Her perfume hit him before her question. “Another?”
He tilted his head up just enough to meet her warm blue eyes. “You offerin’ or askin’?”
Her sweet lips curved. “Depends on the answer.”
“I’ll take another.” He’d take anything she had to give him.
She reached for his empty glass, her elbow lightly bumping his shoulder. Neither of them pulled away, and the contact lasted only a second or two but the heat of her body lingered in his skin long after she moved to replace Little Mike’s glass.
She gave Pope a nod. “Don’t clean him out too fast. I’m counting on those tips.”
Pope’s lips quirked in amusement that his opponent didn’t share. Little Mike already knew he was leaving the Stockyard a hundred bucks lighter.
After Summer finished passing out drinks, she wandered away, full ass swaying as she wove around tables to reach the front of the bar.
“Jesus,” Little Mike muttered. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”
Pope cocked a brow. “Hide what?”
He twitched his chin toward the door. “That. You’ve been staring at her all night.”
“You’d do better to watch your hand.” Pope’s response came out flat.
The game picked up again, but Pope’s patience was running out. He played faster and with an edge of aggression, shoving chips into the center of the table without any care to his usual calculations that kept him ahead. He took a few hits for it, but it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was the clock on the wall and the slow crawl of minutes until closing time when he could be alone with Summer.
She came back two more times, each time leaving a little more tension coiled inside him. When the last hand finally ended, last call was announced.
Pope pushed back his chair. “Gentlemen, thank you for letting me lighten your wallets.” He tossed a few bills on the table to cover his tab—as well as a fat tip for his favorite waitress.
He grabbed his cowboy hat off the table, settled it on his head and headed for the back exit before anyone could respond.
Outside, the night air carried a hint of pine and mountains that had a smell all their own. When Pope first joined the therapy program at the Black Heart Ranch not far from here, he never expected to recognize mountains by smell alone.
The cold wrapped around him as he crossed the gravel parking lot in measured strides. A single light illuminated the area, casting long shadows across the row of trucks and wide array of SUVs.
He headed straight for the spot where Summer always parked. Third row, a few feet from the road that would take her home.
Pope leaned against the driver’s door and folded his arms, settling in to wait for her to finish her shift. Not only was it her job to chase everyone out of the bar, lock up and close out the register for the night, but she and the other waitresses had to clean off the tables too.
The voices of customers leaving carried across the lot. They climbed in their vehicles and engines started. One by one they drove away, leaving only him.
When the back door opened, two bartenders exited, their voices spilling into the night. Gaze trained on the door, he waited for her to appear next.
Right on cue, Summer stepped into the blinding light over the door, one hand already reaching for the elastic band that held her hair in place. The thick mass fell loose around her shoulders, and she took off walking as the door shut and automatically locked behind her.
She scanned the lot before heading for her car. The sight bothered him more than he’d admit. Nobody should have to move through the world expecting trouble around every corner.
When she picked him out of the shadows, she didn’t look surprised—or annoyed either. Just…something else.
He tipped his head toward her and pushed off her car. “C’mon. I’ll see that you make it home.”
Keys dangling from her fingers, she studied him as if she was debating how to answer, even though he’d been following to make sure she made it home for months.
Then she nodded. “All right.”
Her boots crunched over gravel as she neared the car, and that cord in his chest tightened with each step. Up close, hecould see the faint sheen of perspiration along her collarbone. The late shift had worn lines of fatigue around the corners of her eyes but it hadn’t dulled anything about Summer.
