Everybody positioned themselves around the table, and Willow snapped photos of all of them, drinks in hand, with pouty lip faces and with their arms around each other.
She summoned her brightest smile for the camera, channeling a liveliness she was determined to fake.
Then the beat of the music got into her blood, and despite her waning energy, she was on her feet again, moving onto the dance floor before she thought twice.
She swayed her hips, shimmied her shoulders and tossed her long hair back, feeling the swish of it over her spine.
When the hair on the back of her neck prickled, she turned to see Braden sitting at a table, alone, staring at her over thedrink in his hand. The table was littered with empty glasses and a couple beer bottles.
She pushed deeper into the crowd to escape his notice, but a second later, he was standing in front of her, gyrating like he was the star of a cowboy movie.
Irritation ripped away the last of her patience. She darted a look around, searching for escape, when suddenly, Aspen and Honor closed in to drag her away again.
Aspen’s dark hair swung forward as she leaned close to talk to Willow. “That guy is giving me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”
This was one of those times when Willow was glad to have her family around her. She bobbed her head in agreement and hurried outside with Aspen to find that the rest of her party was already boarding the van.
As she settled on the bench, she kept her smile in place for everybody else’s sake even as she felt herself slump. Her social battery wasn’t just low—it was blinking a warning that it was out of juice.
She was thrilled that Rhae’s celebration had gone off without a hitch—her future sister-in-law deserved every moment of happiness tonight. But as the adrenaline finally wore off, exhaustion hit Willow like a freight train.
Her cheeks ached from smiling, her feet throbbed in those damn boots, and she could feel the weight of the long day settling into her bones. Relief flooded through her as the last of the group said their goodnights and drifted off to bed.
She couldn’t wait to peel off this slip dress, kick off her boots and crawl into her big, cozy bed where she couldfinallydrop all the plates she was juggling.
* * * * *
The Rusty Spur throbbed with bass from the music, the kind that made the floors hum and the bottles on the back bar tremble.
Decker leaned against the wall near the end of the pool tables, a longneck sweating in his hand. He’d barely taken two sips. The beer was more prop than pleasure—something to make him look like he belonged while his eyes stayed locked on her.
Willow.
She sat there, laughing along with her sisters-in-law like she didn’t have a care in the world.
But she was too damn open in a place like this, where every roughneck in town came to forget their problems.
Which really meant to drink and brawl.
And Willow—wrapped in a dress that Decker couldn’t believe her brothers let her leave the house in—was a problem all her own.
He’d told himself he was just dropping in for a beer, but the truth was clearer with every tick of the clock.
He was here to watch her. Not in a creepy way, and the Malone brothers hadn’t asked him to.
He made the decision like he did most things—alone.
Dutch.That’s what his SEAL team used to call him.
“Going Dutch” meant you went it alone—no team, no safety net. And Decker had been that guy. The one who volunteered for insertion before his team in order to knock out comms or map out an area.
Now here he was again, slipping into old habits. Watching Willow’s back without telling anyone, because if she needed protection, he’d shoulder it.
That was his curse. He didn’t know how to stop going in alone.
She tipped her head back to drink, a soft smile on her lips. A man at the other end of the bar noticed too, his gaze lingering on her too long, too heavy.
Decker’s grip on the bottle tightened. He shifted just enough to let his shoulders square and his stance do the talking.
