Inside, the bar hums with easy chatter—locals pack the tables, glasses clink, holiday music plays in the background. Coco slides behind the bar and starts working with a rhythm that comes from years of slinging drinks.
She gestures to my usual stool. “Sit. First round is on me.”
I settle in, watching her move. She’s efficient, tossing out saucy one-liners to regulars as easily as she pours whiskey. She pours a draft for one, pops a cap off a bottle for another, then slides both across the counter with a smile that doesn’t miss a beat. It’s a balance of personality and business. Only a fool would cross the line she draws between friendly and off-limits.
And yet, every time she swings back in my direction, her eyes spark with something just for me.
At least I like to think it is.
“So,” she says, bracing her palms on the bar. “About that proposition…”
I lean in, elbows on the bar, intrigued. “Careful with that word, darlin’. Gets a man’s hopes up.”
Her laugh is quick, nervous, but it does dangerous things to my blood pressure. “Notthatkind of proposition.” She grabs a shaker, drops in ice, and starts mixing something bright and fruity for a couple at the end of the bar. “But I do need a favor.”
“From me?” I arch a brow, watching the way her hands move. Thinking about her and what those fingers could do to my stiffened cock keeps me up most nights.
“Yes, from you.”
She walks the finished cocktails to the couple at the far end of the bar, and I can’t help but notice the casual sway of her hips. But I’m no fool. I drag my gaze away before she catches me ogling like a frat boy.
“But here’s the deal. You have to hear me out before you say no.” She grabs a glass and fills it with a three-finger pour.
“Now why would I say no to you?”
Her lips twitch, like she doesn’t know whether to take me seriously or not. She slides the glass of whiskey in front of me—neat, just the way I like it. “Because I know your type. Quiet. Private. The kind of man who keeps to himself.”
She’s not wrong. I retired from the rodeo to escape the noise—the fans, the cameras, the women. I traded stadium lights for starry skies, dust and sweat for a slice of mountain heaven.
And yet, here I am. Sitting across from Coco, drinking whiskey I didn’t pay for, hanging on every word that falls out of her smart mouth. I’m a sucker for beautiful women. Especially women who keep me on my toes.
She’s definitely trouble. The kind I can’t seem to stay away from.
3
COCO
“I’d liketo have a look at your—” I hesitate, nervous, knowing his answer before I ask.
Beau’s brow lifts as if he’s scrutinizing my every word. Either that or he’s bracing himself for some whackadoodle request. It’s not like I’m asking him to strip down and two-step across the bar in nothing but his boots. My cheeks heat at the thought. It’s best I save that visual for when I’m alone.
“Your barn.” The worst he can say is no. Right?
“My barn?” he repeats, a slow drawl stretching the words.
The back of my neck prickles. “Yes. Your barn.”
He leans back on the barstool, arms folding across his chest. “Why?”
I blow out my breath, nerves tangling in my stomach.
“The town council’s planning a Holiday Hoedown. A big community event. They want to make it an annual thing?—”
“Whoa, now?—”
I wag my finger. “Uh-uh. No interrupting. You had your turn, cowboy.”
He smirks and tips his chin, willing to humor me. His eyes are skeptical, though, and I can practically hear thenoforming in the back of his throat.
