“Uh huh. Keep thinkin’ that little mouse. You’re a sweetheart. Girl with a light around you like you got, you don’t need help makin’ friends.”
The stylist, Tina, winced when she examined my roots. “Honey, who hurt you?”
Layers of black rinsed away in a sink stained coral from decades of rinse cycles. She massaged my temples, calluses catching on baby hairs. “Your natural gold’s gorgeous. Like honey on toast.”
Foils were folded across my scalp by the dozens. Maddie sprawled on the pedicure throne, scrolling through Grindr. “Blue eyes, six-two, tribal tats—swipe left. Ooh, bearded bear in the wife-beater…”
Mirrors told pretty lies here. The woman staring back at me wore borrowed confidence—golden balayage framing cheekbones I’d forgotten existed. Maddy wolf-whistled. “Fuck me sideways. Bronc’s gonna swallow his tongue.”
He was leaning against his King Ranch when we emerged. The dying sun caught silver strands in his close-trimmed beard as his gaze traveled from my restored highlights to the artfully torn jeans and a black tank top Maddy had produced from her backseat.
“Well?” I twirled, heart jackhammering. “Still look like I rob graves?”
Bronc’s fingers ran through my golden beach waves that thank goodness didn’t need more than a trim, bangs and all. His voice was just above a whisper. “Ma was right. An angel in the flesh.” His hand traced over my neck as he turned to open the door for me.
The clubhouse throbbed with bass notes and body heat. Neon beer signs baptized strangers in cerulean and crimson light. A redhead with neck tattoos handed me a mason jar of somethingthat smelled like rocket fuel and good times. “Prospect special. Drink three and you’ll let Doc here pierce anything.” I looked over at the handsome giant with horn-rimmed glasses, looking a bit like Clark Kent who gave me a small head nod.
Bronc’s hand settled between my shoulder blades as names and faces blurred. Some guy named Jester showed off his new nipple rings, Chainsaw debated barbecue techniques with a woman breastfeeding twins, Gator arm-wrestled a teenager by the pool table. My laugh sounded foreign, buoyant. Every man was brawny, tatted, and had muscles for days. It was a far cry from every gala and charity ball I’d attended in New York. But it was honest.
Maddie materialized with tequila shots. “To fresh starts!”
The burn down my throat kindled something reckless. I licked salt from my knuckles as Bronc’s ringed fingers tightened around his own glass. His gaze lingered where citrus juice glistened on my lower lip.
“Easy, boss.” Maddie elbowed him. “She’s gotta work tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“True story! I forgot. Drink up, Julia!”
The room tilted just enough to make me clutch Bronc’s forearm. Muscled. Strong. Heat radiating through cotton. My hand slid to his wrist. His pulse jumped beneath my fingertips—a wild thing caged.
Somewhere beyond the compound walls, wolves began singing. My skin prickled like static before lightning strikes.
Bronc leaned close, whiskey and mint washing over me. “Still think they’re scary?”
I watched his throat work as he swallowed. “I’m starting to like dangerous things.”
Across the crowded room, a woman with electric-blue braids balanced twin toddlers on her hips while arguing with Chainsaw about the merits of mesquite versus hickory wood chips. Herlaugh boomed through the chatter. “Sugar, if you can’t smoke a brisket proper, just admit you’re better at changing diapers.”
Maddie pressed another drink into my hand—something fruity this time, condensation bleeding through the napkin. “That’s T-Bone’s old lady, Roxy. Don’t let the mom act fool you. She once stabbed a guy through the hand with a meat thermometer.”
“Overcooked steak?”
“Improper use of dry rub.”
A snort escaped me before I could swallow it down. Bronc’s low chuckle vibrated against my shoulder blade where he stood guard behind me. His pinky brushed the nape of neck, just once. Static crackled in the wake of his touch.
Jester sauntered over, silver hoops glinting beneath his open cut. “President’s pet projects always get the good shampoo, huh?” He sniffed loudly near my hair. “Cherry blossoms and bullshit.”
Bronc’s growl shook the floorboards. “Eyes. Hands. Teeth. Keep ‘em to yourself.”
“Relax, Grandpa. Just welcoming committee business.” Jester winked at me, all smiles and mischief. “Word of advice, princess? Never play poker with Gator. Dude’s got a tell involving his—”
A teenage girl vaulted over the couch, combat boots spraying sawdust. “Tell Jester he owes me twenty bucks!”
Jester’s laughter carried over the noise. “Now, Scar, I beat you fair and square!”
I blinked at the jagged line bisecting her left eyebrow. “Your name’s Scar?”
