Page 6 of Josephine and Clay

Dallas nods, finishing off his beer. “Yeah, same here. Faith’s probably already juggling Brooklyn and trying to get Lila settled. I told her I wouldn’t be too long.”

They both stand, stretching out of their seats with the air of men who’ve gotten used to moving with purpose, with somewhere to be. With people waiting for them.

Boone claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “You coming?”

I shake my head, lifting my bottle. “Nah. I’ll stay for one more.”

He studies me, trying to decide if that’s really what I mean or just what I’m saying. “Alright. Don’t stay out too late.”

I smirk faintly. “Since when have I listened to that?”

Dallas huffs a laugh. “Fair point.”

I sit there for a minute as they go, staring at the half-empty bottle in my hand, listening to the low hum of conversation around me. Chairs scrape. Glasses clink. Life keeps moving, same as always.

I sink the rest of my beer and head up to the bar for another drink.

That’s when I notice her.

She’s sitting at the far end of the bar, a drink in front of her, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass, clearly thinking about it more than actually drinking it.

Her dark hair is pulled back low at the nape of her neck. A few loose strands frame her face. She’s dressed simply: jeans, boots, a cool T-shirt, but there’s nothing forgettable about her.

It’s the way she holds herself, like she’s used to being on her own, and she doesn't care about not being a part of anything.

My kind of woman.

I take a sip of my new beer, watching her for longer than I probably should. She glances up and catches me looking.

Most women either smile or look away.

She doesn’t.

Her gaze sharpens slightly, assessing, deciding whether I’m worth the attention. That alone draws me in.

I take my drink with me, sliding onto the stool beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

She turns her head. Her eyes are a soft brown, but there’s nothing soft about the way she studies me. “Seems like you already did.”

I huff a quiet laugh.

“Fair.” I lean my elbow against the bar, angling slightly toward her. “You from around here?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. I mean, I knew she wasn’t from Buckhorn—there’s no one who grew up here that I haven’t crossed paths with at some point—but she gives me nothing.

Interesting.

“What brings you in then?” I ask.

“Work.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Exciting stuff?”

“Depends on the day.”

Again, nothing more than that.