Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
He's been at the Spur every night since I started, holding court at a booth in the corner like he's someone important. He's handsome, I'll give him that. Except he gives me shady vibes, the kind that scream that I wouldn't want to be alone with him anymore than I would with the drunk cowboy.
Oh, don't get me wrong. He says all the right things. He pretends he's chivalrous. He tips well. But he looks at me with this gleam that says I'm less person and more property to acquire.
No, thank you.
"I had it handled," I say, a little annoyed when Hank wobbles off the stool before stumbling off with a muttered apology—to Danny, naturally.
Danny just lifts one dark brow in response, a hint of a smirk curving his lips upward. "Of course you did. But it never hurts to have a little backup, right?"
"Right," I say, my tone flat. I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't want to encourage him, either. The fact is, I need this job, and part of keeping it means staying on Danny Palmer's good side. He knows the owner, Redd. I think he knows everyone in Silver Spoon Falls. That doesn't mean I like it, though. "Well, thanks."
"No problem." He tips his hat to me, and I barely suppress a groan when he slides onto the stool Hank just abandoned. "Mind getting me another beer when you get a minute, darling?"
"Sure thing." I immediately spin away, putting my back to him to take a deep, calming breath. Why won't he just go away already? Every night, he's here, flirting, staring, making my skin crawl.
"I've been meaning to ask you…"
My entire body clenches uncomfortably.
No, please do not.
I glance down the bar, looking for an escape. Unfortunately, there isn't one. The few men lined up on stools are engrossed in their own conversations or looking for clarity at the bottom of their beers. They aren't paying me a single bit of attention.
When I need a rescue, I'm on my own. But when I can handle it myself, someone is always ready to swoop in. It's frustratingly ironic. And par for the course.
Bartending at a cowboy bar is not for the weak. If I didn't need the job, I'd have quit already. But bills don't pay themselves, and while starving artist is a whole vibe, I could really do without the starving part of the equation. Unfortunately, my art hasn't taken off yet, and the loans to cover my mom's medical care won't pay themselves. So…here I am.
I finish pouring Danny's beer and reluctantly turn back to him, mentally preparing the "I don't date men I meet at work" speech. Except, I never even get to say the first line. As soon as I open my mouth, a giant steps up beside his stool, his soft brown eyes locking with mine.
"Hey, beautiful," he rumbles, his lips tipped into a smile that's all trouble. "I missed you."
"I…" I gape at him, pretty sure he has the wrong person. Believe me, I'd remember if I met Tall, Dark, and Sexy before. I haven't. But he's looking at me like he's trying to tell me something, and I'm not sure what it is.
Is he drunk? Mentally unstable? Confused? Just plain weird? No clue. He is beautiful, though. Unlike most of the cowboys here, there's a gentleness in his eyes that's surprising. Most cowboys are hard. They're built from the mud on their boots, the pain they endure, and the sweat they spill. They're rough and tumble and full of this swagger you can recognize a mile away.
This one is…different, like what he does isn't who he is. Oh, he's all cowboy. It's in the way he stands—hands on his hips, feet planted, wearing that hat like he was born to do it. But you could put him in a suit or a military uniform or scrubs, and he'd fit there too.
That's new.
Whoever he is, Danny seems to know him. As soon as the man speaks, Danny's entire demeanor sours, his lips pursing, his broad shoulders tensing. He turns slowly, scowling up at the man.
"Jessup," he growls. It's not really a greeting.
"Palmer," the man—Jessup, I guess—says without even looking at him. "I see you've met my girlfriend, Harlow."
Girlfriend? What the—?
Danny recoils visibly. "You're dating?"
"Yes." The word spills out before I can even consider it. I don't know why I say it. Perhaps because the tension between these two is obvious, and out of the two, this man, this Jessup, seems like the safer bet. Or maybe it's because I'm just curious enough about him to want to know what he thinks he's doing.
Danny mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like an insult. Whatever it is, Jessup doesn't seem to appreciate it.
His whole body tenses, his grin slipping. "Unless you want the same problem you had last time we crossed paths, you'd best be watching your mouth, Palmer," he says, a dark warning in his voice.