Their voices filter through the door, and for a second, I have to press my hand to my chest to steady myself. Because… this is really happening. I’m going out. Not to the feed store. Not to town for groceries. Not to Billings by myself. Not to trail-ride or check fencing.
I’m getting arealnight out.
With all four of them.
I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up for something fun. Back in New York, well… it wasn’t really something I got to do. And even if I did get to go somewhere, it was never like this.Fun. A place where my stomach tightens with excitement instead of dread.
I face the mirror again, taking myself in from head to toe for probably the fifth time. I grabbed this entire outfit from a boutique in Billings on a whim last time I was there, and I sure am glad I did. The high-waisted dark denim makes my short legs look longer than they are and pairs perfectly with the black long-sleeved body suit I’m wearing. I have a wild rag, varying in shades of red, brown, and orange, tied at my neck and is layered with a couple of silver statement necklaces. My hair falls down my shoulders in soft waves, a stark contrast from how I’ve worn it the past two months. I slip on the dark brown heeled leather boots that I got on super sale before topping the entire outfit off with the brown felt Stetson Lawson bought me all those weeks ago. The moment it’s on my head, something settles inside of me.
Grabbing my leather purse, I apply a quick coat of lip gloss, give my reflection one last nervous look, and exhale.
Here we go, I guess.
When I step into the hallway, my boots thump softly on the hardwood, and my pulse kicks. The guys are all talking, all low murmurs and deep rumbles of laughter. When I round the corner into the living room and—
Everything stops.
Beau is the first one I see. He’s in a dark navy button-down that fits him so well it’s practically sinful. Not to mention his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms because the man never gets cold. His usual ball cap is replaced with a black felt cowboy hat, and it sits low, shadowing his warm eyes as his lips part slightly.
Lawson stands beside him, looking unnaturally handsome in his crisp black button-up, worn jeans, a matching black hat, and a belt buckle gleaming in the lamplight. He trimmed his facial hair, and he looks like he just stepped out of some rancher-romance fever dream.
Lincoln’s wearing a charcoal-gray shirt that fits across his chest like it was made for him, paired with a tan hat that makes his green eyes look even brighter. He looks relaxed, but his stare, combined with the way his chest is heaving, is anything but.
And Jasper… my god. Jasper in black should be illegal. Black Henley, black jeans, black hat, curls brushing his collar. His gaze starts at my boots and works its way up slowly, like he’s appreciating a rare piece of art.
None of them move.
They just stare.
I clear my throat, heat rushing to my face. “Um… do you think this is okay? The outfit, I mean? I got it in Billings a couple of weeks ago.”
Still nothing.
Just four sets of eyes taking me in like they forgot how words work.
Jasper finally breaks first, his voice rough and honest as he says, “You–you look beautiful, Abbie Girl. Absolutely beautiful.”
Lawson nods, slow and controlled, but his Adam’s apple gives him away. “You look perfect. The hat suits you.”
Lincoln smiles softly. “Perfect.”
Beau lifts his hat and runs his hands through his hair as he exhales. “That’s more than okay, Abigail. That’s…damn.”
My face burns. My stomach flips.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like a woman being seen.
Lifting my chin, I force a playful smile. “So… are we… ready to go?”
“Hell yeah, we are,” Jasper says before ushering me into my peacoat I left draped over the back of the couch.
“After you, Sweetheart.” Lincoln ushers me first out the door. And with butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I step out into the crisp Montana night with all four of them behind me.
The Busted Barrel sits on the corner, a neon beer sign buzzing faintly, beckoning for us to enter. The gravel crunches under our boots as we walk in, and I expect sticky floors and questionable lighting as we cross its threshold, but inside… It’s actually… nice.
Warm wood paneling climbs the walls. Edison bulbs glow low over the bar. A small stage sits empty in the corner, waiting on the next performer. Music hums from old speakers, mixing with the sounds of boots scraping across floorboards, pool balls cracking in the back, and men laughing. The scent hits me next. Beer and cedar mixed with fried food and the faintest hint of hay.
But as soon as we take a few steps inside—all five of us—all conversation quiets.
