Chapter 6
Cash
Savannah Brooks walks off that dance floor like she’s stomping out sparks -- and hell if it doesn’t make me want to strike another match.
Who does she think she is, ordering me around like I’m some rookie still learning to ride? She’s got rules, schedules, and a voice that could stop a bull mid-charge.
Problem is, I like it. She fits against me like a secret I shouldn’t have learned … soft, perfect, already memorized.
The sway of her hips as she disappears through the crowd shouldn’t hit me the way it does. But it does.
I toss back what’s left of my beer, set the bottle on the table, and start after her. I’m not about to let her walk out thinking she won this round.
She’s by the doorway, tablet clutched like a digital security blanket. I slide in front of her before she escapes.
“Leaving already, sweetheart?” I drawl, letting the word roll slow just to see that flicker in her eyes -- the one caught somewhere between fury and something she doesn’t want to name.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, and I told you I don’t take orders real well.”
Her jaw tightens. “Then maybe start learning, because I’m not your fan club. My job is to keep you out of trouble.”
I lean close enough for her to smell the leather and dust still clinging to me. “Funny thing, I was thinkin’ you were the one draggin’ me into it.”
She exhales, frustrated, eyes darting to the bar where a couple of phones are still lifted. “One more photo of you getting into trouble and Marlene’s gonna have both our hides.”
I smirk, lowering my voice. “Then stop scolding me and start dancin’ again. That’s the shot they’ll remember.”
She blinks, caught off guard, and before she can argue, I take her hand firmly, but not rough, and guide her back toward the floor as the band shifts into another slow number. She quickly places her tablet in her bag and sets it on the dance floor in front of the stage.
Her palm fits against mine like it was made for it. She’s stiff as a fence post at first, fighting every bit of give in her body. I slide my other hand to the small of her back, feel her breath hitch, and that’s when the real fun begins.
“Relax, Brooks,” I murmur against her ear. “Ain’t like I’m gonna bite.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” she mutters.
I grin, moving us in a slow circle. “You really think I’m that bad?”
“I think you like seeing your name in lights more than you like breathing.”
“Maybe,” I say, dipping my head so our hats nearly touch. “But tonight, I can’t stop looking at you.”
Her breath catches again, and I feel her try to steady herself. She’s flustered, fighting it, but I see the truth in her eyes when she looks up at me. She’s full of curiosity, heat, and confusion.
When the song ends, she steps back, breaking contact but not eye contact. “You done proving whatever point you thought you had?”
“Not even close,” I say, tipping my hat. “But you did good, sweetheart. Optics lookin’ fine.”
Her glare could melt steel. “Time to call it a night, Dalton.”
I chuckle low. “Yes, ma’am.”
Savannah spins on her heel and heads for the door, shoulders squared like she’s marching to war.
I follow, still grinning.
Outside, the air hits cooler, scented with hay and dust. The band’s bass thumps through the tin walls behind us. A few people linger around the trucks, lighting cigarettes, laughing too loud.
Savvy keeps walking, heels crunching gravel. “You think this is funny?”
“Little bit,” I admit. “You trying to boss me around like a drill sergeant? Hell, it’s adorable.”
She stops so fast I almost run into her. “This isn’t a joke, Dalton. You can’t just waltz into a bar, drink with half the county, and think your reputation will magically fix itself in the morning.”
“I didn’t waltz. It was more of a two-step.”
She glares up at me, fire sparking in those eyes. Lord, she’s beautiful when she’s mad.
“You’re impossible.”
“Depends who you ask.”
“Try your sponsors. They’re the ones who pay for your pretty boots and that shiny belt buckle.”
I glance down at it, then back at her. “You lookin’ that close?”
Her jaw drops a little, and for a second she doesn’t have a comeback. Sweet mercy, I wish I could bottle that silence.
I lean in just enough to see the pulse jump in her throat. “You care more than you want to admit, Savvy.”
She steps back, shaking her head. “You really think everything’s a flirtation, don’t you? And my name is Savannah.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But I think maybe this is.”
Her eyes flash. “Get in the truck, Dalton. Now.”
I drag it out just to watch her squirm, hands tucked in my pockets. “You ever notice how you keep sayin’ my name like it’s a curse and a prayer all at once?”
“Truck.”
I laugh and move toward it, still feeling that slow burn from the dance. She circles around to the driver’s side before I can reach it.
“Uh-uh,” she says. “You’re not driving. You’ve been drinking.”
“Light beer,” I protest.
“Doesn’t matter.” She holds out her hand for the keys, palm steady, voice firm. “Give them here.”
For a heartbeat, I just stare at her. Not the tight-lipped handler Marlene sent, but the woman who smells like wildflowers. The one who makes me want to test every line she draws.
Finally, I drop the keys into her hand. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when someone needs it.”
She climbs in, starts the engine, and I slide into the passenger seat. The truck rumbles to life.
As we pull onto the dirt road, I glance sideways. She’s focused on the dark highway ahead, jaw tight, hair falling loose.
“Thanks for savin’ my career tonight,” I say, half teasing.
Her eyes glance toward me, then back to the road. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got a reputation to rebuild.”
“Guess I’ll need your help with that.”
She exhales through her nose, that little sound she makes when she’s trying not to laugh. “You need a miracle, Dalton.”
I grin, stretching an arm behind her seat. “Good thing I believe in divine intervention.”
She shakes her head, fighting a smile that finally breaks free. “You are insufferable.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, watching her profile in the glow of the dash. “But you’re still here.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away either. And for the first time tonight, I figure maybe that’s its own kind of victory.