7. Anny
CHAPTER 7
ANNY
I'm standing outside of the Velvet Spur in a black dress that hugs every curve like it was custom-tailored for chaos. The satin catches in the breeze, clinging to me like it's got a personal grudge.
The neckline dips lower than I'm used to. The heels make my calves scream. And being nearly six feet tall in them? I feel like a spotlight is trained on me. There's no blending in tonight. No fading into the background. Not that I ever could.
I tug at the top of the dress then give my reflection in the glass door one last scolding look. Get it together Anny. You can survive three hours.
With that I push through the double doors. The Velvet Spur is glowing. The combination of candles and string lights make it light up like a country music video dream sequence. It’s country living with a touch of elegance. Wildflowers spill from every corner. The scent of roasted vegetables, smoked meat, and Patty June's famous biscuits lingers in the air.
Every cowboy in Sagebrush Creek has squeezed into a dress shirt. The cowgirls on their arms are rocking fringe, micro skirts, and big hair. The silent auction is in full swing, and people are starting to crowd around the paddock gate for the live bidding. The sound of fiddles and faint laughter hums beneath it all.
And then I see him.
Fallon Kingridge is smack-dab in the center of it all. He’s a picture of relaxed arrogance with his head thrown back, laughing at something Callum said. He's holding a beer like it belongs in his hand. The button-down he’s wearing fits him so perfectly it's a sin. The sleeves are rolled just past his elbows and there's a glint in his eyes. It’s a slow-burning charm that draws every woman in the room toward him like moths to a flame.
My stomach does this traitorous flip. Fallon is magnetic. He always has been. But now? He's a wildfire.
I keep moving toward the bar, avoiding the clusters of gossip like landmines. I duck past Brynn Rose and Brandi June, who are definitely watching me with thinly veiled judgment. I should’ve worn my boots. There’s something about this dress and this hair that makes me feel like an imposter.
I head for the bar and grip the edge harder than necessary. My nerves rattle like pennies in a tin can. I’m technically working tonight which means I should be circulating and doing the rounds. I need to make sure everything's running smoothly. But the setup is flawless and it feels like my job here is done. Which leaves only one task left for the night… survive. That’s where the liquid courage comes in.
I'm halfway through my first sip of wine when I feel that low tug in my belly. I glance up completely unsurprised to find Fallon's eyes locked on mine.
Everything stills around me.
His easy smile falters for just a second. His gaze drops, then sweeps over me with slow and deliberate waves. My skin prickles in its wake. His jaw ticks. His expression shifts and I see a flash of something hungry, possessive, and intense.
I can't take it. There's nothing in this room more dangerous than Fallon Kingridge and the way he's looking at me right now. I look away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and pretending like I don't feel his attention burning through the room like a brand. I finish my wine in a single gulp then grab a second glass to go.
The crowd ebbs and flows around me as I make my way toward the auction table. I'm halfway through scanning the bid sheets when I feel him.
That familiar heat coils around me. It’s electric and magnetic. Fallon is a gravitational pull I've never been able to fight. He steps into my space like I’m his to claim and holds out a drink to me.
“A jalapeno peach margarita, extra salt. My favorite and it's not even on the menu.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Where did you even get this?" I ask, the corners of my lips twitching despite myself.
"Sweetheart, I own the place." His wink is slow and lethal.
I roll my eyes, but take the glass, letting my fingers brush his just a little longer than necessary. His touch is warm, rough, and familiar. And damn it, my hand tingles where he touched me. “Well, thank you.”
"You're welcome," he says, voice low, like it's just for me. Then he leans in, arm slipping casually around my shoulders. "Come on. I'll show you the fancy stuff before the auction starts."
I should tell him no. I should step back, excuse myself, and regain my footing. But instead, I nod.
We weave through the crowd together. He walks closer than he needs to. His shoulder brushes mine. The scent of cedar and warm spice wraps around me. He greets people with a nod or a subtle tip of his chin. That’s all it takes for him to charm them.
I swear the men want to be him and the women want to date him. I’m not sure which is worse. But it's like they don't even exist to him. Fallon’s eyes keep cutting back to me. I can't help but feel the thread pulling us tighter with every step.
Fallon doesn't lead me to the silent auction items. Instead, he leads me straight to the dance floor. My heart skitters.
Fallon's arms wrap around my waist as he tugs me flush against him. The music is fast and twangy. It’s soft enough to let the tension between us speak louder. His hands trace the shape of my hips. His fingers graze the curve of my lower back. The heat of his palms burns through the thin satin of my dress and leaves trails of fire wherever he touches.
"You look..." His voice goes hoarse. "You look like a goddamn dream."
I want to scoff. Say something sarcastic. Keep this from meaning too much. But the words get stuck. All I can do is breathe. Fallon doesn’t miss a beat. He spins me away from him and wraps his arms around me from behind.
He leans in and his breath brushes my ear. "I missed you."
It lands in my chest like a hammer. The room spins a little. When I turn to face him, he catches my chin in his palm and tilts my face up toward his. His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw. The look he gives me cracks something open I've been holding shut for years.
"I—" The words catch and I can’t slow my breath.
My throat is too tight. The room is too warm. I pull away from him.
"I’m going to get some air," I mutter, stepping away before he sees the way my ribs are straining against this dress, desperate for space.
I don't wait for him to respond. I push through the doors, the night air slaps me with its cool relief. My heels clack softly against the wooden planks of the porch. I rest my elbows on the railing, tilt my head toward the stars, and let the tension bleed out of my shoulders.
I exhale.
But then I hear it…Boots on gravel. The creak of the door.
Fallon steps into the moonlight like he owns it. My throat burns all over again. I nod because it's all I can do. It’s like he’s been waiting for this moment every damn day since he left.
“You run from everything like that now, ” he says, voice easy. “Or just me?” He steps closer, and this time, he doesn’t ask permission. “You’re cold, ” he murmurs. He lifts his coat and drapes it around my shoulders.
“I’m not.” I should shrug it off. Instead, I melt into it.
The air between us tightens. My chest lifts. His hand brushes my hip. His thumb traces the curve of my waist through the coat. My body sways toward him like it remembers something my mind keeps trying to forget.
He leans in slowly, just enough to make my breath hitch. His nose brushes mine. His lips are right there. My breath hitches, and I don’t know whether to lean in or pull away. My body tenses. If our lips touch, there won’t be any stopping us.
Fallon’s mouth pulls into a smile. “Relax, I just want to finish our dance.”
He wraps his arms around me and tugs me close. We stare at each other as he rocks gently under the stars. My heart leaps into my throat. My pulse is thunder. My skin is on fire.
The unspoken truth between us rings louder than the music inside. There won’t ever be another man for me. It’s Fallon. It’s always been Fallon, and that’s a lot of pressure. But maybe this new Fallon is up for the challenge. Maybe not. But as I lose myself in his eyes, it’s getting harder to come up with a reason not to try.
In a moment of bravery, or maybe stupidity, I decide to tell him how I feel. I inhale through my nose and steady myself…
But I don’t get the chance.
The door behind us bursts open with the force of a barn kicking loose in a storm, and I exhale.
Geoffrey’s silhouette fills the frame. His voice is low and urgent. “Hey, sorry to break up…” He pauses, and his eyes shift back and forth between Fallon and me. He continues with a grin. “Sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is. ”
“It’s not anything, ” I say quickly, stepping back from Fallon like I wasn’t two seconds away from tossing all my common sense off the porch railing.
Geoffrey raises a brow, but wisely decides not to comment. “Right. Well, whatever it isn’t, it’s gonna have to wait. ” He jerks a thumb toward the barn. “Mayor Bellcourt just showed up late and started talking some slick shit about zoning and land use easements. Alex is not having it. ”
Fallon’s whole posture shifts. He steps away from me and jaw tightens as he straightens to his full height. “Shit. ”
“They’re about three seconds from turning the silent auction into a very loud, good old-fashioned barn brawl, ” Geoffrey adds as he rolls up his sleeves.
Fallon’s eyes flick to mine. There’s one last second of something unspoken hanging between us. Then he steps forward. His coat still hangs off my shoulders as he murmurs, “We’ll finish this later. ”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Because I’m already burning again. If I’m not careful, it’s going to be more than I can handle.