Page 73 of The Cowboy and the Stray

He glanced at me, then away. “You thinking about a new car?”

I hadn’t, actually. It hadn’t crossed my mind. “I guess I should,” I said, knowing damn well I wouldn’t. We hadn't exactly discussed how much he'd be paying me over room and board. It'd probably not be much and take me an eternity to earn enough to get a car.

The rest of the drive was mostly Ash telling stories about bars she’d been thrown out of and Sloane offering a few stories of her own. Calder didn’t talk much. Every so often he’d check the rearview, or switch hands on the wheel, and glance at me. There was something about how quiet he could be that made the rest of us fill up the empty air.

The sun was gone by the time we pulled into the Showdown’s lot. It was a double-wide with a fake facade and Christmas lights strung across the porch. You could hear the music from the road, and the gravel lot was already packed with pickups and two motorcycles that looked like they’d been welded from leftover fence posts.

Ash whooped. “Showtime!”

She jumped out before the engine stopped, leaving the door open. Sloane followed, slinging her purse over her shoulder. I hesitated, then climbed out, and Calder shut his door behind me. I could hear Buck and the others coming up behind us.

We all headed for the door together, and for once, I liked the feeling of not being the only one. The inside of the Showdown was a mess of people and neon and cheap perfume. Every table was full, and the bar was two deep with old guys in hats and women with hair so big it blocked the light. There were dartboards, a single pool table with two legs propped on bricks, and a stage at the far end where a country cover band shredded through a version of “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” that made Shania Twain sound like a funeral march.

Ash made a beeline for the dance floor, dragging me and Sloane with her. The music was too loud for talking. We threw ourselves into the noise, the lights, the press of bodies. At first, I hung back, but Ash had this way of moving that made me think I could do it too, and Sloane, for all her ice, could actually dance. After two songs, I stopped caring what I looked like. I laughed until my jaw ached.

I found myself drinking a beer I didn’t order, courtesy of Buck, who kept sliding by to check on us. The Maddox cowboys hovered at the edge of the room, but Ash pulled each one in for a dance, except for Calder, who stayed at the bar. I caught him watching us. He raised his bottle in a toast, and I ducked my head.

There was a moment, maybe halfway through the night, when Sloane and Ash left me alone on the dance floor for about ten seconds. I stood there, swaying, not sure what to do, when a guy in a pressed button-down came up and offered a hand. “You look like you could use a real man to dance with,” he said. He was taller than me by half a foot, blond and clean-cut, but had the beer gut of a man twice his age.

I was already tipsy, and not in the mood for macho bullshit. “What, that’s supposed to be you?”

He looked taken aback. “I mean, if you want.”

“I don’t,” I said, and started to walk off.

He caught my wrist, hard. “Hey, don’t be like that. It’s just a dance.”

I froze. For a second, I forgot where I was, forgot who I was, just remembered every time a man grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go.

But before I could say or do anything, Calder was there. He didn’t say a word, just squared up, and his fist cracked across the man’s nose so fast I didn’t see it. Blood sprayed, the man staggered back, and the whole bar went still for half a second.

Then the guy’s buddy lunged, and everything went to hell.

The brawl was quick and dirty. Buck waded in and headlocked a man half his size. Ash grabbed a pool cue and swung it like a baseball bat, connecting with someone’s thigh. Sloane, who I’d never seen fight, took a glass of beer and smashed it over someone’s head. In the chaos, I tried to duck, but got spun into a table that went over, beer and bodies tumbling everywhere.

It was the most fun I’d had in a year.

Within three minutes, the bouncer, an actual mountain with arms, cleared the room. He picked up Buck by the collar and tossed him onto the porch. The rest of us followed, laughing, bleeding, or both. Sloane had a scrape on her cheek. Ash had a black eye forming, but she wore it like a badge of honor.

Calder looked at me. “You okay?”

I nodded, but my heart was going so fast I could barely stand still. “I’m good.”

He wiped at his knuckles, checking for blood. “Sorry about that.”

“For what?” I said. “You missed his teeth.”

He grinned, a real one this time.

The ranch hands regrouped on the bar's porch and compared bruises.

But then, as I turned to head for the trucks, I saw him.

A man stood at the edge of the lot, arms crossed, leaning against the shadowed wall. He was still, but not casual, like a cat waiting to pounce. He had the kind of stillness that makes your skin crawl.

I stared, unable to move as he stepped into the light.

Lance. Oh, my god. It was Lance. How could I have been so stupid to let myself think he wasn’t going to come after me? I should’ve known things were going too good. Since when would the universe let me have a break?