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“Last I checked, letting loose wasn't a requirement around here,” I shot back, irritation flaring hot in my chest. I didn't need them—or anyone—telling me how to enjoy my life.
“Don’t mind my brother. He spent a little too much time in the sun as a child. Made him hot around the gills,” I heard Walker say with his charming voice, the one he often used to placate people when I’d gone and messed up. Mason gave me a look that proved it was true. And as much as I felt like an asshole, I didn’t want to give in.
My grip on the hammer tightened, the image of Eryn, wearing one of her little sun dresses, laughing and dancing amidst a crowd of admirers, sparked an unbidden twinge in my chest. I shoved that feeling down deep where it belonged. I wouldn't be swayed by her charm or the persuasions of her friends.
“Thanks, anyway. Enjoy your night,” I said with finality, signaling the end of the conversation. I watched their retreating figures, the dust kicking up from their steps mingling with the swirling thoughts in my head—thoughts I had no intention of entertaining.
As the noise of their departure faded, I turned my attention back to the land. The thing that really mattered.
The one constant in my life.
And the only companion I needed.
* * *
The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the ranch as I stood, freshly showered, nursing a beer on my front porch. I watched Mason’s truck turn into the drive and pass on by, heading back to Walker’s cabin to pick him up for their excursion into town. A few minutes later, the truck returned and slowed to a stop in front of my house. Their laughter through the open windows grated on my nerves like sandpaper.
“Come on, Gray,” Walker cajoled, slapping the side of the truck in invitation. “It ain't every day we get invited to hang out with famous people.”
“Especially ones as pretty as Eryn,” Mason added with a grin, his gray eyes alight with mischief. “You saw her at my house, man. She's something else.”
I leaned against the wooden porch rail and took a slow sip of my beer. I knew he was baiting me, and it was almost working.
The image of Eryn, all free spirit and easy smiles, invaded my thoughts again. I could almost hear her laugh, a sound that seemed to dance in the air. It irked me how easily she'd become the center of attention in my town. In my life.
“Y'all go without me,” I said, pushing off the fence. The last thing I needed was to be caught up in the whirlwind of Eryn Blake, no matter how intriguing I found her.
“Your loss,” Mason shrugged, putting the truck in gear and shaking his head.
As they drove off, the dust billowing behind them, I couldn’t shake the image of Eryn surrounded by admirers at the Dusty Barrel—laughing, dancing, maybe even throwing back shots with the best of them. I wanted to be there with her. I wanted to be with her.
I couldn't deny the tightness in my chest. Jealousy was a foreign feeling, unsettling in its intensity. Eryn Blake had breezed into Whittier Falls, stirring up more than just the affection of the townsfolk. She'd stirred up something in me too, something I wasn't quite ready to face.
I kicked the dirt beneath my boots and muttered a curse under my breath. The Dusty Barrel, with its raucous laughter and twang of country music, was the last place I wanted to be. But the sting of jealousy had wormed its way into my chest, and I couldn't shake it off. With a deep sigh that felt like defeat, I climbed into my truck, the leather seat cool against the back of my jeans.
“Damn woman,” I said to no one in particular as I turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. It was a short drive to the bar, but with each passing mile, my irritation boiled hotter. Eryn Blake, with her brown hair that caught the light just so, and those amber eyes that seemed to see right through me, was an enigma—like a wildflower growing in hardened soil, unexpected and disarming.
And now here I was, goin’ to a bar I didn’t want to be at and comparing her to a damn flower.
The parking lot was packed, trucks lined up like soldiers at attention. I killed the engine and sat for a moment, collecting myself. My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “Just go in, check out the crowd, make sure she’s okay, and get out,” I coached myself. The muscle in my jaw twitched as I swung open the door and stepped out into the night.
Pushing through the doors of the Dusty Barrel felt like entering enemy territory. I was well-liked by most of the town, but the folks who drank here were either employees of mine or worked for my rivals. Either way, they weren’t my friends.
Conversations hitched as heads turned my way, the townsfolk's eyes widening slightly at the sight of Gray Anderson trading his solitude for a night at the bar. Their gazes followed me, heavy with curiosity, as I scanned the crowd, my eyes immediately finding my target.
There she was—in the thick of it all, laughter spilling from her like honey, sweet and warm. Eryn's head was thrown back in genuine amusement, her pink dress catching glimmers of the neon lights as men vied for her attention with clumsy jokes and eager smiles. Women clustered around her, drawn to her charisma as if she were the sun itself.
“Hey, Gray!” someone called out, but I barely registered who it was. My focus narrowed to the scene before me, to Eryn's effortless charm that seemed to pull everyone into her orbit. She was the embodiment of everything I found irritating and yet . . . captivating. She captivated me down to my core.
“Is that Gray?” another voice said, shock lacing their tone.
My steps were measured, deliberate as I approached. Men's shoulders tensed, drinks paused mid-sip, and the women's laughter faded into hushed murmurs. They were watching me now, reading the storm brewing behind my furrowed brow.
“Gray Anderson has entered the building,” someone announced, a note of mischief in their voice.
Eryn hadn't noticed me yet; she was too busy being the life of the party, the center of this small-town universe. And as much as I wanted to despise it, there was something about her authenticity, the sheer magnetism of her presence, that made me understand why Whittier Falls had been charmed by her.
“About damn time you showed up,” Mason's voice broke through the tension, although I barely heard him over the pounding in my ears.
