“Well, if it ain’t yours, then whose is it?” he drawled, plopping his top-heavy body onto one of the barstools at the counter with a grunt. “We got a movie star here or something?”
The man then laughed at his own joke—far longer than necessary—as I balled up the dirty napkins and set them off to the side on the table, willing my heart to calm the heck down as the sensation of someone watching me sent a chill down my spine. I lifted my gaze to find sneaking glances in my direction that seemed to go along with a hushed conversation between Willy and Belle.
“That your Camaro out there, sweetheart?” Willy asked me, turning on his counter stool to face me.
I gave a discreet sigh and reluctantly nodded.
“What year is it? ‘69?”
“Yep,” I answered him flatly. Were all small-town people this…annoyingly nosy? I mean, I could get the waitress wanting to chat and be friendly—I assume that came with the job. But now this guy? I’d barely had a moment's peace since stepping foot into the place.
“Man, I sure would like to have one of them one day,” he said, not to me, though, because I was back to staring into my coffee again like it would give me all the answers I needed on how to get the hell out of here, and fast. “Can’t you see me, Belle?”
Curiosity got the better of me, and I lifted my gaze to see Belle roll her eyes at him. “And just what would you do with a car like that?”
“Hot dates, of course,” Willy shot back, clearly amused with himself. “I’d be driving pretty girls around all day.”
My stomach dropped as he glanced back at me and winked.
“You’d be driving pretty girls away. Especially seeing as you’re old enough to be their grand-pappy. You just stick to driving your old tow truck out there.”
Half listening to Willy and Belle chatter about whatever it was small-town folks had to say, I moved my gaze back towards the window, letting their voices fade into the background as I stared out into the vast unknown. This place felt like a foreign planet—far beyond the city life I was accustomed to where strangers politely ignored you. Here, though? The people were nosy, overly friendly, and loud. And what on earth was that smell outside? I’d always thought country air was supposed to be clean and fresh. This was some strange combination of dirt and animals—cows, I guess. I honestly had no idea how someone could live here all the time, breathing in that stench and?—
Oh. My. God.
Was that really a cowboy riding a horse up to the diner?
It was official: I’d died and gone to hillbilly hell.
I watched though, curiously fascinated, as the cowboy rode his horse over to the tree line and dismounted—tying the horse’s rope around a low-hanging branch and talking to it while stroking his hand up and down its neck in a gentle caress. Warmth pooled in my chest at the sight, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away—lulled in by how genuine and natural his kindness and care seemed.
It was…sweet.
But when he turned and stalked toward the diner, something shifted. My gaze stuck to him for an entirely different reason, and I felt the strangest sense of déjà vu as I shamelessly stared from behind the protective shield of my sunglasses.
My stomach churned with uncertainty as I attempted to piece together why this cowboy seemed so oddly familiar. He had to be well over six feet tall, with long, powerful legs leading up to narrow hips that angled into a very masculine upper body…all of those muscles on full display thanks to his sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to every one of them. He looked like an athlete, sturdy and solid, and I…had no business ogling random cowboys.
What waswrongwith me?
Culture shock, that’s what it was. Simple and true. Back in my world, men wore ties and suits. Not jeans and boots. Not cowboy hats pulled low over sharp jaws that flexed like he was grinding down…frustration?
He paused outside, eyes locked on something in the lot, then stormed toward the entrance—all coiled intensity and angry strides.
Belle glanced up as he shoved open the door. “Well, if it ain’t my lucky day,” she chirped. “How’s my favorite—” She stopped mid-sentence. “Zane, no offense, hon, but you look terrible.” With narrowed eyes, she peered past him out the window. “Where’s your truck?”
“Four miles out of town. On the side of the road,” he snapped. “I had to ride the new horse here.”
“A horse?” Belle blinked. “Wait, what?—”
“Whose red car is that out there?”
Belle’s gaze flicked, very subtly, in my direction.
The cowboy caught it instantly. And then he was coming straight for me.
My stomach plummeted as he stopped at my booth and glared. “That yours?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the parking lot.
Heat prickled under my skin. “Yes,” I answered, feeling meek as I stared up at him, waiting for him to continue as my heart hammered. But when he just stared back, with his deep blue eyes boring into me like I’d somehow personally offended the entire state of Texas, something inside of me snapped.
