My wolf knew her the second she stepped off the plane.
It was like getting hit with a cattle prod—one look at that face, the way her hair whipped in the wind, and every cell in my body screamed,Mate. I tried to fight it, but the truth was, I’d been hard for her since the night I met her, and nothing was going to change that.
It made me mean, and it made her meaner. Bronc kept sending me over to Parker’s family home to “help out,” as if I was some kind of butler for the pack. Brie would always answerthe door with a look like she’d just stepped in dog shit, and then act like she’d never even heard of a hammer. Her favorite game was calling me by a famous cowboy name. Marshall Dillon, Doc Holliday, Jesse James. The last one she said with a wink, like she knew I’d stolen a candy bar from the Shell when I was nine and felt guilty about it for years.
If I’d been a better man, I’d have stayed away. But I wasn’t, and I didn’t. The only reason I came here tonight was to get her out of my head. It was working about as well as you’d expect.
Two girls from the Sun Valley pack outside of Canyon sidled up next to me at the bar. I recognized them—Kimmie, who ran barrels in high school and had a reputation for biting, and the one called “Kat” even though her real name was Denise. Kimmie flicked her hair and smiled.
“Haven’t seen you in here for a while,” she said, voice honeyed and just a little mean.
“I’m a busy man,” I said.
“You too good for us now, Gunner?” Kat/Denise chimed in.
“I’m good, period,” I said, not giving her the satisfaction of a look.
They made a show of laughing, then retreated to a corner, whispering about me like I was a prize steer at the fair. I didn’t mind. Let them talk.
I took a pull from my Shiner and stared at the old Texas flag nailed to the wall above the pool table. It had never been new; even the white stripes were a sickly yellow, and the blue was almost gray from decades of smoke. There was a comfort in things that never changed. I thought of Bronc’s face, all hard edges and black and silver hair, the way he could clear a bar with just one look. I wanted that kind of authority. I wanted to be the man people shut up for.
But tonight, all I could think about was Brie and the way she’d tried to get a rise out of me the last time I was sent totheir house to fix their air conditioner. She just couldn’t leave me alone and let me get the job done.
She squatted down next to me, not caring if her shorts rode up. “So, is it true what they say about cowboys?”
I felt my face go red, which pissed me off. “What do you mean, what do they say?”
She smiled, slow and sly. “That y’all think you can ride anything.”
It was the first time I’d wanted to kiss her and throw her off the porch in the same heartbeat. Instead, I fixed the A/C, told her, “You’re welcome,” and drove straight to County Line, where I drank six Shiners and ended up throwing hands with a Hollow Ridge enforcer who thought I was looking at his girl.
Now, two weeks later, here I was again. Same bar, same beer, same obsession with a girl who’d never once looked at me the way I wanted.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Bronc:
Heard you’re at County Line. Don’t do anything stupid.
I thumbed out a reply:Never do.
He answered:That’s the problem. My idea and your idea of stupid seem to differ.
I drained my beer, debated another, then caught a flash of movement in the mirror.
She walked in with Maddie. Bronc’s sister was always up for fun. She had a nose ring and the kind of laugh that made every man within a five-mile radius look up. They were arm-in-arm, ready to have fun or get into trouble. I’d bet on trouble.
She was wearing leather pants so tight they looked like they’d been painted on, and she was clearly dressed to turn heads. It looked like she expected to end up on someone’s Instagram before midnight.
Maddie made her way to the bar and ordered them both whiskey sours and took them back to the hi-top they had commandeered.
I couldn’t stop watching. I hated myself for it, but I was a dog and she was the steak on the table.
Maddie’s eyes went around the room, evaluating the crowd, but Brie just sipped her drink, cool as a movie star. When the music changed—Luke Combs, of course—she leaned into Maddie, and they started swaying at their table, singing along to the chorus. She was having a better time than I’d seen since she came to town.
County Line’s dance floor was nothing to write home about—a rectangle of fake wood that warped every time it rained, a handful of tables pushed up against the wall, and a speaker system that made every song sound like it was underwater. But when a girl like Brie hit the floor, the whole place might as well have been a damn bar on Broadway in Nashville.
The air shifted, and I felt it in the static, the way every male eye zeroed in on her silhouette. She moved like she owned it, hips rolling with every step, her arm slung around Maddie’s waist, both of them laughing as they wove through the bodies already moving to the music.
Brie was a walking violation. The leather pants hugged her so tight it made my teeth hurt. Her top hung off one shoulder, bare except for a narrow black tank-strap. The boots had thick heels, but they were tall, which said she liked making an entrance but didn’t plan on running. Her bob had grown out, and she’d dyed the ends blue, which framed her face every time she whipped her head to the side. The makeup was dialed up to maximum—black wings at the eyes, gloss on the lips so shiny it caught the light from the neon signs.
