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I turn his way.

Behind his glasses, his eyebrows lift in the way that tells me he has an idea. “Think she can bartend?”

6 Delilah

It’s humid and hot, and the spring sun is warm on my skin.

After my surprise visit from Mr. Grumpy Cowboy, my heart hammered for an hour. But once the adrenaline wore off, bone-deep exhaustion set in again. I stretched, then found an Adirondack chair on the front porch of the Creek House and slunk low. Now, I laze. My body craves sleep. Munchies. I need both.

In the distance, the gentle burble of the creek. Far off, the lowing of cows. It’s quiet here, so unlike the constant buzz of Las Vegas. I wonder what other beauty lurks around this place.

I close my eyes and sigh. If I’m leaving, there’s no point in looking around. Why get attached?

Before I can muse over my next move, there’s the sound of boots stomping on the porch. A shadow darkens the sun. A big shadow. Looming.

“Can you move?” I wave a hand, not bothering to open my eyes. The man’s really messing with my sleep schedule. “You’re blocking my rays.”

“I told you to go.”

“Waiting until dark.” I lower my sunglasses to grin at him. “I’m a vampire.”

He grunts. Without his hat, the man’s dark brown hair is mussed and long at the nape of his neck. My fingers itch to run through it.

“Are you always such a grump?”

His eyes flick to my bare legs. “Do you always prance around half-naked in the morning?”

“More so at night.” My eyebrow arches, and I sit up. “Why? Were you watching?”

The slight flush beneath his scruff, the clearing of his throat tells me he was. I may have trauma and terror, but I know for a fact I have great boobs.

The man props a boot on the edge of my lounger and rests his blue gaze on me. “You can stay in the Creek House.” There’s a hint of frustration in his tone.

“Really?” My cheeks lift.

A nod. “You can stay if you pull your weight like everyone else.”

“I can do that.” Relief has my shoulders loosening. Relief I don’t have to find another place to stay. Relief I don’t have to hit the road again. “What do you have in mind? Shovel horse shit? Pull weeds? I’m an awful cook, so don’t even think about it.”

“It’s temporary.” The man’s dark gaze tells me this is the last thing he wants. “We don’t want drama.”

“Tell you what, if there’s drama, I’ll go. Easy as pie.” My stomach cramps with guilt. I shift to the edge of the chair and make strong eye contact. “So, what’s the job?”

“Bartender.”

“I can do that. With my eyes closed.” I smile.

The way the tension melts from his shoulders tells me I’m getting them out of a jam.

“I’ve bartended in the past. But…I thought this was a ranch.” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you getting the cows hammered, cowboy?”

That gruff smile. It’s back, tilting his lips, crinkling his eyes at the corners before it’s quickly smothered.

I like it. It seems a rare occurrence. A challenge to myself to make him do it often.

“We’re also a distillery.” His attention drifts to the landscape to the east, to where I saw those tall silos last night. “Weston Whiskey.” He claps a hand on his thigh. “We need a bartender for our tasting room. Pour flights. Mix whiskey drinks. Chat up our guests.”

Sammy. Spilled whiskey. Brain matter.