One thing is certain: What I want to do with Noelle goes far beyond friendship.
“It’s none of your business,” I grunt, pushing past Casey.
“Don’t expect me to babysit your livestock if you get your ass hauled off to jail,” he calls out after me.
Goddammit.
Noelle is going to be the death of me. She knows exactly how to push my buttons, and I swear every decision she makes is designed to torment me. She’s all sunshine and laughter, but hell hath no fury when she’s riled up, and it seems I bring out that side of her often.
I’m both terrified and exhilarated by how easily she can bend me to her will with a single glance or smile. Even now, the thought of someone else touching her makes my blood run hot.
I stride into the main hall, brushing past bodies as I scan the crowd for Noelle. Being a head taller than most folks should make it easier to spot her, especially with her blonde hair and that red dress. The band plays a slow country ballad as dozens of couples dance near the stage.
There she is.
Noelle is at the edge of the dance floor, and my pulse spikes when I see she’s with Thatcher Hall, a local ranch hand. He’s a regular at the honky-tonk, notorious for his flings with women passing through. He’s holding Noelle’s hand while his other one rests on her back. I clench my fists at my sides, fighting to stay calm. But when his hand dips a few inches lower, I snap.
I move in their direction with determination, aware of the wide berth the crowd gives me as I pass.
As I approach, I step beside Thatcher and firmly tap his shoulder. He jerks his head around, panic flashing when he sees me. Good. My reputation precedes me.
I ignore his uneasy stare, turning to Noelle. “We’re all finished here. Let’s head home now.”
Thatcher frowns, giving her a puzzled look. “Please tell me Shep isn’t your uncle or something. God, I knew I should have asked who you were visiting.”
Noelle covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I can see why you might think that with the silver streaks at his hairline.” Clearly, testing my patience is her new favorite pastime.
“We’re not related,” I grit out.
Thatcher raises a brow. “Are you two dating?”
“Nope. We’re justfriends,” Noelle interjects, batting her lashes. “Isn’t that right, cowboy?” She turns, giving me a patronizing pat on the chest.
If we were alone, that heart-shaped ass would be mine.
I scowl at Thatcher, whose arm is still draped around her. My first warning must have gone over his head, making a more direct message fitting.
“If you don’t take your hands off her, I’ll kick you out myself,” I rumble.
My words might be for him, but my gaze is fixed on Noelle, who’s wearing a cheeky grin. The little minx is enjoying every second of this.
Thatcher yanks his hand to his side, stumbling back. “I didn’t know she was off-limits.”
“Now you do,” I bite out. “Find someone else to warm your bed tonight or consider yourself banned from High Noon.”
He scurries away, disappearing into the crowd. A quick look around shows everyone averting their eyes, pretending they weren’t just watching our exchange like it was a damn soap opera.
“Must you always be so grumpy? You’re going to end up with permanent wrinkles,” Noelle teases, reaching on her toes totrace the lines on my forehead. “No wonder Thatcher assumed you were my uncle.”
“Woman, now isn’t the time to test me,” I say, my tone clipped.
She drapes her arms around my neck. “What are you going to do about it?” Her eyes sparkle, daring me to act.
Not one to disappoint, I bend low and hoist her over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold, tuning out the gasps rippling through the crowd.
“Better hold on to your hat, Sunshine,” I warn.
“Shep, be reasonable.” Noelle grips my waist to steady herself with her free hand. “I’m wearing a dress, for crying out loud. Everyone is going to see my backside.”
