I chuckle, liking the idea she thinks that’s even possible. “Wyoming women are… uh, blunt, to say the least.”
“I’d hardly call it that. We cut through the bullshit.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Bailey, I’d say you’re doin’ a mighty fine job of flirtin’ with me.”
Her pretty eyes land on me. “We don’t get many newcomers in town, that’s all.”
I place a hand over my heart. “Ouch. Burn.”
“Like I said, we cut through the bullshit. Plus, I’m a good listener. Always have been.”
“Is that your way of tryin’ to poke your nose in?” I chuckle. “Or are you makin’ me work for that cherry pie?”
Her eyes grow wider and she swallows hard. “I don’t sleep with people I barely know.”
“Who said anythin’ about sleepin’?” I laugh. “But that’s good to know.”
She points her finger at me. “There’s something about you, Brett. I can’t put my finger on it?—”
I push down the panic inside me.She’s kidding. She doesn’t know you.“I have one of those faces,” I explain. “Or so my momma used to say.”
She studies me for a second, then asks, “So, where are you staying?”
I thumb behind me. “Alpine Apartments, for the short-term.”
She whistles through her teeth. “Ritzy, but if you wanted a better deal, I know the owners of The Lodge real well at Lawless Farms, it’s better than the resort.”
Ah, yes, the Lawless Christmas Tree Farm. Jed filled me in on the comings and goings of the townsfolk, not that it took very long, but I’m still getting my head around things.
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” I nod to her empty glass. “Would you like another drink?”
She contemplates for a second. “Just one.”
“Of course,” I say with a laugh as I motion to the bartender. I’m still nursing the same beer I was drinking with dinner. “What’s your poison?”
“It’s a White Russian, ever had one?”
I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, it’s a delicious mix of vodka, Kahlua and cream.”
“That’s an interesting mix,” I say. “Would you like some pie with that?”
She takes all of two seconds to answer. “Don’t mind if I do. I should’ve warned you. I’m not one of those girls who doesn’t like to eat.”
I don’t know where she puts it because she’s slender, but has a nice round ass and hips to go with it.
“Nothin’ wrong with that,” I say as I order her drink, along with two cherry pies.
So we sit at the bar, the game playing on the television screen above while people come and go, and it’s… nice. Really nice. Bailey isn’t overly talkative, and neither am I, unless you get to know me. I don’t think I’ve sat in comfortable silence in… forever.
“Who’s your team?” I ask, not that it matters; this is a Super Bowl re-run, but still.
“Uh, the Denver Broncos,” she says with a slight ‘duh’ in her tone, then adds, “I grew up there, in Colorado.”
“They performed well last season, focusing on defense and running the ball worked well for them.”
She side eyes me. “Who’s your team?”
