Epilogue
Gunner
I’ll be honest, County Line on a Thursday night was never my first choice.
I preferred Sam’s, even if the beer cost a dollar more, but County Line was neutral territory, and Bronc said I had to make myself “seen” here once in a while, let the locals remember whose name ran this county.
So I nursed a Shiner and tried not to look like a wounded animal, even as the local pack girls prowled the shadows, waiting for my scent to slip.
You could tell a lot about a bar from its woodwork.
Sam’s was slick, lacquered, with round corners polished by decades of elbows and bellies.
County Line’s was hard, unfinished, gouged with pocketknives and stained with spilled High Life.
All the barstools had at least one broken rung, and the only thing keeping the beer fridge from toppling over was a cut-up phone book jammed under its front leg.
The whole place stank of desperation and Fritos.
If you wanted to disappear, this was the place to do it.
I watched the dance floor, all but empty this early except for a couple of college kids with dollar bills pinned to their shirts, and a pair of local farmhands doing a lazy two-step with one girl between them.
Usually, I’d be scanning for prospects, but tonight, I had no interest in local talent.
Not when my mind was stuck in a loop over the one girl who’d been driving me crazy since she’d stepped off that plane almost two months ago.
From the jump, she acted like Dairyville was beneath her, like every store was one step away from closing, and the locals were lucky if they could read a stop sign.
She didn’t try to fit in, not once. She tried to exude sophistication.
Except she forgot her daddy was shot dead in a parking garage because of his illegal financial dealings and she and her mama were living on the kindness of strangers now.
The thing that pissed me off most was that it worked. She had every man in the county, wolf and otherwise, noticing her, and lots of the women hated her on sight. It seemed to me she really was just out of control.
I shouldn’t have cared, except for one tiny detail.
My wolf knew her the second she stepped off the plane.
It was like getting hit with a cattle prod—one look at that face, the way her hair whipped in the wind, and every cell in my body screamed, Mate. I tried to fight it, but the truth was, I’d been hard for her since the night I met her, and nothing was going to change that.
It made me mean, and it made her meaner.
Bronc kept sending me over to Parker’s family home to “help out,” as if I was some kind of butler for the pack.
Brie would always answer the door with a look like she’d just stepped in dog shit, and then act like she’d never even heard of a hammer.
Her favorite game was calling me by a famous cowboy name.
Marshall Dillon, Doc Holliday, Jesse James.
The last one she said with a wink, like she knew I’d stolen a candy bar from the Shell when I was nine and felt guilty about it for years.
If I’d been a better man, I’d have stayed away. But I wasn’t, and I didn’t. The only reason I came here tonight was to get her out of my head. It was working about as well as you’d expect.
Two girls from the Sun Valley pack outside of Canyon sidled up next to me at the bar. I recognized them—Kimmie, who ran barrels in high school and had a reputation for biting, and the one called “Kat” even though her real name was Denise. Kimmie flicked her hair and smiled.
“Haven’t seen you in here for a while,” she said, voice honeyed and just a little mean.
“I’m a busy man,” I said.
“You too good for us now, Gunner?” Kat/Denise chimed in.
“I’m good, period,” I said, not giving her the satisfaction of a look.
They made a show of laughing, then retreated to a corner, whispering about me like I was a prize steer at the fair. I didn’t mind. Let them talk.
I took a pull from my Shiner and stared at the old Texas flag nailed to the wall above the pool table.
It had never been new; even the white stripes were a sickly yellow, and the blue was almost gray from decades of smoke.
There was a comfort in things that never changed.
I thought of Bronc’s face, all hard edges and black and silver hair, the way he could clear a bar with just one look.
I wanted that kind of authority. I wanted to be the man people shut up for.
But tonight, all I could think about was Brie and the way she’d tried to get a rise out of me the last time I was sent to their house to fix their air conditioner. She just couldn’t leave me alone and let me get the job done.
She squatted down next to me, not caring if her shorts rode up. “So, is it true what they say about cowboys?”
I felt my face go red, which pissed me off. “What do you mean, what do they say?”
She smiled, slow and sly. “That y’all think you can ride anything.”
It was the first time I’d wanted to kiss her and throw her off the porch in the same heartbeat.
Instead, I fixed the A/C, told her, “You’re welcome,” and drove straight to County Line, where I drank six Shiners and ended up throwing hands with a Hollow Ridge enforcer who thought I was looking at his girl.
Now, two weeks later, here I was again. Same bar, same beer, same obsession with a girl who’d never once looked at me the way I wanted.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Bronc:
Heard you’re at County Line. Don’t do anything stupid.
I thumbed out a reply: Never do.
He answered: That’s the problem. My idea and your idea of stupid seem to differ.
I drained my beer, debated another, then caught a flash of movement in the mirror.
She walked in with Maddie. Bronc’s sister was always up for fun. She had a nose ring and the kind of laugh that made every man within a five-mile radius look up. They were arm-in-arm, ready to have fun or get into trouble. I’d bet on trouble.
She was wearing leather pants so tight they looked like they’d been painted on, and she was clearly dressed to turn heads. It looked like she expected to end up on someone’s Instagram before midnight.
Maddie made her way to the bar and ordered them both whiskey sours and took them back to the hi-top they had commandeered.
I couldn’t stop watching. I hated myself for it, but I was a dog and she was the steak on the table.
Maddie’s eyes went around the room, evaluating the crowd, but Brie just sipped her drink, cool as a movie star.
When the music changed—Luke Combs, of course—she leaned into Maddie, and they started swaying at their table, singing along to the chorus.
She was having a better time than I’d seen since she came to town.
County Line’s dance floor was nothing to write home about—a rectangle of fake wood that warped every time it rained, a handful of tables pushed up against the wall, and a speaker system that made every song sound like it was underwater.
But when a girl like Brie hit the floor, the whole place might as well have been a damn bar on Broadway in Nashville.
The air shifted, and I felt it in the static, the way every male eye zeroed in on her silhouette. She moved like she owned it, hips rolling with every step, her arm slung around Maddie’s waist, both of them laughing as they wove through the bodies already moving to the music.
Brie was a walking violation. The leather pants hugged her so tight it made my teeth hurt.
Her top hung off one shoulder, bare except for a narrow black tank-strap.
The boots had thick heels, but they were tall, which said she liked making an entrance but didn’t plan on running.
Her bob had grown out, and she’d dyed the ends blue, which framed her face every time she whipped her head to the side.
The makeup was dialed up to maximum—black wings at the eyes, gloss on the lips so shiny it caught the light from the neon signs.
On the second song, the beat changed to something slower.
Brie didn’t miss a step—she just rolled her hips a little more, hands over her head, letting her hair fall forward and hide her face.
It should have looked ridiculous, but instead it was hypnotic.
I watched her, one drink deep and already half out of my mind.
That’s when I saw the problem.
Guy was maybe six-three, built like an oil derrick, bald except for a ring of fuzz above his ears.
He wore a Black Rifle Coffee tee stretched tight across his gut and had a tribal tattoo snaking up one arm.
The kind of guy who thought “no means try harder.” He hovered near the edge for a few songs, then made his move—sidled up behind Brie, reached for her waist, and tried to pull her back against his crotch.
She stiffened for a second, then turned and gave him a look that should have put him six feet under. But he didn’t back off. Instead, he grinned, said something I couldn’t hear, and doubled down, his hand low on her hip, his mouth close to her ear.
My wolf went red. Not white-hot, not explosive, but surgical—a scalpel to the brainstem.
I sent a text to Arsenal on instinct: Your sister-in-law is at the County Line with Maddie. Better come get her.
He replied in less than a second: FUCK. We’re on our way.
I didn’t wait for backup. I set down my beer and moved across the room, every step deliberate, every muscle coiled for violence. I never used to be the jealous type, but Brie made me want to fight for her, even if it meant getting my ass kicked.
The crowd thickened near the dance floor, so I had to push my way through.
Kimmie and Kat were already watching, eyes wide, waiting to see if the new drama would end in blood or a hookup.
A few of the college kids noticed me coming and gave me space, but the big man with his hands on Brie didn’t clock me until I was three feet away.
I didn’t make a scene. I just stepped up, put a hand on the guy’s wrist, and squeezed.
He jerked like he’d been grabbed by a pair of vice grips. “What the fuck, man?”
“She’s mine,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Find someone else.”
He sized me up, then noticed the cut—the Iron Valor MC patch, clear as day. His attitude did a 180. He let go of Brie, held up both hands, and backed away with a muttered, “No problem, brother. Didn’t know.”
I slid in behind her, taking the place of “Grabby McHandsy” and started moving with her to the slow groove of the song.
Her body fit against mine like a loaded gun in a custom holster.
I slid my hand lower, catching the strip of bare skin between her tank and her pants, and that’s when it hit us—both at once.
The jolt, the thing no wolf in the world could mistake.
My fingers burned on her stomach, and for a split second, her whole body tensed.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes flicking up to mine, the pupils gone black and wide. We just stared, not moving, letting the song fade into background noise. For the first time since I’d met her, Brie didn’t have a comeback.
Then she found it as she started moving again. “Billy the Kid, fancy meeting you here.”
I groaned. “I’m no outlaw, sugar, but that doesn’t mean I’m the good guy.”
She bit her lip, then twisted in my arms so she was facing me, her hands draped around my neck, pulling me closer.
I felt every inch of her, the way her chest brushed mine, the heat off her skin.
Her perfume was expensive but not too sweet—something floral, but with enough bite that it reminded me of sunburnt grass.
“You always this touchy-feely?” She asked, but her voice was breathy, not accusing.
I ran my thumbs in slow circles over her sides, just above the curve of her hips. “Not usually. You bring out the worst in me.”
She slid her fingers up through the back of my hair, twisting the longer parts, tugging a little just to see if I’d stop her. I didn’t. My wolf liked it; he wanted more.
The rest of the world dropped away. I felt nothing, but her, saw nothing but the blue flicker of her eyes in the dark. I leaned in, close enough to feel her lips brush my cheek, but I didn’t go for the kiss, not yet. I wanted to watch her squirm.
She did.
I glimpsed Arsenal coming through the door then I let my mouth graze the line of her jaw, my stubble scraping her just enough to make her shiver.
Then in a voice barely above a growl I told her, “I don’t know if I want to kiss you.
..or take your pants down and spank your bare ass until it’s red and throbbing. ”
She froze, her brow giving an adorable look of confusion.
Then, I leaned toward her ear. “Your ride’s here, sugar.” And I kissed the top of her head and headed for the door.
As I made my way out of the bar, I heard her call after me. “This isn’t finished, cowboy! Finn Walsh! We’re not done here!”
I stopped, turned, and let her see the smile on my face. I tipped my hat as she’d almost made it to me. “You’re goddamn right, little girl. We’re not done here. Not by a long shot.”