about our beach bunny. Bring me my regular when you get a chance.”

  Gray took a leisurely stroll, and offered friendly greetings to his regular customers who’d returned to their seats. The wood barstool next to the “older woman” was vacant, and he sat down.

  He stared straight ahead into the mirrored wall at the rear of the bar that cast back the entire room, and was pleased everyone was having a good time. It also reflected the addition he’d made a year ago. A glass wall separated the brewing room from the bar and held three tall, stainless steel tanks that were used in making custom-brewed beer. His rich, snobby father wouldn’t be caught dead in a foot-stomping, beer-drinking honky-tonk, but Simon Wolff enjoyed the bottom line their chain of roadhouses garnered yearly.

  He was surprised when Barbie’s swinging foot tapped his calf, and the tip of her toe slowly explored the back of his leg. He glanced down at neon-yellow-painted toes. She probably wasn’t aware of her friendly toe action. His first instinct was to shift away, but he hesitated when he caught the familiar scent of Eliza
beth Taylor perfume. It was his sister’s favorite.

  Jennie Reynolds was tired, hungry, and pissed. She’d never driven a rental truck before, and it should have gotten easier considering she left Oregon five days ago. It was all the other drivers, especially males, who were inept, not her. They were downright rude, and she’d never received so many middle-finger insults in her life!

  She wasn’t expected to start her new job in Laurel Heights, Pennsylvania, as the director of their newly-built community and recreation center till the end of the month, and had decided to play tourist. Route 10 crossed the bottom half of the country and offered a great scenic route.

  When the too-young-for-her bartender with the cute ass placed her drink down on the small paper napkin in front of her, she gave him an appreciative smile. “Thanks for the extra fruit.”

  “No problem.” He smiled and then served his boss. To anyone else, it would appear Gray was drinking a vodka and soda, but it was plain Perrier with a twist of lime.

  Uncomfortable vibes were coming from the guy sitting next to her. He’d been there a full five minutes and was probably trying to come up with a clever pick-up line. She caught his quick side-glances in the mirror, and approved of his good looks. He was closer to her age and had three things on her “a guy must have” list: long hair, a face that could make her salivate, and a body that didn’t indulge in sweets.

  When he turned his head and smiled, she was stunned by his stone-gray eyes. Check off number four. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the mood for a guy’s smooth come-on, and cut him off at the knees.

  “Don’t scramble your brain trying to come up with a clever pick-up line. I’ve heard them all. ‘If I were a vegetable, I’d be a cute-cumber; I seem to have lost my phone number, can I have yours?’ One of my all time favorites: ‘Is your daddy a baker? Because you’ve got nice buns.’

  “I’m a Capricorn and don’t do one-night stands. I like the Packers, Tigers, and the Red Wings. I’m not married and don’t want to be. You know why?”

  Up close, Malibu Barbie was captivating and quite funny. Right now, her light-green eyes radiated her don’t-mess-with-me attitude, and he could picture that lovely pink mouth doing something quite different to a certain part of his body, other than snarling at him. He wondered why she’d gathered all that thick blond hair atop her head.

  He offered an understanding smile. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

  Jennie removed the long plastic pick stretched out along the top of her piña colada and twisted in her seat, making sure they were face to face. “All men are assholes!” To stress her point, she flicked the fruit-laden pick in his direction, never anticipating the fruit would take flight.

  Two cherries and a chunk of pineapple covered in froth bounced off Gray’s cheeks. Juice ran down his face, leaving small red splotches on his white sports shirt. The projectiles found a home in his groin.

  “That’s what I call getting your point across.” He smirked and reached for the paper napkin next to his glass.

  “I’m so sorry!” Jennie grabbed the napkin out of his hand and dabbed at the wet spots on his cheeks. “Your shirt!” She used her own napkin, dipped the end in his drink, and attacked the blossoming red blotches. Without thinking, she removed the fruit salad from his groin and vigorously rubbed the stains from his tan chinos. “You’re all wet.”

  There was nothing he could do to hide the evidence of her “cleaning” efforts, but he held perfectly still. Any movement would only increase his discomfort. “If you keep that up, I’ll be a whole lot wetter.”

  When Jennie realized where her hands were and what she was doing, her cheeks turned as red as the cherries.

  Gray lifted her hand away and signaled the bartender to bring more napkins and another drink. “Enough. I’ll live.” The innocent moves of a helping hand had given him a hard-on, a sure sign he’d been too long without a woman.

  “I’m really sorry. It’s been a shitty day.” Jennie went to put her elbow on the bar and missed, and her head slammed into his shoulder.

  Gray smiled down at the very delightful female who was using his shoulder as a pillow. “You’re pretty tipsy.”

  Jennie immediately jerked to an upright position. “What do you mean? I have pretty tits.” Without giving any thought to what she was doing, she tugged on the neckline of her camisole and lowered her eyes. “Yup, my girls are still there.”

  Gray enjoyed a very quick glimpse of her girls in a lacy demi-bra and smiled. “From what I can tell, they’re quite lovely.”

  He managed to say it with a straight face. She was funny and entertaining. He was intrigued and turned on. It had been a long time since he’d found a woman who could hold his interest for more than a few minutes. They were more interested in his thick financial portfolio. Three years ago his life had changed in a way he never anticipated, and his choice had alienated him from the rest of his family. Not that it was an emotional hardship. Common sense said Barbie spelled trouble, but he liked a challenge. His father hadn’t labeled Gray the black sheep of the family for nothing.

  Jennie was successful the second time she attempted to rest her chin on her hand, and looked him dead in the eye. “You have a very striking, interesting face and beautiful hair.”

  “Thank you, I think. My grandmother was kidnapped by a Comanche warrior during the Mexican-American war. After four generations, I just happened to resemble my grandfather.”

  “If you just made that up, that’s the best pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”

  “No, it’s for real.” Grayson sipped his second drink and shook his head when Hank silently questioned replacing Barbie’s frou-frou drink. What she needed was food.

  “When was the last time you ate?” He watched her lower her long lashes, and for a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep.

  “Breakfast, I think.”

  “Do you eat rabbit food, or enjoy a good meal?”

  “I like to eat, but I do yoga and exercise to keep myself in shape.”

  “You’re doing a great job.” Gray signaled Hank. “We’ll take a Roadhouse special and two glasses of draft birch beer. We’ll eat at my corner table.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I haven’t eaten, and would enjoy your company.” Gray hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

  They moved off the barstools at the same time and their bodies accidentally meshed. Her wedged sandals gave her the perfect advantage to determine he was taller. Cross off number five, she silently noted, and encountered something wonderfully hard pressing between her legs. The devil had Jennie slipping her hand between them, and she put her lips to his ear. “If all men were built like you, the company who makes Viagra would go out of business.”

  Gray didn’t blush, but jerked back slightly from her very warm, inspecting hand. This tipsy woman was dangerous, and he’d been correct. With those ankle breakers, the top of her head was even with his nose. Her girls were quite full and very soft, and her hard nipples had familiarized themselves with his chest. He was glad the lights in the bar were on dim so no one could see the evidence of his arousal.

  The owner’s table was out of the way, but offered the perfect view of what was happening. His two bouncers were perfectly capable of handling the crowd, but as the owner he preferred to keep his hand on any potential out-of-control situation. He was liable if a customer got into an accident after drinking at his establishment and someone got hurt.

  As soon as they sat down, the waitress delivered a basket of popcorn and two glasses of ice water with lemon. Gray wished he could use the ice water to tamp down the ache between his legs.

  “Thank you, Brenda. I’ve already ordered our dinner.”

  Jennie filled her mouth with popcorn and chased it down with a half-glass of water, anything to keep her hands and mouth busy. She was far from a forty-year-old virgin, but up close, he was hero handsome. He smelled sexy and made her stomach feel queasy. It had to be a lack of food. She never did
get to eat her fruit.

  “You don’t have to do this. I believe I’ve already said that, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “Considering you already had your hand in my crotch and I’ve given your girls five stars, I’d say introductions are necessary. What do you say we start again?”

  “Five stars? Thank you very much.” She gave him a big smile and held out a hand. “Jennifer Reynolds. Only my mother and father call me that when they’re annoyed with me. Everyone else calls me Jennie.”

  “Gray Wolff.” He reluctantly let go of her soft hand. Surprisingly, her nails were short, without flashy polish.

  Jennie leaned against the back of a traditional captain’s chair, further surprised by her mystery man. “Now I am really impressed. You have a name to go with your background.”

  Gray was pleased with her comment. No woman had ever compared his last name to his Mexican-Indian heritage, and he’d always been proud of his ancestral legacy. “I assure you, it’s the name I was born with. I’m still curious why you think all men are assholes.”

  “The male species drives like they own the road. I don’t even know where the hell I am. I was driving along, minding my own business, singing ‘Copacabana’ with Barry Manilow, when this guy on a motorcycle was hot-dogging in and out of cars. He was a real menace and cut me off twice. The second time I drove right past my exit that would take me to the motel I’d planned to stay tonight. I called the police and reported him. My GPS told me to get off the next exit, and I drove for a half-hour before I stopped in a gas station. The guy just laughed and said, ‘Blondie, keep going,’ and I’d find the interstate.”

  Gray got a bad feeling about the guy who cut her off, but tabled the thought for now. “The entrance to the interstate is still under construction. Just out of curiosity, did you get out of the truck before you asked for directions?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but when my bartender first saw you, he dubbed you ‘Malibu Barbie.’”

  Jennie looked around at the way the female customers were dressed, and had to agree—she stuck out like the oddball in the crowd. She raised her glass in a salute and gave him a big smile. “Here’s to you, Ken!”