lennox
. . .
“Fuck the leather,fuck the lace. Cheers to the ones who sit on our face!” I yelled, slamming the bottle on the rickety wooden table before bringing it to my lips. The cold beer hit my tongue, calming the nervous energy fluttering in my veins.
I was met with a declaration of cheers and groans—both, sure signs that my words had done the job.
Cold beer and whiskey were the standard at the Lone Star Bar in Ashwood, Texas. Nothing could ever get better than this—bright neon lights and music too loud to carry on conversations. Add in the hot-as-hell cowboys walking around the place, and I was set.
There was a reason I was a regular here, and it wasn’t for the cheap alcohol. Tonight was different, though. Or so I told myself.
Every summer, my dad taught at an intensive training clinic that brought in rich folk with horses from around the world. Each session lasted two weeks, and they were held back-to-back over two months.
Today marked the end of the first round, and we were out to celebrate. I’d already clocked at least half of our ranch handsamongst the crowd, laughing, dancing, and drinking their fill. I couldn’t wait to watch them stumble around hungover tomorrow when the next group showed up.
The Lone Star hosted live bands on the weekend. Tonight, there was a local playing who’d made a big name for himself in the music scene. I’d never seen the bar so full. The whole damn town seemed to have showed up. I hadn’t ever heard of him, but I hoped he was good.
My sisters, Josie and Cleo, sat beside me, shaking their heads at my antics. Not that I cared. My toasts had become somewhat of a party trick when I went out—an icebreaker. I couldn’t even remember why it started or where it came from. I grew up around too many foul-mouthed cowboys who had no business speaking the way they did with me present. I had to dosomethingwith all the dirty anecdotes I’d picked up along the way. Plus, trying to top whatever I said last time was always fun.
Like a little competition with myself, which I always enjoyed.
“That’s sure as fuck something I could toast to,” the tall man to my left chuckled.
“Hear, hear!” I said, leaning over Josie to knock my bottle with his.
Lincoln Carter was the new addition to our little group. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him so far. Dad hired him at the beginning of the summer to help with the clinics, and he’d done a great job the past two weeks. What I enjoyed the most, though, was the way he made my sister squirm. Lincoln hovered near the end of the table, conveniently close to Josie, and was having a damn hard time keeping his eyes off her.
On his first day here, Dad had introduced the two of them, but the universe was a funny bitch about things like that. Apparently, they’d had some sort of fling last summer in Tennessee before she’d run off and broken both their hearts in the process.
Ever since Lincoln had shown up, she’d been trying toconvince us that there was nothing between them anymore, but anyone in a ten-foot radius saw what a lie that was.
Now that Lincoln was here, though… Josie had changed. I’d been seeing less and less of her skeezy dickwad boyfriend, well,hopefullysoon-to-be ex skeezy dickwad boyfriend. Lincoln and Josie were like a pair of fuzzy yellow ducklings: where one went, the other followed. I reckoned they’d be knocking boots before the end of the week, if not the end of the night.
“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Cleo groaned. She was smiling, though, so I didn’t take it to heart.
“No, I’m the best,” I said, pointing toward her. “It’s the reason you keep me around. I’m funny, smart, and pretty as hell.”
“And annoying to boot.”
I slid my gaze toward the green-eyed cowboy sitting across from me. Bishop Bryant sipped his beer, gripping it tightly in one scarred hand. He had his black felt hat pulled down, concealing him beneath the shadows.
Like, who did he think he was? An outlaw on the run? Get over yourself.
Ugh. From his stupidly hot, bearded face—becauseyes, I was woman enough to admit he was attractive—to the way he always glared at me like I was in the wrong. All of it grated on my nerves.
Bishop was the epitome of a grump. He was kind of like a mean ole bear that’d just come out of hibernation, that I just couldn’t help but poke. I’d known him almost my whole life. He’d come to work on our ranch before graduating high school and spent the past twenty-three years praying at the altar of Black Springs Ranch and Douglas Hayes.
I leaned over the table, smirking as his eyes dropped to my chest. “Is that why you can’t stop staring at me?”
It was dark, but I swore his cheeks heated. “Maybe we should add delusional to the mix, too. I ain’t fucking staring.”He pointed the bottle my way, and I fought the urge to lick it. It’d be worth it just to see him squirm, but I decided not to for the sake of our company. “And if I am, it’s because you’re too damn loud.”
“It’s a bar, Bishop. If I wasn’t loud, your old man ears wouldn’t be able to hear me.”
He huffed. “Yeah, that’d bereallyhorrible. What a shame.”
I sat back on my stool, crossing my arms. Again, his gaze dropped. It was only a second, but I saw it all the same. “You know, if you really want to keep me quiet, you could give me something to fill my mouth with and shut me up. It’s worked for others in the past.”
Bishop coughed, choking on his beer, while I grinned like the Cheshire Cat. He made it too easy to mess with him. Sometimes, my conscience would pop in and say, “Hey girl, maybe we should take it easy on him,” but then he’d say something stupid, and I’d throw her advice right out the window.
