Page 38 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

He nodded, leaning on his cue stick. “Ready for the season to shift, though. I’m getting tired of all the driving through the Southern states.”

“The grind never stops,” Dalton added with an exaggerated sigh, lining up his next shot.

Gatlin smirked, a hint of fatigue in his expression. “Ain’t that the truth.”

The door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air that swept through the bar. For a split second, everything went quiet—the kind of hush that always made you turn and look, even if you didn’t want to. I continued leaning back, sipping my beer, not paying it much mind, until Dalton gasped. Loudly and obnoxiously.

“The fuck?” I muttered, raising an eyebrow at him.

“The Ball Chopper,” he murmured, his eyes wide and glued to the door.

Gatlin shot me a look, half curious, half amused. We both looked in the direction Dalton was staring.

My beer froze halfway to my lips as my gaze shifted, slowly taking in the two girls who had walked in. One of them I recognized, but the other . . .

“Holy shit,” I murmured under my breath.

She was wearing black-and-white checkered plaid pants that flared out at the ankles, hugging her hips enough to make you stare longer than you should. Her shirt—hell, her nipples were hard and right there on display, like she didn’t give a damn who noticed.

“It’s her,” I muttered, the words slipping out as I thought them.

Gatlin, sensing something was up, walked over and followed my line of sight. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I fucking did.”

I stood up, the world around me fading as I took a slow step toward them, blinking like I needed to clear my vision. There was no way this was real. No way she was standing there in front of me in little ole Lindley.

“Oh shit,” Dalton whispered loudly behind me. “Is that the girl who’s got your balls all twisted?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “Seriously.”

I froze, caught between wanting them to notice us and praying they wouldn’t. My heart was racing, and my head was spinning, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Every nerve in my body was on edge, strung tight with the tension of the moment.

I couldn’t tell if I wanted to face her or run like hell.

“Ball buster,” Dalton shouted.

“Is murder legal here?” I murmured to Gatlin, who was standing next to me, stifling a laugh.

The dark-haired woman turned her head sharply, her hair swinging over one shoulder as her eyes landed right on us. She leaned in, nudging her friend. The other girl glanced our way briefly and quickly looked away, her posture stiffening.

“What did you do to her?” Gatlin whispered.

“Fucked her,” Dalton said, loud enough to make me whip my head around.

I yanked off my hat and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest. He caught it with a grin, clearly proud of himself.

“Come on. We’re going to say hi. Gotta be friendly neighbors.”

I grabbed his arm before he could take another step. “Friendly neighbors, my ass. Don’t start shit, Dalt.”

But he was already moving, my hat still in his hand, dragging me headfirst in.

We made our way through the crowded bar area, where the girl who haunted my dreams and my damn right hand was.

“Hey, Cowgirl,” I said and slid up next to her.

She looked good. Damn, she looked so good, and I inhaled, the familiar smell of strawberries and vanilla strong.