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Babs snapped her bar towel again. “Cowboy, quit looming. Roadkill is with me until I say otherwise.”

“She has a name,” Sterling said mildly.

“Yeah, and right now it’s ‘Medical Liability.’” Babs jerked her chin at the stool next to me. “Sit, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

My stomach dipped, that old, unwanted echo of him scraping down my nerves. I sat because my legs forgot how to argue.

Sterling’s eyes sharpened, catching the reaction I wished I hadn’t had.

Babs leaned in, her eyes narrowed as she snapped her fingers. “Look at me.”

I obeyed on pure reflex again, because there was just something about this woman that said you should listen. She studied my pupils like she was considering returning me to the manufacturer.

“Hmm,” she said finally.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?” I asked.

“Means you’ll live,” she decided. “Though, your taste in men is suspect.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

Her gaze flicked pointedly to Sterling, who’d taken up station on my other side, one hand braced on the bar, close enough that his knuckles grazed my elbow in a silent test of how close he could get without actually touching me.

“I’m right here, Babs,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “That statement was intentional.”

Hattie, who’d settled herself on the stool to my left in the role of emotional support chaperone, gave a firm nod. “She needs to eat. Get her something warm.”

Sterling reached behind the bar with a familiarity that made me wonder if he owned the furniture and half the liquor in the place. He pulled out a laminated menu that looked like it had survived a stampede.

He slid it in front of me. “The burger’s solid. The stew’s better. Chicken wings are hit or miss, depending on whether the cook was sober when he made them.”

“True,” Babs muttered.

I pushed the menu back an inch. “You know you don’t have to hover.”

Sterling didn’t move. If anything, he leaned in a breath closer, his voice dropping warm and low enough to run a shiver down my spine. “Mmh,” he murmured. “Maybe hovering over you is exactly where I want to be.”

My pulse tripped like it had missed a step.

Hattie fanned herself with a coaster. “Lord above. I think I’m getting a hot flash watching the two of you.”

Babs slapped the bar. “Order something before he starts scent-marking the furniture.”

I didn’t know it was possible, but my face flushed even more.

Sterling’s eyes were still locked on mine. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“I’ll have a burger,” I said, scooting a safe distance away.

Sterling’s brow arched, amused. “Worried I’ll bite?”

“No,” I lied, worried that some part of me suddenly wanted him to.

“Good.” His voice dipped. “Because I won’t unless you ask real nice.”