Page 3 of Drifter’s Heart

This guy is more heroin chic with his protruding rib bones.

My lip curls. “Fuck me. Is that what she thinks is prime grazing land?” I stare at the blazing field of white for a little longer and then turn away, glaring at the bottom of my water tumbler.

“City boys are made different, you know? I could get into it.” Dustan Carter, my current rodeo trainee and a flirt extraordinaire, rests his back against the bar. He faces in the opposite direction to me, surveying the thrumming crowd. “But if he’s already taken…” He shrugs good-naturedly in my periphery, a come-hither smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I groan, a scant inch from banging my head on the bar top, but then stop myself. In no way do I want to collect DNA from the sticky surface. “If you’re gonna eyeball everything in sight for the next hour, including him, then head home, kid. I got enough problems without wondering who you knocked up by morning.”

Dustan grins broadly. “Glad someone appreciates my prowess.”

“Jesus Chri⁠—”

“Nightie-night. Don’t let the pretty grunge nurses bite.” He winks as he passes me, slapping my rump like I’m breeding livestock.

“She’s a paramedic.” I take the bait and swallow it whole without thinking and shut my eyes. “Kid, I swear⁠—”

“Byeee,” Dustan singsongs as he sashays away, wiggling his ass.

I groan again, and the bartender tops up my water, offering me a sympathy grimace. I’ve bitten off well more than I can chew with my newest mentee, but in no way could I resist the chance to train the kid who has at least the talent of Cordell Rand and the X factor of Coyote’s Jesse Duke.

“West?” A hand tentatively touches my back.

I bite back the sound that threatens to escape my throat the moment she touches my body. Because that noise is not publicly palatable.

“Yeah.” I swing around to face my best friend’s baby sister.

The same curly-haired sister who has been strictly off-limits for the past decade. Nothing should have changed since I up and left Coyote Falls. So why am I here, watching her? I can’t pretend it’s purely for her protection.

Not-so-baby sister from the way she’s dressed, in a sparkly black top that barely covers her toned stomach, the tiny little straps suspending the scrap of material across her shoulders. I take in her bare muscular, tanned arms, and the lacy black thing around her hips that barely qualifies as a skirt.

Christ, I hope she doesn’t bend over in that thing. Or maybe I do.

Yeah, I’m headed straight for a special circle of hell reserved for the men who perv on their best friend’s siblings they vowed to never touch a hell of a long time ago.

“It is you! I thought it might be.” A giant smile beams across her face as she muscles between patrons to wrap her arms around my chest. Well, torso, because even with her heeled boots, her head barely makes it to my nipple level. It’s cute that her hands almost meet in the middle of my back. Not quite.

Can’t say that about rocker boy, now, can you?

My blood heats the moment she’s within range. “Hi, Winnie.” I keep my arms fixed by my sides. Winnie is the stuff bunkhouse dreams are made of. If I touch her, we’re both fucked.

Cordell might be prepared to deal with me walking out on him and the ranch at Coyote Falls up north, but he won’t appreciate me screwing with his little sister’s life one bit. Not when their fledgling relationship is so recently renewed.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were up at Coyote.” Winnie puts in an order for a double shot, yelling twice as loud as the volume of the room requires to be heard.

I glance back at the bartender and lift a single finger. “One. On my tab.” I’ve been covering Dustan’s drinks for the night while I’ve stayed sober. A bonus for his hard work for the week and for being my automated wingman for the past hour while I’ve moped over the girl in front of me from afar.

Okay, so my masculine opinions aren’t the only thing unhealthy about me.

I don’t get into how long I’ve been gone from the ranch, and Winnie doesn’t notice the omission. “Have you met Tom Jacobs, up on the stage? He’s so good. Did you hear him sing? He’s got such a wonderful voice. And he makes a mean chicken salad sandwich too,” Winnie gushes in a single breath.

I’ve always found her attitude cute, but tonight, hearing her talk about another man, I’m struggling to stomach it.

“Looks like you could stand to eat a few.” I hold a hand out to shake with the rock star of the moment loping up behind her. I receive a limp squeeze in response. “Fantastic to meet you,” I say dryly, relieved to find the man has reclaimed his shirt, though I’m not sure if I want Winnie more covered up, or him.

“Same,” the man murmurs, his voice thready and distant, though his gaze is sharp as he takes me in, how I look at Winnie. He shifts behind her, one hand grazing her back.

A shot of pure possessiveness lurches through my system. I pocket my hands to prevent myself from doing something stupid that I promised both myself and my protégé earlier I wouldn’t.

He whispers something I miss in her ear.