Chapter Eleven
Logan
Macey disappears out the door of The Cowherd in a cloud of dust.
I drop the mic onto the bar and make for the door. But Macey’s father grabs me and tries to get me to stay.
By the time I politely tell him goodnight, George is offering the crowd a round of free half-shots.
Getting around everyone pushing up to the bar is like trying to step through a moving herd of cows. It takes forever. When I reach the outdoor porch of the saloon, Macey’s disappeared.
I take off my jacket and sling it over my shoulder. Macey’s on foot, and I know exactly where she’s going.
I turn around and head for Wild Ranch to get my truck.
* * *
I find Macey walking down Main. She looks like she had some sort of shoe mishap because she’s carrying her heels in one hand, and her feet are bare. My breath catches in my throat as I watch her traipse down the dirt path next to the road. Her dress is so unruly she’s going twice as slowly as she normally would. I cut the truck engine and roll along quietly until I’m alongside her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but if you’re looking for sex, you went the wrong way.”
Macey screams. “Shit, Logan, you freaking scared me!”
I laugh and lean across the front seat to open the passenger door. “Slide in.”
She climbs up into the truck and drops her shoes on the floor. “God, these fucking heels. This is why I never dress up. And I can’t breathe in this damn corset.”
I put the truck in park. “I can help you with that, you know.”
My gaze locks with hers, and she inhales sharply.
And I know in that moment—Macey’s back. I lost her for a little bit at the bar, but she’s here now. She’s with me, and nobody else is around, and I’m not letting her go again tonight. Not until dawn when we’ll go our separate ways. But that means I’ve got about—I glance over at the clock on the dash—seven hours to make good on my promise to her. My pulse quickens, and I swallow hard.
“Logan…” she begins in a halting tone. “Do you think we’re hard to handle?”
“Yep. But if we were easy, we wouldn’t be us.” I touch her warm cheek with my hand. “And I want you exactly how you are.”
“Difficult and moody and unable to give you more than this?” She gestures to her wrinkled dress, dirty feet, and hair that’s now half undone from its previous perfection. “Because I’m so far from flawless it’s not funny.”
I lean forward until my lips graze her jaw. “You’re flawless to me, Henwood. And we want the same things, remember?”
She turns her head until her lips find mine. Then she kisses the hell out of me.
It’s a perfectly imperfect Macey Henwood kiss—urgent and frantic and needy, and her tongue winds into mine with abandon. Macey kisses recklessly with zero self-consciousness and no hesitation or slow lead-in. She just goes for it.
I match her pace and give her everything I’ve been feeling since I promised her I’d win the Wild Darcy Derby. I lick and nibble her lips and wrap my fingers in the loose strands of her hair. When she finally pulls away, her lips are swollen and pink. Just the way I like to see them.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Her voice comes out raw and needy. “Take me to the lake.”
“How about we start right here?” I turn the wheel to the left, and we bump along a dirt road with no streetlights, no traffic, and no people.
The only sounds are the symphony of cicadas and the distant melody of geese by the water.
“Here’s good,” she murmurs.
I bring the truck forward until it’s off to the side of the road and half-hidden by a stand of trees. Then, I turn off the engine and turn to Macey.
“Mrs. Darcy—”
