Page 41 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

She swiped at her face. “I am going inside.” She brushed past me with a shove. “But not because you told me to. And I can buy my own beer.”

There it was. The fire that I found so fucking sexy.

“Sure can, Cowgirl,” I said with a smug grin.

She shot me a glare, holding up a hand like it could stop me. “Please stop calling me that.”

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until the cool night air between us felt like it had disappeared. “Then please stop telling yourself you weren’t considering taking me up on my offer—and coming back with me.”

Her green eyes blazed right into mine. “No. The first time wasn’t special enough.”

She turned to head back, but stopped before reaching the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

“Wait,” she said, turning to look at me. “I didn’t get a good look when I walked in there. Is it dirty inside?”

I frowned. “Dirty?”

“Like . . . unclean. Vomit everywhere. Piss stains. That sort of thing.”

“I guess it’s like any other bar. Not particularly clean, but no vomit anywhere.”

She nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she let out a deep breath. “Okay, good,” she mumbled.

I watched her for a second, my brow furrowed. It was a strange question, but I didn’t press. Something about it felt too delicate to poke at.

“Can you open the door for me?”

I chuckled. She was pushing me away, but still wanted me to be the gentleman. I reached past her and opened the door.

She nodded and seemed satisfied. “Bye, Beau.”

“Baby,” I called after her and followed her inside. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

She groaned and headed toward the pool tables where Harleigh was hanging out with Gatlin and Dalton. Fable didn’t say a word as she joined them, but the way she brushed past me without a glance was loud enough.

Harleigh threw an arm around her shoulders, grinning and saying something that made Fable shake her head with a small, reluctant smile.

I turned away and made my way back to the bar, nodding at the bartender for two more beers. If she was sticking around while I was back on the ranch, I might as well get used to her being here.

As the bartender slid the bottles toward me, I caught a glimpse of her again out of the corner of my eye. She was laughing, a real laugh that softened the sharp edges she carried. That laugh—it was dangerous. It pulled me in, made me want to be the reason for it.

I grabbed the beers and headed back toward the pool table, reminding myself to keep it together. She was a bad idea. A really bad idea. The kind of woman who got under your skin and stayed there, the type who made you forget all the reasons you shouldn’t get involved. But damn if I didn’t want to risk it all.

13

Fable

“Make him stop,” I whined, clutching Harleigh’s arm like a lifeline.

My third beer—er, no, this was definitely my fourth—had everything in the bar swaying to the right.

Beau was still by the pool table, leaning casually on his cue, but his eyes were fixed on me. He hadn’t stopped staring all night.

“He’s playing pool, Fabs. This is a small town . . .” Harleigh started, rolling her eyes.

“No.” I tugged on her arm for emphasis. “It’s not that. He’s . . . staring.” I drew out the word like it explained everything.

“Babe, I have no idea what you mean, but he’s standing there.”