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The dude laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. He waved a hand. “You’re good.”
To Butch’s somewhat uncultivated ear, he sounded as though he hailed from the east coast. “You seem to be a long way from home.”
And I’m a long way from sober.
Not long enough but the night was young. Everyone would still be square-dancing back at the ranch: the boss was throwing a huge party, but Butch doubted he’d be missed.
Diana certainly wouldn’t miss him. She was probably too busy getting used to being Mrs. Newt Webster, not that he begrudged Diana her new life. What stung most was that he’d have to search for alternative…entertainment? Exercise?
Yeah, I ain’t no nice guy.
The guy laughed. “Guilty. I live in Boston. I’ll be transferring here next month, so I thought I’d check the place out.”
“You got a job in Livingston?” It wasn’t a huge town from the little Butch had seen of it—seven thousand people or thereabouts—andhewas only there because no one from Salvation ever ventured into Livingston, and if he was gonna get drunk, the last thing he wanted was spectators.
“In Billings.”
“What kind of job?”
The guy’s cheeks flushed. “Insurance.” When Butch didn’t offer an opinion, he rolled his eyes. “I know, right? I can barely sit still for excitement.”
Butch snorted. “Hey, it’s your life, dude. Why’re you being transferred?”
“Let’s just say I wanted a move, and leave it at that.” He nodded toward Butch’s empty glass. “What’ll you have? Another whiskey?”
Butch blinked. “Youhavebeen watchin’ me, haven’t ya?” He grinned. “Sure. Gotta keep the tank topped up, right?”
The guy laughed. “I think your tank is doing just fine.” He signaled to the bartender. “Two whiskeys, please.” When the bartender turned to grab a bottle, the guy shifted closer, nudging his stool toward Butch’s. “Okay…. Who are you drinking to forget?”
“Who says I am?” Butch retorted.
“You’ve got this look about you.” He propped his head in his hand. “So? What’s her name?”
Butch sighed. “That isn’t it at all.”
“Then acquaint me with your tale.” He aimed a hard stare at Butch. “Only, if we’re going to swap stories and buy each other drinks—youaregonna buy me a drink, aren’t you?”
“You bet.” The dude was starting to grow on him.
“Well okay then. If we’re doing this, at least tell me who I’m talking to.”
Butch held his hand out. “Butch Buchanan.”
The guy straightened and they shook. “Race Prettyman.”
Butch froze. “You’re shittin’ me. That your real name?”
Race nodded. “The hardest part is making sure I live up to it.” He cocked his head. “How’m I doing?”
Butch chuckled. “I guess you’d pass for pretty.” Race had lashes that Diana would kill for, thick and long, framing his milk chocolate-brown eyes.
“My mom entered me in one of those Beautiful Baby contests when I was a kid. Back then I had thick curly hair. I look at the photos and I swear, I could’ve been a girl.”
Butch glanced at the wide chest, the denim-encased muscled thighs. “No one could say that now,” he murmured.
Their drinks arrived, and they clinked glasses.
“To a new town, and you forgetting your troubles.”
