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“Anytime,” he replies, and it isn’t just a response, it’s a pledge.
Mandy comes up beside me, and wraps an arm around my waist. “Why don’t you take the night off. Billy and I can close up. You deserve a night with your man.”
A blush creeps up my neck at her words. I cast a glance at Tex and he’s grinning.
“Let’s get you home, darlin’,” he says, and though the phrase is common, it holds a universe of meaning.
“Thank you,” I say to Mandy and close the gap between Tex and I.
He offers his arm, and I take it. As we step out into the cool night air, I realize with Texas by my side, I’m ready for whatever comes our way.
CHAPTER 6
JANE
The door creaks open and a familiar shadow fills the frame. It’s Pete, who hasn’t graced this place with his presence for more moons than I can count. He ambles in like a storm rolling over the plains—silent but dense with intent. There’s something about him that’s different, though. The gray that speckles his thick beard isn’t just from age, it’s like each hair is a tally mark of troubles seen and overcome. His stocky frame, once an unmovable fixture behind this bar, now carries the weight of his world on its broad shoulders.
“Evenin’, Jane,” he rumbles, the words worn smooth from years of whiskey and smoky rooms. His brown eyes catch mine, those wise orbs glazed with a weariness that speaks of sleepless nights and long roads traveled.
“Welcome back, Pete,” I reply, offering him a smile.
I watch from the corner of my eye as Pete leans against the bar, arms folded, a silent sentinel. His gaze sweeps across the room, settling on Ricky and Snake who are leaning too close to my space, their voices a blend of honey and venom. Ricky’s smug smirk sends a shiver down my spine, while Snake’s dark eyes flicker with cruel amusement. The air between us crackles with tension, thick enough to choke on.
“Rick, Snake.” Pete’s voice cuts through the din—a subtle show of force without raising volume. “Keep it civil.”
“Of course, Pete. Just having a chat with lovely Jane here,” Ricky says, though his tone falls flat against Pete’s unwavering stare.
“Sure thing, boss,” Snake adds, straightening up with a snakelike slither to his movements. They know better than to cross Pete, even on his worst day.
I feel Pete’s concern wash over me. He’s been away, but some things never change—like the way he looks out for us, his makeshift family, bound not by blood but by the tragedies and joys we’ve weathered together.
“Jane, why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” Pete suggests, but the firm set of his jaw tells me it’s not really a suggestion at all.
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I still remember how to pull a beer and listen to barflies share their secrets. Besides, I’ve missed the Tin Cup. You might own it now, but I was the one who started it.”
Pete is as honest as the day is long but he’s also older hasn’t worked here for a long time.
“I’d think you’d want to see your family and catch up?”
Pete looks around. “They all know I’m in town and they’ll all know where I’ll be.”
I cast a glance at Ricky and Snake, Pete could always make them see reason, maybe he could get them to leave me alone?
“Thanks, Pete. I think I will,” I say, though part of me wants to stay and fight my own battles.
As the regulars glance my way, I untie my apron, feeling the weight of the evening lift from my shoulders. Pete watches over the room like a hawk, ready to swoop in and restore order. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what family is all about.
CHAPTER 7
PETE
The hum of conversation around me is a low constant. Then, without warning, it’s like the air shifts, and I feel the hackles rise on my neck. The laughter from Ricky and Snake turns jagged, cruel as they corner Jane at the far end of the bar as she’s about to leave. Her pale green eyes are two shards of ice, her jaw set hard in defiance.
“Leave off, boys,” I call out, but it’s lost in the din of the rowdy crowd, the clink of pool balls, and the twang of the jukebox.
My patience, already worn thin, snaps like an overused rubber band. Setting down the glass with a thud that claims silence from the immediate area, I stride toward them. My boots scrape against the wooden floor, each step measured, heavy with intent. Blood pounds in my ears, and I can practically taste the tang of confrontation.
