Someone else might give him a tough time for flirting with a teenager, but in Lonestar Junction, there isn’t much to choose from, and she’s an adult, just three years younger than us. Plus, she seems into him.
I clear my throat, speaking the most words we’ve spoken to each other all night. “You should go for it, bud. Don’t stay here for me. I’m about to head out anyways.”
His gaze lifts to meet mine and then he nods, looking nervous as hell but still unsure. I swipe the beer that I just set down for him and bring it to my lips, sucking up the cold foam so that I’mnow double-fisting and he has nothing to drink. He gets what I’m trying to say with my actions alone, grins, and then scoots out of the booth, tossing a couple ones on the table as a tip before walking back towards Scarlett.
Good for him.
I sigh and sink back into the booth, watching Dalton work his charm. Good for him. He’s getting laid tonight, and honestly, he deserves it. He’s just as lonely as I am. He spends his days working on his parents’ ranch a few miles from here and helping me out at the rodeo whenever I need an extra hand.
It’s not like Lonestar Junction is some ghost town. Over the past ten years, the place has grown a lot. More businesses are moving in, and San Angelo’s city limits are creeping closer as developers buy up ranches and turn them into housing. San Angelo’s population has passed 100,000, and we’re closing in on 75,000 here. Progress, I guess.
I glance at the half-finished beer Dalton left behind, then at the one I ordered for myself. One drink’s my limit before the twenty-minute drive back to Ashwood Ranch, so I push the second bottle away, tossing a few more ones on the table for the server. Standing, I stretch out my back, my shoulders stiff from sitting too long.
The bar’s shifted into chaos now. The bachelorette party is out on the floor, singing and dancing along to a Shania Twain classic with the regulars. I fight the urge to roll my eyes when I spot the bride-to-be perched on some local guy’s lap. Her short, white dress barely covers her thighs, and there’s a garter hugging her leg as she leans in close, whispering something into the older man’s ear.
Maybe it’s innocent. Probably not. People aren’t faithful.
I head for the door, gravel crunching under my boots as I cross the lot and climb into my old green Ford. Sliding behind the wheel, I cut on the lights and fire up the engine but just as I’mabout to put the truck in reverse, something catches my eye.
A girl wearing a short black dress—just like the ones the bachelorette party was rocking—darts out from the shadows on the side of the bar and disappears around the back of the building.
Behind Baxter’s Bar lies a trailer park, and in my experience, that place is nothing but trouble. It’s a hotbed for alcohol-fueled fights, domestic violence, and enough chaos to keep the 911 operators busy all night.
What the hell is she doing going back there?
The introvert inside me tells me to let it go. Who cares? You don’t know her. She’ll be fine. But the protector in me has me cutting the engine and opening the door, sneaking around the side of the building to make sure she isn’t drunk, lost, or about to be assaulted.
My eyes squint in the darkness as I try to see where she could have gone. It’s pitch black on the side of the building. The safety lights required by the city are busted and knowing Sheriff Davenport, he won't enforce getting them fixed anytime soon.
Where the hell could she have gone?
I keep going, making it all the way to the back where the bar’s smelly trash is stored in large receptacles against a small chain-link fence keeping outsiders from entering the trailer park. It’s a shitty attempt at keeping the two worlds separated. Anyone could snatch someone and scale it within a few seconds.
Finally, I spot a bare leg sticking out from behind the massive trash compactor. I walk towards the receptacle, rounding the side of the metal frame to find her crouched down low near the ground. My eyes squint in the darkness, trying to see what she’s looking at but come up empty.
Finally, I speak. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She springs to her feet, clutching her chest before reaching forthe crossbody purse slung over her shoulder.
“Stay back!” she shrieks, yanking something out of the zipper as a loud click echoes between us and in the next heartbeat, a blast of pepper spray coats my face and eyes.
Chapter 2 – Wilder
“Ra-!” she goes to scream, but despite being able to see nothing, my hand clamps over her mouth before she can let loose the four-letter word that begins with R and ends with E. It’s a word that would have someone jumping out of the trailer park shadows with a shotgun.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, groaning in pain, doing my best to not touch my eyes to relieve the agony that’s ripping through them like a wildfire. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I thought something was wrong. I saw you creeping around the back of the bar,” I finally choke out, sputtering and spitting, trying to clear the nasty taste now invading every orifice of my face and doing my best to keep my eyes open to blink out the spray.
The thing they don’t warn you about pepper spray is that it doesn’t just affect the person it's directed at. And with the slightest of winds blowing through town tonight, some of it seems to have gotten in my attacker’s face too. She wipes her eyes with her dress, revealing some of her upper thigh. My eyes are burning and blurry, but I still get a glance of her tan, toned legs as I avert my eyes, trying to give her privacy while getting my own vision under control.
“Do you always sneak up on strangers in the dark?” she demands.
“I wasn’tsneaking. The trailer park that's back here isn’t a safe area for a young woman to go alone. I was making sure you were okay. The safety lights are broken on Baxter's.” I point upwards though I still can’t see for shit. "What were you doing?"
She sighs, taking one last swipe at her eyes, and then points down. “There are kittens back here with no mama,” she explains, spitting some of the spray out of her mouth and onto the ground. “I heard them crying when I walked outside to my sister's car. I’m worried a wild animal is going to get them or they’ll starve.”
I cough and spit, trying to clear my lungs as I inwardly groan. The more I blink and dab at the corner of my eyes, the worse I’m making it. At this point, I’m just rubbing the spray in deeper and need to take a different approach fast before I rip a contact.
“I need to rinse my contacts off and wash my eyes. You should too or you're going to make that worse. Come back in the bar with me so we can clean-up and then we’ll figure out what to do about the kittens.”
