It didn’t take a lot of effort to keep the clientele in this place happy. Since there weren’t many options for recreational activities in Embers Ridge, someone could stop into Reagan’s for a beer or head over to Marla’s Bar for something a little stronger, or even a hamburger and fries. Of course, they could stop in at the diner if they wanted down-home comfort food. Anything more than that would require them to head out of town, a good twenty miles to the nearest chain restaurant.
That was one of the many reasons I liked Embers Ridge. It was small, the pace was relatively slow, and the people were nice, if not a little nosy. The curiosity was the hardest part to deal with, but so far, I had managed to evade most of the questions by pretending to be shy.
Since I'd moved into the small farmhouse originally owned by one of the town’s founding families, I did tend to get a lot of questions. Most of them I couldn’t answer since the only thing I knew about the previous owner was that the woman had gotten married and decided to sell the place. With just enough cash to get myself settled in, I had forked it over. The process had been quick and easy, which was what I'd been aiming for.
“Get these boys some beers,” an older man hollered as he stepped into the bar, holding the door open.
I turned in time to see Wolfe and Lynx being hustled in by another group of guys.
My gaze instantly zeroed in on Wolfe. There was something about the man that drew my attention. Could’ve been the way he carried himself with more masculine grace than a big man like him should possess. Whatever it was, I found it difficult not to stare like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Sheriff’s on his way,” the old man noted.
Shit.
The last person I wanted to come face-to-face with was the sheriff. I'd managed to stay off his radar thus far; I didn’t see any reason to tempt fate.
Then again, if I really wanted to play it safe, perhaps I should rethink working at Reagan’s on Friday nights.
Rhys Trevino
I knew the call was coming in before I actually received it.
It was Friday night, after all.
But just like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, we could always depend on some good Samaritan calling in to let the Lee County Sheriff’s Department know that the Caine cousins were throwing down outside Reagan’s. Never failed.
After responding to dispatch, letting them know I was in the vicinity and that I'd take care of the disturbance at Reagan’s, I turned my truck around and put my foot on the gas.
I knew what I would find when I arrived. It wouldn’t be an emergency unless one of the Caine cousins had gone off the rails. So far, their weekly brawls had yet to send anyone to the hospital. One of these days, some smart-mouthed cowboy was going to push Lynx too far, though. I figured it was only a matter of time.
And now it was time to check it out.
I only hoped they’d wrapped it all up because the last time I had to intervene, I'd sported a black eye for a fucking week.
Afterward, I would stop for a cup of coffee because if this call was anything to go by, tonight was going to be a long one.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to the bar. All looked quiet from the parking lot. Since I knew Reagan—the woman was my sister, after all—there was no way they’d been throwing down in the bar, so it appeared as though someone had wrangled all the misfits back inside.
Thank God for small miracles.
Getting out of my truck, I grabbed my hat and shoved it on my head, then slammed the door shut and took a quick look around.
Other than the ruckus coming from inside the bar, all was quiet. The stars seemed extra bright tonight, too. Sighing, I resigned myself to dealing with these boys for what I hoped was the only time tonight.
When I stepped inside, my gaze instantly traveled through the room, categorizing all that was going on. The Caine cousins were seated at the bar, Reagan was telling one of her many stories, two younger guys were back near the pool table, another couple were playing darts. There were several tables off to the right that were still empty while the jukebox played an old Garth Brooks song.
My eyes stopped on the pretty blonde wiping down one of the tables.
Technically, I didn’t think Amy Smith was a true blonde, nor did I think the color was a fashion statement. Her dark eyebrows and dark roots said the carpet probably didn’t match the drapes. Not that I knew firsthand. In fact, I didn’t know much about the newcomer yet. Well, nothing more than the fact that she’d come to town three months ago and quickly got settled into McKenzie Catlay’s old house after paying cash for the place. She started working at the diner a couple of weeks after that, and she’d been waitressing at Reagan’s for the past month. Yet no one knew much of anything about her. Despite the fact that she spent her time in the heart of town, mingling with customers, the woman did a damn good job of keeping to herself.
I'd been tempted to look into her, but even a small-town cowboy like myself could tell that Smith was likely not her real name, and if I did a search, I'd probably come up with thousands in the state of Texas alone.
“Hey, Sheriff! What brings you down here tonight?” Reagan crooned from behind the bar.
I turned toward my sister and the two men holding down the barstools nearby. “Just checkin’ on a disturbance call.”
I noticed the Caine cousins didn’t bother to turn around.
