8. Violet
Chapter 8
Violet
I take my time putting on my makeup and fluffing my hair, which fills me with a new confidence I haven’t had for a while. In fact, I can’t remember when I last felt good like this without looking over my shoulder at someone telling me I need to look and dress a certain way and knocking me down repeatedly.
A knock at my door has me quickly finishing up my bright red lipstick and dropping it in my purse as I stroll over to open it.
Cami grins at me, her hair pulled up in a high sleek ponytail. “Well, look at you, hot stuff.”
She must be the most naturally beautiful woman with her dark almond eyes and high cheekbones. Her makeup is beautifully applied, but she probably doesn’t even need it. She’s gorgeous.
“You look pretty great yourself.” Cami has on tight jeans and a black halter top that shows off her ample cleavage, and her expertly done smoky eye and cat eye liner I’d kill for the precision to do perfectly. Everything about Cami screams strong black cat energy, and I really like her .
“Thanks, and you’ll have to play some songs for us.” She points to the guitar case in the corner. “We could use some live music down at the Black Dog. It gets boring in there with that old jukebox Walker refuses to update. Do you play professionally or just for fun?” she asks as she sits in one of the chairs and crosses her long legs.
“Umm, for fun, I guess.” I shrug. That part of my life isn’t there anymore, and I don’t feel like explaining it to anyone. It’s humiliating, and I’m just not going there. Ever. Music will just be for me now until I figure out what to do with my life.
Luckily, she chats with me all the way to the Black Dog about music that we both like.
We walk in and head to the back where the ladies have already begun to gather around a big table.
“Hey, everyone.” I smile and slide up next to Poppy on a stool.
“Hey, glad you could make it!” Poppy says.
“Thanks, me too,” I say as Cash brings over a tray of lemon drops and slides them onto the table.
“For the ladies,” he says as he smiles at Maggie who gives him a thumbs up.
We all toast to girls’ night and take our shots. I decline because I’m not a big lemon drop fan, more of an every now and then whiskey girl, but it feels good to be a part of girls’ night with all of them. Maggie was right. I needed to get out and meet some new people.
I glance over at the bar a few times to try to see if he’s here, and he’s not. Maggie notices and leans over and says, “He’s probably in the back.”
I look at her and say innocently as I sip my water. “Who?”
She smirks at me. “You know who.”
“Anyone seen Walker?” Cami asks from across the table as she glances around .
“Who?” I ask again, as I sip my drink and look around at the table, hoping I’m playing it cool. But who am I kidding, I’m not even close to being cool when it comes to him.
“Walker?” Cami says. “Have you met him? Mack’s dad.”
Maggie tilts her head and gives Cami a look, and Cami closes her mouth as if she suddenly remembers something and says, “Never mind.”
So, he’s a dad. Holy shit. To a kid who Maggie talked about being in high school. He said he wasn’t married, but he didn’t mention having a kid. Interesting. I look at Maggie, and she stares straight ahead as if she doesn’t want to make eye contact with me. She and Walker must be very close friends if she’s keeping him private like this. Even with me.
Cami turns as the door opens, and her eyes narrow when she sees a man walk in. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she seethes.
Two younger guys come in, and one of them comes up and puts his arm around Cami and gives her a hug. “Hey, sis.”
That one must be Ollie.
Ollie looks like the kind of man who belongs on the cover of a firefighter charity calendar. He has the effortless rugged look of a man who spends his days hauling heavy hoses, scaling ladders, and running straight into danger without hesitation. His dark hair, thick and just a little unruly, looks like it’s been messed up with his fingers. The ends curl slightly at his neck, giving him an almost boyish charm. He seems like a big flirt.
So far, the men of Bridger Falls are in a spectacular league of their own.But there’s only one I still have my eye on.
“Hi, Ollie,” she grumps. “Why’d you have to bring him here?”
“Don’t be rude, is that any way to treat your neighbor?” Ollie scoffs as he takes a sip of Poppy’s soda. Poppy makes room on her seat, and he leans in, sitting with her.
“He’s not my neighbor, he’s Satan reincarnated,” she says with disdain as she looks at the man standing next to her brother grinning. He must be the one they were talking about who came back to run his family’s ranch.
“Cami, you are looking beautiful as ever,” Jack, the man she apparently despises, says as he smiles at Cami, goading her.
Cami glares back at him, taking a sip of her cocktail, “Die, Jessop.”
I snort at their banter.
“Where’s your boyfriend tonight, Cami?” Jack asks as he gives her a sarcastic smile.
“In my trunk. Want to join him?” she clips.
Jack snorts and shakes his head laughing. “Jesus, Cami.”
Jack and Ollie pull up chairs and join us even though Cami shoots daggers at him across the table.
Music plays on the jukebox, and drinks are being poured, and I’m having a great time with all of them. I’m glad I came out for girls’ night which seems to have turned into a fun night for a lot of the locals.
Poppy and I play a game of darts, which I’m terrible at. She kicks my butt twice and then plays with Ollie while I make my way back to the table.
The conversation turns to astrology, and Maggie reads everyone their horoscope for the evening from her phone, and we laugh about the results when they line up just right for each of us.
“What’s your sign?” I ask Cami.
“A warning sign,” Jack says as he leans forward and boops her nose with his finger.
“Fuck off,” Cami glares at him but he only grins even bigger in return.
I laugh at Cami and Jack’s antics before the energy changes around me, and I look over to see him.
Walker.
I’m not in a hurry to move. Not when I have the perfect opportunity to just look and see him in action.
Walker stands with the kind of presence that commands attention without asking for it—broad and steady, with an effortless confidence that comes from knowing exactly who he is. There’s no pretense about him, no polished edges, just him—all raw masculinity wrapped up in faded denim and quiet intensity.
The same way he was in bed with me, and I clench my thighs at the memories.
His black t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the cotton clinging to a chest that is every bit as solid as it looks. The sleeves hug his biceps just right, the definition in his arms impossible to ignore as he lifts a hand to adjust the black cowboy hat perched low on his head. A worn leather belt, the silver buckle dulled with age, anchors his well-worn jeans, the fabric faded in all the right places.
And Lord, those jeans. They fit him like sin, sitting low on his hips.
My gaze trails back up, drinking in the rough stubble along his jaw—just enough to make him look rugged, like he didn’t bother to shave this morning. Like he woke up and ran a hand through that dark, slightly tousled hair, shoved on a hat, and walked out the door without giving a damn that he looks that good.
My stomach does an unsteady little flip, heat curling in my chest before sliding lower.
Because good is an understatement.
His warm hazel eyes, rich and deep, shift toward me, the kind that carry stories and secrets, and my breath catches, just for a second. I remember the way those same eyes darkened when he knelt in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs, his breath warm against my skin.
My cheeks flush at the memory.
And maybe it’s the way he’s here now, or maybe it’s just the sheer force of him, standing there looking at me.
He says something to Cash, and they share a laugh. He helps a few customers at the bar and looks up as he’s making drinks. I give him a smirk. He shows no response and continues to make drinks and engage with people at the bar. I just want him to look at me. And he’s not. And I don’t know why that matters to me, but it does.
Alright, Cowboy.
I saunter over and smile hesitantly at him as I approach. He doesn’t smile back but his head tilts slightly. “What can I get you, Red?”
“I’m sorry,” I admit, sheepishly. “Can we start over?”
“Nope,” he says as he pours another beer and slides it down to Cash who watches us curiously as he mixes up a cocktail.
“Why not?” I slide onto the stool and lean forward on my elbows.
His eyes gaze at my exposed cleavage underneath my black sleeveless shirt and back to my eyes and he looks away, “We can’t go backwards. Only forward.”
“But wouldn’t that be what starting over is? Like a clean slate moving forward?”
He watches me for a few beats and says, “That would be like pretending nothing happened. Is that what you want, Red?”
“Yes,” I say. Then I think about what he just said. Shit. No. I don’t ever want to forget about that night. I’ll never be able to forget about that night.
And from Walker’s wrinkled brow, I’m not sure he can either.
And based on his reaction to my answer, I don’t think that was the right thing to say.
Back to square one.