Lennox
lennox
. . .
Through the Dust Sneak Peak
“Fuck the leather, fuck the lace. Cheers to the ones who sit on our face!” I yelled, slamming the bottle on the rickety wooden table before bringing it to my lips. The cold beer hit my tongue, calming the nervous energy fluttering in my veins.
I was met with a declaration of cheers and groans—both, sure signs that my words had done the job.
Cold beer and whiskey were the standards at the Lone Star Bar in Ashwood, Texas. Nothing could ever get better than this—bright, neon lights and music too loud to carry on conversations. Add in the hot-as-hell cowboys walking around the place, and I was set.
There was a reason I was a regular here, and it wasn’t for the cheap alcohol. Tonight was different, though. Or so I told myself.
Every summer, my dad taught at an intensive training clinic that brought in rich folk with horses from around the world. Each session lasted two weeks, and they were held back-to-back over two months.
Today marked the end of the first round, and we were out to celebrate. I’d already clocked at least half of our ranch hands amongst the crowd, drinking, dancing, and laughing their fill. I couldn’t wait to watch them stumble around hungover tomorrow when the next group showed up.
The Lone Star hosted live bands on the weekend. Tonight, there was a local playing who’d made a big name for himself in the music scene. I’d never seen the bar so full. The whole damn town seemed to have showed up. I hadn’t ever heard of him, but I hoped he was good.
My sisters, Josie and Cleo, sat beside me, shaking their heads at my antics. Not that I cared. My toasts had become somewhat of a party trick when I went out—an icebreaker. I couldn’t even remember what started it or where it came from. I grew up around too many foul-mouthed cowboys who had no business speaking the way they did when I was present. I had to do something with all the dirty anecdotes I picked up along the way. Plus, trying to top whatever I said last time was always fun.
Like a little competition with myself, which I always enjoyed.
“That’s sure as fuck something I could toast to,” the tall man to my left chuckled.
“Hear, hear!” I said, leaning over Josie to knock my bottle with his.
Lincoln Carter was a new addition to our little group. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him so far. Dad hired him at the beginning of the summer to help with the clinics, and he’d done a great job the past two weeks. He’d come down from Tennessee and was staying in the bunkhouse with some of the temporary hires Dad had brought on.
What I enjoyed the most, though, was the way he made my sister squirm. Lincoln hovered near the end of the table, conveniently next to Josie, and was having a damn hard time keeping his eyes off her.
On his first day here, Dad had introduced the two of them, but the universe was a funny bitch about things like that. Apparently, they’d had some sort of fling last summer before she’d run off and broken both their hearts in the process.
Ever since Lincoln had shown up, she’d been trying to convince us that there was nothing between them anymore, but anyone in a ten-foot radius saw what a lie that was.
Sure, she technically had a boyfriend, but Ellis Martin was a skeezy dickwad who cared more about making money than he ever did about her. Our whole family hated him, honestly. He had never fit in with us, always looking down on our family and what we did—even though my father was one of the biggest clients at his investment firm.
Now that Lincoln was here, though… Josie had changed. The two of them were like ducklings: where one went, the other followed. I reckoned they’d be knocking boots before the end of the week, if not the end of the night.
“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Cleo groaned. She was smiling, though, so I didn’t take it to heart.
“No, I’m the best,” I said, pointing in her direction. “It’s the reason you keep me around. I’m funny, smart, and pretty as hell.”
“And annoying to boot.”
I slid my gaze toward the green-eyed cowboy sitting across from me. Bishop Bryant sipped at his beer, gripping it tightly in his scarred hand. He had his black felt hat pulled down, concealing him beneath the shadows.
Like, who did he think he was? An outlaw on the run? Get over yourself.
Ugh. Everything about him got on my damn nerves. From his stupidly hot, bearded face—because yes , I was woman enough to admit he was attractive—to the way he always glared at me like I was in the wrong.
Bishop was the epitome of a grump. He was kind of like a mean ol’ bear that’d just come out of hibernation, and I just couldn’t help but poke. I’d known him almost my whole life. He’d come to work on our ranch before graduating high school and spent the past twenty-three years praying at the altar of Black Springs Ranch.
I leaned over the table, smirking as his eyes dropped to my chest. “Is that why you can’t stop staring at me?”
It was dark, but I swore his cheeks heated. “Maybe we should add delusional to the mix, too. I ain’t fucking staring.” He pointed the bottle toward me, and I fought the urge to lick it. It’d be worth it just to see him squirm, but I decided not to for the sake of our company. “And if I am, it’s because you’re too damn loud.”
“It’s a bar, Bishop. If I wasn’t loud, your old man ears wouldn’t be able to hear me.”
He huffed. “Yeah, that’d be really horrible. What a shame.”
I sat back on the barstool, crossing my arms. Again, his gaze dropped to where my forearms pushed up my cleavage. It was only a second, but I saw it all the same. “You know, if you really want to keep me quiet, you could give me something to fill my mouth and shut me up. It’s worked for others in the past.”
Bishop coughed, choking on his beer while I grinned like the Cheshire Cat. He made it too easy to mess with him. Sometimes, my conscience would pop in and say, “ Hey girl, maybe we should take it easy on him ,” but then he’d say something stupid, and I’d throw her advice right out the window.
That mean shit was fine when we were younger. I was a chicken-legged brat running around the barn and asking a million questions, but not anymore. Now I was a twenty-seven-year-old championship barrel racer who didn’t feel like taking shit from an old cowboy with a stick up his ass.
Plus, maybe I liked seeing his cheeks flush with embarrassment when I said some off-the-cuff remark that made him uncomfortable. He should’ve known better by now that if you give me an inch, I’m gonna turn it into a mile .
“Christ, ,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one needs to hear that shit.”
“Is that your problem, Bish? Feeling a little pent-up? Haven’t gotten laid in a while?” I pouted, reaching out to pat his hand. He pulled away quickly, shifting in his seat. Bingo . “You know, that always helps me when I’m feeling wrung too tight. I just go out and find someone who looks like they’ll fuck me really?—”
“Don’t finish that fucking sentence,” he growled.
I raised my brow. “Why? Are you jealous?”
Bishop opened his mouth and closed it, looking more like a fish out of water than a cowboy at a bar. I was preparing to tease him when I heard Lincoln ask Josie to dance. My head turned their way, studying how she swayed gently in her stool. If I were a betting woman, I’d say she was getting ready to turn him down for a dance.
Well… as her loving younger sister, I couldn’t let that happen.
Lincoln stepped back, holding out his hand for her to take. “Well, what do you say?”
“She says yes,” I called out over the music.
Cleo smacked my arm. “Len, stop meddling! She’s an adult?—”
“Yeah, and she’s acting like she’s a child. I don’t see how I’m the problem for pushing her toward something she wants. Isn’t that what you were doing earlier?”
My sister chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, but you can’t just butt into their conversation.”
I shrugged. “I can, and I did.” The sound of stools scraping against the floor caught our attention, and we glanced up, watching Josie place her hand in Lincoln’s. I smiled, turning back to Cleo. “And look! It worked. I don’t know what this family would do without me.”
“Probably stay out of everyone’s business,” Bishop muttered, but I paid him no mind. I didn’t have to look to know his eyes were on me. His attention was hard to get and even harder to ignore.
If he wanted a show, then I’d give him one.
Reaching for my beer, I downed what little was left. Then I straightened my shoulders and pushed up my tits. The night was early, and the live music hadn’t even started. I hadn’t been out in far too long and was ready to let loose.
Yeah, it was going to be one hell of a night.
“What’re you doing?” Cleo asked.
“Is there anything in my teeth?” She shook her head. “What about my lipstick? Is it smudged?”
“No, you’re good?—”
“Great,” I said, not letting her finish. “I’m gonna go talk to that tall drink of whatever over there,” I said, nodding to the man at the next table. “Would’ve been embarrassing to make a bad impression, don’t you think?”
Cleo chuckled to herself. “Whatever you say, sis.”
“Will I see you out on the dancefloor?”
My sister looked down at the bottle between her palms, picking at the peeling label. “I’m married, Len.”
“Yeah, and I like men in Wrangler jeans and Stetsons,” I deadpanned.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.
“My point exactly.”
My sister rolled her eyes. “Well, my point is that I’m not going to ask some random stranger to dance. I don’t want to give them the wrong impression.”
I rolled my lips together, dropping my gaze to my sister’s hand, where she fidgeted with the finger where a simple gold band once sat. It seemed like I was the only one who’d notice the tan line that’d taken its place.
Cleo had recently moved back from helping her supposed husband and his brother at a dude ranch in Montana. When she’d come back alone, she’d made some comment about work keeping him there and her needing to be here, but she never spoke about him—never called him, either.
“I’ll dance with you,” Bishop said, downing his beer. “If you want.”
We both looked at him in shock. Bishop hated dancing. In fact, I was sure he hated anything to do with fun. I could probably count the number of times I’d seen him smile on one hand—maybe two if I really tried.
I reached over the table, placing my hand on his forehead. “Are you sick?”
“What?” He swatted my hand away. “No, I’m not fucking sick. I was just being polite.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m circling back to my original question.”
Bishop pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you such a pain in the ass?”
I batted my eyelashes. “Because it drives you insane.”
Cleo looked between us. “Listen, it’s okay. I’m fine here, and I know it isn’t your scene…”
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s go see if I remember how to dance.”
“I may be more out of practice than you are,” she laughed, walking around the table. He took her hand, leading her to the floor before I could make another comment.
“Perfect!” I called out, forcing my voice to remain steady. “So, I’ll see you out there then!”
There was a time when I would’ve given anything for Bishop Bryant to take my hand and hold me close on the dance floor, but that crush had been killed a long time ago. I wasn’t the same naive little girl I was back then. Besides, I didn’t even want a relationship right now. I’d taken a year off the rodeo circuit after Dad had gotten sick so that I could help around the ranch. Next year, I was hitting the ground running and wasn’t planning on looking back.
Still, I couldn’t deny the ache in my chest that refused to go away as I watched him pull my sister close. He said something, making her laugh as they moved around the enclosed space.
“Heya sweetheart, wanna dance?”
I slid my gaze to the cowboy standing beside me, the same one who’d been making eyes at me from across the table. Up close, he’d lost his appeal. I mean, he was cute in a boyish way—blond hair, blue eyes, and a cocky swagger that I’m sure he thought made him look cool—but there was no edge to him. There was nothing there that screamed, “ I’ll fuck you into a coma .”
But I wasn’t about to sit around and watch everyone else dance when I’d been the one who forced them to go out.
So, I smirked like I always did, hiding my discomfort, and said, “Let’s go cowboy.”