Obviously tired of chatting, Lynx launched himself at the dumb ass, landing a solid right hook to the fucker’s jaw. Another swing came, then the two were tangled together, their boots scrambling for purchase on the gravel. When it looked as though the other dumb ass was going to come to his friend’s rescue, I shot a look heavenward. There was no getting out of this one.
I figured the fastest way to get back inside to my beer was to offer my assistance.
So I did.
Amy Manning
I stood stone still when the two cowboys headed toward the door, following the Caine cousins. When they stepped outside, I glanced over at Reagan, watching as the woman wielded that shotgun like she was on a first-name basis with the thing.
Shit.
This place got stranger and stranger the longer I stayed.
Not so surprisingly, everyone piled out of the bar and into the parking lot. Seemed Friday night’s entertainment was being held out there. Again.
When there were no more patrons to wait on, I went to the bar and peered over at my boss. “What do we do now? Wait?” That was what we’d done the last couple of times this had happened.
Reagan smiled and the move made her even prettier than she already was. She was short, like me, with dark brown eyes, also like me. Our similarities pretty much ran out at that point. Reagan had a cute little nose, perfect breasts, and her hair was long and looked like dark chocolate silk—similar to mine before circumstances had made me become a bottle blonde. I missed my dark hair, wishing I'd never been dumb enough to hit up the drugstore during one of my panic attacks. However, I had to admit, it did help to alter my appearance. Some.
“Yep. They’ll be back. Won’t take long.”
Having been in this tiny town of Embers Ridge for all of three months and working in this small bar for only a third of that time, I clearly didn’t understand the dynamics. Seemed there were a few consistencies, though.
One, Wolfe and Lynx Caine did show up every Friday night without fail. Usually Saturday nights, also.
Two, someone—typically a drunk cowboy—provoked one or both cousins and ended up out front.
Three, someone was usually bleeding by the time they all came stumbling back inside.
And four, at some point tonight, the sheriff was going to make an appearance.
Seeing the sheriff wasn’t high on my priority list, even if he was nice to look at. Rhys Trevino’s piercing blue eyes saw too damn much as far as I was concerned, which was the very reason I was keeping my distance.
The door opened. The sound of the fight and some rowdy onlookers floated into the empty room, then was quickly cut off when the door closed again.
Nope, they weren’t done yet.
I leaned against the bar and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only nine thirty. I had two and a half hours to go, and that seemed like an interminably long time. Especially if I had to spend half an hour waiting for everyone to make their way back inside.
What I really wanted to do was go home, take a long, hot shower, and then fall asleep while reading. I'd recently discovered some rather intriguing books—a popular genre known as erotic romance—that had taught me a few things that I … uh … hadn’t known. In fact, they’d taught me a lot of things I hadn’t known. Needless to say, I looked forward to reading. It was what I'd been doing for the past year. Ever since … the hospital. Thanks to an extremely kind nurse who had clearly taken pity on me, I'd immersed myself in fiction as a way of escape.
Admittedly, I was getting comfortable in my new life.
The door opened and my gaze instantly swung over to see who it was.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t exactly comfortable. I was still rather twitchy, but there was good reason for that. When one was running for their life, hiding out in a small town, and watching over their shoulder every second of every day, one tended to be jumpy.
“That Lynx Caine’s somethin’ else,” the newcomer drawled as he headed toward an empty table on the far side of the room.
I preferred Wolfe to Lynx, but I had no idea why that was. Perhaps I'd had more interaction with him. And even that was extremely limited. There was just something about his deep voice, his black hair and green eyes, the scruffy jaw, and the…
Yeah. Okay. So I'd been thinking far too much about Wolfe Caine.
Not knowing what to say to the old man, I opted to pretend not to have heard, instead choosing to offer him a beer.
“Yeah, thanks, darlin’. Coors Light, if you don’t mind.”
I turned back to the bar to find Reagan grinning as she pulled out a longneck and twisted the top off, passing it over to me.
