Curvy Girl and the Bad Boy Cowboy (Cedar Falls: Cowboys #5)

Chapter 1 - Ethan

The neon lights of The Rusty Nail cast a blue haze over the bar as I drain my fourth—or maybe fifth—beer of the night. Country music thrums through the speakers, barely audible over the laughter and chatter of the few patrons still hanging around this late.

"And then Vincent had the nerve to tell me I shouldn't be staying out past midnight on weeknights," I say, slamming my empty bottle down harder than intended. "Like I'm supposed to check in with him now."

Max chuckles, his firefighter's badge glinting under the dim lights as he leans against the bar. "That's what happens when you become a dad, I guess."

"He's not my dad," I grumble. "He's my brother who suddenly thinks he's responsible because he's raising a five-year-old."

"Lucy is pretty cute though."

"Not the point." I motion to Darla, the bartender, for another round. "It's like they're all part of some secret club now. Vincent with Charlotte and little Lucy. Aaron with his mail-order bride—"

"Elena," Max corrects. "And you know she hates when you call her that."

"Fine, Elena. Then there's Jackson with Sarah, which—don't get me wrong—I've been rooting for them to get together since high school. And Cole..." I shake my head. "Cole with Luisa and her kid, who literally just showed up on our doorstep a month ago."

Darla slides two more beers our way. "Last call, boys. We're closing in twenty."

"Thanks." I wink, and she rolls her eyes, immune to my charm after years of the same routine.

Max clinks his bottle against mine. "To being the last single Covington standing."

"It's not even that I mind them being happy," I continue, the beer making my thoughts spill out unfiltered. "It's just suddenly I'm getting lectures about 'ranch responsibility' and 'growing up sometime' and 'maybe not tracking mud through the house at 2 AM.'"

"Tragic," Max deadpans.

"You don't get it because you live alone."

"I get plenty of responsibility lectures from Chief Miller, thank you very much."

A group of girls we know wave from the dance floor, and Max raises his eyebrows "Speaking of staying irresponsible..."

Ten minutes later, we're twirling Missy Jenkins and her friends around the sticky dance floor. I'm not drunk enough to forget these are the same girls we've been dancing with since senior year and not sober enough to care that nothing ever changes in Cedar Falls.

By closing time, we stumble out into the cool Cedar Falls night, the stars stretching endlessly above us. The crisp air hits my lungs, a refreshing change from the beer-soaked atmosphere inside.

"Look at that sky," Max says, tilting his head back so far he nearly topples over. "God, I love nights like this. And tomorrow I'm sleeping till noon. No alarms, no emergencies, just me and my bed having a beautiful reunion."

I laugh, but there's an edge of envy to it. "Must be nice. Jackson will be banging on my door at 7 AM sharp. 8 if he's feeling generous."

"Tell him to shove it."

"Easy for you to say. You don't live with four brothers who think because they've all found 'the one,' I need to fall in line too."

We walk—more like zigzag—down Main Street, our shadows long under the streetlights. The town is dead quiet except for our boots scuffing against the pavement.

"You know what your problem is?" Max says, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

"Please enlighten me."

"You're jealous."

I shrug him off. "I am not jealous of my brothers being tied down."

"Not of that," Max says. "You're jealous they've found something that makes them want to wake up at 7 AM. You're still sleeping till noon because you've got nothing better to do."

"That's..." I start to argue, but the words die in my throat. "That's ridiculous. I love my freedom."

"Sure you do, buddy." Max grins. "But one day, some woman's gonna walk into your life and mess up all those plans of yours. And I'm gonna laugh my ass off when it happens."

"Never," I declare, spreading my arms wide to the empty street. "Ethan Covington is a free spirit. I don't need anyone telling me when to come home or how to live my life."

Max chuckles. "We'll be young forever, right? Nothing else matters."

"Damn straight," I nod, raising an imaginary glass to the universe. "Youth and freedom—the only things worth having."

Max laughs and punches my arm. "Damn, you're poetic when you're drunk."

"I'm just saying," I smirk, "for someone giving me so much crap about ending up tied down, you're talking an awful lot about feelings tonight. Better be careful, or you'll end up in love next."

"Me?" Max snorts. "You're out of your damn mind."

"I've seen it happen to better men than you."

"No way." He shakes his head firmly. "My whole life is the fire department. You know that. Chief Miller was the only one who helped me after everything with my dad. Took a scrawny troublemaker and made something out of me. I'm not trading that for any girl."

"Who says you have to trade anything?" I counter, surprising myself with this sudden defense of relationships. "If you find the right girl, you can do both."

"Look at you defending romance now." Max squints at me suspiciously. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ethan Covington?"

"Just playing devil's advocate," I shrug. "Someone's gotta keep you honest."

Max checks his watch and lets out a low whistle. "It's almost two. I should head home."

"Lightweight."

"Some of us actually care about not feeling like death tomorrow." He gives me a quick, backslapping hug. "Get home safe, idiot."

"Always do."

We part ways at the intersection of Pine and Main, Max heading toward his apartment above the hardware store while I continue straight toward the outskirts of town where the Covington ranch sprawls across five hundred acres of the finest land.

The walk home is about twenty-five minutes, thirty if I'm dragging like tonight. Most people would call a cab or arrange a ride, but I've always loved this solitary journey. The road stretches empty before me, bordered by tall pines on one side and open fields on the other: no cars, no people, just me and the night.

The stars punch through the darkness overhead, impossibly bright away from town lights. The Milky Way streaks across the sky like spilled paint. If I were any good at writing, I'd capture this feeling—the perfect combination of beer buzz, cool night air, and absolute freedom.

Instead, I just drink it in, knowing these are the moments I'll miss if I ever let myself get tied down.

By the time the ranch house comes into view, my buzz has faded to a pleasant warmth. I'm surprised to see a light still on in the living room. Usually, the house is dark by midnight—one of many changes since everyone started pairing off.

I climb the porch steps as quietly as possible, wincing at every creak of the old wood. When I push open the front door, I'm hit with the unexpected tableau of my oldest brother, Jackson, sitting on the couch with—

"Naomi?"

She turns, her short dark hair swinging across her cheekbones. Even in the low lamplight, I can see the familiar curves that I've had my hands all over more than a few times this year already.

"Ethan," she says, and there's something in her voice I can't place.

I look between her and Jackson, confusion mounting.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you here at—" I check my watch, "—two-thirty in the morning?"

Jackson stands up, and I immediately notice the absence of his usual smirk or easy smile. His face is set in hard lines, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Jackson?" I prompt, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

Naomi rises too, smoothing down her skirt. She's still in her work clothes, the light blue polo with "Sweet Somethings Bakery" embroidered on the breast.

My beer-addled brain struggles to make sense of the scene. Naomi had wanted more—relationship, commitment, all the things I'd explicitly told her I couldn't give her. We'd had fun for a while, but when she started dropping hints about meeting my family and making things official, I'd backed away. Fast.

A horrible thought strikes me, and I tap my forehead dramatically.

"Oh god," I blurt out, "are you here to tell me you gave me some kind of sexual disease? Because I've been feeling fine, but if there's something I should know—"

Jackson's expression darkens further, and Naomi's eyes go wide with something between shock and disgust.

"Jesus Christ, Ethan," she whispers.

And somehow, I know whatever she's about to say next is going to change everything.