I process what I’ve just done. And who I’ve just done it to. It’s her. Butter knife girl.
She gasps, jerks back, and then her eyes—stormy blue and aimed to kill—lock onto mine.
“You.”
“Would you believe me if I said that was an accident?”
“I’m starting to think you’ve got me on your hit list. Was that your pet deer I hit earlier or something?”
“You… hit a deer?”
She waves me off like I’m the crazy one.
"First, you grope me. Now, you ruin my outfit.” She says, gesturing to the mess on her dress. What’s next, a swift punch to the face?”
"Wha—no," I stammer, caught off guard. "This was an accident, that was an accident?—"
But she's not having it. Her voice amplifies, soaring above the music and conversations. "Watch out for this one, ladies," she declares with a pointed finger that might as well be a six-shooter aimed straight at me. "He'll feel you up without your consent and throw a drink on you to seal the deal."
And just like that, every woman in a ten-foot radius is looking at me like I’ve got issues. Peggy, our town's local banker in particular, sends me a look that's part curious, part pity. She's always had a soft spot for the Stetson charm, but right now she ain’t on my side.
"Aw, Peggy," I drawl, giving her a wink. "She's just havin' a little fit. Don't you worry about her."
I lean in, trying to convince this woman who’s off her rocker to hush. "That is not how it happened," I say, low enough for only her to hear.
"Save it," she hisses, voice laced with venom. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom and see if I can salvage this mess. Stay away from me, Trouble."
She storms off, and is gone before I can apologize.
“Damn.” I flash a wolfish grin at the bartenders. "Another round."
I know she’s pissed. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why I keep fumbling the reins any time I run into her. She's a tornado all right, and I reckon I didn't mean to fire her up like that. But the way she just said trouble? Sexiest damn thing I’ve heard in a while. Makes me wonder whatit’d be like to bend that fierce spirit of hers, to hear her when she ain’t so tough. Maybe even when she’s moaning. My dick twitches at the thought.
"Hey," Knox says, slinging an arm over my shoulder.
“Where’d you disappear to?” I ask, raising a brow as I lean against the bar beside him.
Knox claps me on the shoulder. “My sister’s in town.”
I blink. “Wait—the sister? Miss Chicago who never visits?”
He chuckles. “That’s the one. Asked her to come. Got some family stuff goin’ on.”
“Must be serious,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Thought you said it’d take a funeral to get her back here.”
Knox shrugs, but there’s somethin’ tight in his jaw. “Nah, I think maybe she needed a change of scenery.”
“Well if you need anything—whatever it is—you say the word. You’re family.”
His eyes flick over to me, softer now. “Appreciate it. Nothin’ we can’t handle.”
“Mhm,” I say, not pushin’, but not buyin’ it all the way either.
Then his gaze sharpens and he lifts his chin toward the crowd. “There she is.”
I don’t turn right away. Don’t have to. Already got a picture in my head—some city girl, too stuck up for country life, probably checks her reflection in every window and treats this town like a gas station stop between better things.
But then Knox nudges my arm, urging me to look.
