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This girl’s got no damn business being here. In our town. In our bar. Especially when she could get hurt.
Still, I can’t help but stare, my eyes drawn to her long tan legs, the pink pout of a rosebud mouth, the gentle curve of her hip. Plain and simple, she’s fucking stunning.
She practically skips by our table. That’s when I catch a whiff of her perfume. Christ, is that how she smells? Like strawberries? And how small is she? If I held her in my arms, she’d what? Barely come up to my shoulder?
Jesus. Regroup Charlie.
Even Davis, gentleman that he is, manages an exorcist head spin. I grip the table. It’s all I can do not to adjust the position of his head on his neck.
What the fuck is the matter with me? I need to get laid, because I’m turning into some horny, territorial teenager all over again.
Now the girl’s at the bar, trying to get Beef’s attention. He barks at her, fixing her with a look as mean as a rattlesnake, but she holds her ground, her pink mouth moving. Her hands flutter as she raises the sign. What’s she doing here? Clearly, in need of a job, but why the hell is she in Resurrection?
As she tries to push her way through the bar, following Beef, she keeps getting manhandled by the rowdy crowd. I try to avert my eyes, try not to see the wince flitter across her face, the way she rubs at her chest, the flush of her cheeks.
Scared. Now, she’s scared.
Cowboy code says help her out.
Help her out and then get her gone.
“Fuck.”
Beating Davis, I shove my chair back. Hard.
Someone has to rescue this doe-eyed Disney Princess before the entire bar eats her alive.
The minute I smell the stale beer and hear the country music, I know I’m in heaven.
Resurrection, Montana.
The name alone conjures images of tough-as-nails cowboys getting gunned down in the streets, while silk-gartered saloon girls in the balcony hope for a wild night.
Judging by the look of this bar, it’s not too far divorced from the past. Bikers clad in leather vests, girls with tattoos at the jukebox. Rugged and dusty and exactly the type of experience I want to have.
I chose Resurrection because of the name. I’m sure the original founders wanted it to instill gloom and terror in the heart of the residents, but to me, it’s hopeful. Like flowers, things die but still live on. Main Street charmed me with its little boutiques and historical buildings and Wild West vibes. And the mountains. They’re the most jagged piece of serenity I’ve ever seen.
Exploring can’t come soon enough. I can’t wait to make this town mine, even for a brief time.
But that’s tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I intend to find a doctor and refill my prescription and find a place to live. Tonight is for a job.
Once again, I try to get the bartender’s attention. He opens beers and mixes Jack and Coke with a surly attitude.
“Excuse me, sir?” Standing on tiptoes to see better, I wave the cardboard sign. “Mr ... uh—”
“Beef.” His vocal cords sound like someone grated them.
“Beef. Of course.” I inhale. “I have this sign here that says you’re hiring, and I was wondering if ...” Beef’s moving down the long line of the bar, leaving me in his dust.
Jerk. I tap a toe, considering my options.
I am not on this earth to have doors slammed in my face.
I am here to open all the doors.
Even if it is in some rowdy honky-tonk in the middle of Montana.
