I clear my throat.
Neither of them turns their heads.
I step forward and take Free by the arm.
“Hey!” she says as I pull her toward the back of the bar. “I was in the middle of a conversation!”
I keep my voice low as I say, “Do not tell me you and Blake…”
“No!” She protests loudly.
Too loudly if I want to press her. Which I don’t.
“You know I’m a virgin. Without man, in other words.” She glares at me.
“And Blake’s a player,” I warn her. “A big one. Probably the biggest one in Darcy. He always has been, Free. You can’t trust any boys.” I send a glare in Logan’s direction. “But that boy there”—I point at Blake, who’s now been joined behind the bar by Logan. The two of them are chuckling over God knows what—“He’s off-limits to anyone I care about. Especially you. He’s far too old for you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“But Blake and I are friends,” Free says. “He looks out for me.”
“Friends, fine. Blake Wild’s a good guy that way. But more than friends? Not fine. Got it?”
She grumbles but says, “Okay.”
Before I can say anything else, she scoots away from me and back to Blake’s side. And I have my own off-limits guy to deal with—Logan Wild is advancing on me from across the way.
When he reaches me, we stand silently and assess each other.
His dark hair’s neatly combed, but he runs his fingers through it in an agitated manner, effectively messing it up. His jeans are hanging so low I could probably see the elastic band of his boxers if I tried, and his forest green shirt is super soft. When the fabric brushes my bare arm, I nearly fist it in my hand and hold on tight.
Space is at a premium behind the bar tonight.
Ben’s on my left, the bartop is on my other side, and Logan’s, well—Logan’sright herein front of me.
I tap my cowboy boot on the floor and try not to appear flustered. But he smiles at me and—shit, he looks so hot I can hardly stand still.
Distraction. Find a distraction, Macey.
“Free!” I call across to her. “You’re too young to be back here. Scoot.” I step forward and give her a little shove toward the swing door.
But Free looks up pointedly at the photo of me crawling across The Cowherd counter. “Pretty sure there’s never been a minimum age requirement to be back here. At least, not if you’re a Henwood.”
“That’s right.” Daddy smiles at us and throws his arm across the counter so he can put his hand on Ben’s arm. “Ben’s been fully trained. This morning by yours truly, with some help from George. So he’ll be working alongside you every day this summer, Mace. He’s nearly old enough to bartend, aren’t you son?”
“Nearly old enough!” I say incredulously. “I was serving drinks when I was a lot younger than Ben.”
“Well, you’re my girl.” Daddy smiles. “You were always so grown-up. Seemed to be born that way.”
I don’t have a comeback for that, and I swallow down my anger. But Logan turns on my father with a hard look.
“Sometimes, those traits are inherited, sure,” he says slowly. “But sometimes, they’re forced on a person due to circumstance.”
Mama reaches for her ginger ale, and Daddy clears his throat awkwardly.
Logan lets it go like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.
But something did just happen. And I love him for sticking up for me. Foralways, when it matters most, having my back.
He looks down at me. “You okay?”
