AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Jane, sweetheart, do us a favor and smile more,” leers another patron, his words slurred and eyes ravenous.
“Smiles aren’t on the menu,” I shoot back, my tone frosty.
Tex watches me still, I can feel it, and it’s a testament to my will that I don’t look back. Not even once.
“Place could use a touch of warmth, you know,” Tex says when I pass by again, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd.
“The Tin Cup isn’t known for its hospitality,” I say flatly, but there’s a tremor in my voice that betrays me.
“Maybe you’re just serving the wrong company.”
“Maybe,” I concede, allowing myself the briefest moment of vulnerability.
But then the doors swing open, bringing with them another gust of cold air and a reminder of the harsh realities beyond these walls.
“Last call!” I announce, louder than necessary, drowning out the stirrings of something dangerous—a longing for something more than what this small town and its small minds have to offer.
I keep busy, avoiding Tex’s magnetism, focusing on the clink of glasses and the shuffle of feet. The bar empties slowly, leaving only the echo of laughter and the scent of tobacco in its wake. As I lock up, I steal a glance at Tex, who’s settled his tab and stands to leave.
“Stay out of trouble, Tex Blackwood,” I warn, the door closing behind him like the final note of a song left unsung.
But trouble has a way of finding you, especially when it rides a motorcycle and looks at you like you’re the only person in a room full of shadows. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m already wondering if he’ll come back.
* * *
Another night, the same old crowd and me once again behind the bar wishing I was someplace else.
“Another round, sweet cheeks?” Hank, with his bear-like frame and tobacco-stained smile, waves an empty bottle at me.
I slide him his poison without a word, the clink of glass against wood punctuating the transaction.
“Ya know, Jane,” drawls Sam from down the bar, his lecherous gaze crawling over my frame like a rash. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be slingin’ drinks. You should be warming my bed.” His buddies guffaw, slapping backs and spilling their delight onto the grimy surface.
“Keep dreaming,” I shoot back, wiping down the counter with more force than necessary. My knuckles whiten around the rag, every fiber restraining the urge to show them just how warm I can get. But I’ve learned long ago that fire only feeds the beasts.
A draft snakes in as the door swings wide, carrying with it a shift in the atmosphere. Him. Texas Blackwood—the enigma in leather—strides into the den of vultures. His presence alone commands silence, a stillness that drowns out even the jukebox’s twang. His boots thud a steady beat as he approaches, each step measured, deliberate.
“Evening,” he says, his voice low but clear, cutting through the haze.
The local men bristle, their eyes darting between us, sizing up the newcomer who’d dared to intrude on their territory.
“Tex.” I nod curtly, busying myself with arranging the bottles behind the bar. His name tastes like whiskey on my tongue—smooth with a kick that lingers. “What can I get you?”
“Beer, if you don’t mind,” he says, resting his elbows on the bar, his sapphire eyes locking onto mine.
For a moment, everything else falls away—the leers, the snide remarks, the oppressive heat. There’s just him and the strange calm that comes over me.
“Coming right up,” I reply, but my hands betray me, fumbling slightly as I reach for a bottle.
“Thanks,” Tex murmurs, taking a sip, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a hint of a smile.
It’s enough to light a spark, one that dares to dance across the space between us despite the shadows that cling to our edges.
“Anytime,” I say, meaning it more than I should.
His gaze holds mine, and there’s something there—an understanding or maybe a challenge. I can’t quite tell, and it’s maddening.
“Jane,” Hank bellows, shattering the moment, “we ain’t got all night here.”
