I swallowed hard. Told myself I didn’t care. Told myself to move. To breathe.
“Wanna dance?”
The voice came from beside me, a drawl rough with whiskey. I turned, blinking at the tall figure standing there. A team roper I vaguely recognized, tall, lean, dark hair curling under his hatbrim. Jake? Jack? Josh? Something starting with a J. He grinned down at me, boyish and cocky, the kind of grin that promised easy trouble. Before I could answer, his hand wrapped around mine, the skin rough and warm, tugging me straight into the crowd.
The fiddle kicked up again, wild and quick, and the floor shook under a dozen pairs of boots. I let him spin me, the motion sending a sharp flare of pain through my hip. I bit it back and forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. His palm was hot against my waist, his steps confident enough to make up for mine.
He smelled of leather and dust and too much bourbon, and his laugh came easy, full of himself and the moment. He smiled as if the world were his, and for one short breath, I wanted to believe I could borrow some of that. If Lincoln could stand there with Tanya’s claws in his arm, I could damn well laugh with someone else.
Except I wasn’t laughing. Not really.
The lights blurred overhead, strings of bulbs swaying slightly in the rafters: the crowd’s energy pressed close, a whirl of color and sound. My boots scuffed, my ribs protested, and my breath came in shallow gasps. Every time Josh’s palm slid a little too low at my waist, every time his breath brushed too warm against my ear, my eyes kept returning to the bar.
Searching. Finding.
Lincoln was still there. Watching.
He didn’t move, smile, or blink. He simply stood there, eyes fixed on me with a look that seemed like it could tear the air between us. It was anger, possession, heartbreak—something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to. It made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with pain.
The song changed, one bleeding into another, faster now, and Josh laughed, spinning me again. My shoulder and ribsscreamed in time with one another. The bruise at my hip throbbed with every turn. Sweat slid down my neck. The music built until it felt like the floor might give.
And Lincoln was still watching me like he wanted to tear the room apart.
The music blurred, one song bleeding into another until I was dizzy. The rhythm pounded through the soles of my boots, the fiddle scraping so fast it felt like sparks were flying off the strings. Josh’s grip grew firmer, less playful, like he was trying to stake a claim he hadn’t earned. His laugh slurred, and the smell of whiskey thickened around us until it coated the air.
His hand slid lower. My stomach clenched.
I told myself to step back, to push away, but the music kept pulling bodies closer, the crowd surging like a tide. I was trapped in the middle of it, every direction blocked by someone shouting or stomping or swinging another drink overhead.
Josh leaned in again, his breath hot against my cheek. “You dance better than you look,” he said, words soft and slick.
I forced a smile. “That’s not a compliment.”
He grinned wider, not hearing the warning in my tone. His fingers pressed harder into my hip, right where the ache still burned from the fall. Pain shot through me, sharp enough to steal my breath. I tried to shift, but he moved with me, his hand tightening like a shackle.
Every nerve in my body screamed no, but the stubborn, hurting part of me, the part that had watched Lincoln with Tanya, didn’t pull away. Because if he could pretend not to care, so could I.
By the time Josh and I headed back across the gravel to my trailer, the night air had cooled, but his palm was still hot at the small of my back. Too hot. The temperature difference made the skin there sting, a reminder I didn’t want. The fairgrounds had emptied some, the music fading into a distant hum behind us.The lights from the hall glowed weakly, halos in the dust kicked up by boots and tires.
His laugh was too loud, carrying across the open lot, breaking the quiet. His steps were unsteady, heavy, each one crunching hard against the gravel. I tried to match his laughter, to keep things light, but the sound that came out of me was thin, brittle, nothing like the easy laugh he wanted.
Every ache from the fall seemed sharper now, like my body knew I’d made a mistake.
I reached the trailer and fumbled with the latch, muttering something about calling it a night. My voice barely carried. The keys jingled against the metal, my hands shaking harder than I wanted them to.
His hand landed on the door above my shoulder, caging me in. The sound of his palm hitting metal made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Don’t run off on me now, sweetheart.” His voice was slurred velvet, lazy but edged with something colder.
The faint hum of music still carried from the hall, but out here the shadows pressed close. The lot lights hummed overhead, one of them flickering in and out, throwing flashes across his face. My pulse jumped, sharp and uneven. The smell of dust and beer clung to the air.
“I think you’ve had enough fun for one night,” I said softly, pushing at his chest. My voice sounded too calm, even to my own ears. Pain sparked in my ribs when I did, the motion sending a dull ache up through my shoulder.
His grin didn’t fade. “You don’t sound convinced.” His breath hit my cheek, sour with whiskey.
I turned my face away. The cold metal at my back felt safer than his warmth. “I’m done, Josh.”
But he wasn’t listening. His arm slid around my waist again, pulling me closer, his fingers digging where I already hurt. Hisweight pressed me against the door, his body solid and heavy. My ribs flinched every time he leaned in, and I could smell the salt of sweat rolling off him.
