Hero Mine (Linear Tactical: Oak Creek #5)

Prologue

Friday nights at the Eagle’s Nest bar and grill were a full-contact sport. The kind that required fast hands, a sharp tongue, and a solid pair of boots you could sprint, slide, and sidestep in.

Joy Davis wore her favorite pair—scuffed and well-worn, the leather softened from years of mischief. Her feet ached. Her braid was slipping loose. Her hands smelled like fries, grease, and beer.

And she was loving every second of it.

She’d worked here in one capacity or another for the past seven years—since she was sixteen. Knew every spot that squeaked on the worn wooden floor. Had carved her initials into the corner of the server’s station one night when she was bored during a snowstorm.

The bar was packed, country music pulsing under the hum of conversation. It was loud, messy, and alive—just the way she liked it. She spun between tables with practiced ease, one tray balanced on her hand, the other stealing a bottle from a customer who thought he’d serve himself.

“You try that again, Cooper, and I’m charging you double,” she said with a wink.

The older ranch hand grinned sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me unless you’re tipping me like one.”

A burst of laughter followed her to the back, where she dumped the tray on the bar and let herself exhale for half a second.

Her friend and temporary roommate Sloane Miller stood at the drink station, eyes tired, one hand discreetly pressed to her stomach. She wasn’t showing yet—barely three months along—but Joy knew that look. That mix of exhaustion, nausea, and emotional whiplash.

Sloane was trying to keep it together.

Joy took one look at her and tossed a clean rag in her direction. “You’re running on fumes, roomie.”

Sloane rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve yawned four times in ten minutes. I’m counting.”

Sloane pressed her lips together. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I just want things to work out between Callum and me.”

Joy softened. “Hey. You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, no matter what.”

Sloane gave her a watery smile. “I know.”

Joy reached over and squeezed her hand. “Auntie Joy for the win. I’m gonna teach that baby to climb trees, eat cookie dough straight out of the bowl, and cuss creatively by age five.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a menace with a big heart.”

“You’re also the reason we’ve had three beer towers knocked over this month.”

Joy shrugged. “Worth it.” She nudged Sloane toward the back. “Seriously. Go. Rest. Let me carry the chaos. It’s my superpower.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Sloane hesitated for a beat then nodded. “Okay. Thank you. Callum wants to give me a ride home, start this wooing plan he’s talking about.”

“You deserve to be wooed more than anyone.” They hugged, and Joy held her tight. They’d become such close friends in a short amount of time. “I’ll see you there in a couple hours.”

As Sloane slipped out into the night, Joy watched the door close behind her and turned back toward the bar.

And there he was.

Bear Bollinger.

Leaning against the bar, towel in hand, black T-shirt hugging broad shoulders and a worn baseball cap turned backward. Oak Creek’s quietest heartthrob. Mechanic by day, occasional bartender by night, and the reason Joy had nearly walked into the kitchen door three times this evening.

His eyes tracked her as she moved through the room, unflinching. She felt his stare like static against her skin—warm and electric and impossible to ignore.

She dropped her tray at the bar and rested her elbows on the counter. “So, how do I rate? You’re slinging drinks on my shift twice this week. Trying to impress me?”

Bear didn’t miss a beat. “Trying to make sure you don’t kill anyone.”

“Please. I’ve only broken one guy’s nose in my whole tenure of working here. And that was a misunderstanding.”

“You punched him in the face.”

She shrugged. “He grabbed my ass.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sinful smile. “Should’ve hit him harder. Now, get back to work.” He slid the glasses toward her, then leaned in, voice pitched low for only her to hear. “You keep staring at me, Bug, and you’re going to make me forget what shift I’m working.”

Her breath caught. Then she leaned closer, resting one hand on the bar, her voice syrup-sweet. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

His smile deepened. “Not pretending anything.”

She grabbed the drinks, ignoring the spike of heat in her belly. “Good. Then don’t get jealous when I flirt with table seven.”

“You flirt with everyone,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Except me.”

“That’s because you don’t count,” she shot back with a smirk.

Bear arched a brow. “Oh, sweetheart… I count.”

God help her, he did.

And tonight, everything in her buzzed with the certainty that the waiting—years of bad timing and too-long glances—was almost over. First, she’d been too young. Then, he’d been overseas. And then, her parents had died.

But now…

Now, she was twenty-three, finally steady. And Bear? He’d been watching her the same way she’d watched him for a long damn time.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they were playing with matches. Both knowing the spark was seconds from igniting. And when it happened—when they finally gave in—it wasn’t going to be slow, or sweet, or tentative.

It was going to be a wildfire.

Joy’s lips curved, heat rising beneath her skin. She spun away from the bar, delivering drinks with extra sass, adding a little sway to her hips, and maybe tossing a wink at table seven after all—just to see if Bear noticed.

He did.

His eyes tracked her like a hawk every time she crossed the floor. And damn it, she loved it.

They made it to the final stretch of the night with only a few minor spills, three people cut off, and one guy who insisted on singing “Friends in Low Places” off-key until Joy threatened to ban karaoke forever.

Classic Oak Creek.

By the time last call came and went, the bar was half empty, tables cleared, and Bear was stacking chairs. Joy wiped down the last table and tossed her rag onto the counter. They were finally alone.

The quiet after the crowd felt intimate. Charged. Like the building itself knew something was about to happen.

She leaned against the bar, watching Bear toss the last chair upside down on the table. “You always this handy?”

He looked over at her, gaze slow and heated. “You have no idea.”

She bit her lip.

He stepped toward her, and her pulse kicked up.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

“For what?”

“To walk home.”

To combust.

“Yeah.” She grabbed her bag and followed him out into the cold night. Bear always walked her home when they worked together. Only, tonight, the air between them was different.

Buzzing.

She skipped ahead of him, practically vibrating. “You always walk this slow?”

“Pretty sure you’re the one skipping.”

She twirled in the streetlight’s glow, arms out, laughing. “I’m in a good mood.”

He grinned. “You’ve been in a good mood since you were born. I remember you skipping through town when you were ten. Running down Main Street barefoot, scaring tourists.”

“I’ve evolved. Now, I wear shoes.”

“Still wild.”

She spun in a slow circle on the sidewalk. “You like wild.”

When they reached her porch, she didn’t stop to think. She just grabbed his shirt, tugged him down, and kissed him.

Hot. Hard. Everything she’d been waiting for. It wasn’t their first kiss overall, but it was their first kiss in this new stage of their relationship.

He groaned, pressing her against the door, hands braced on either side of her head. His mouth moved over hers like he’d been starving for it. When they finally broke apart, her lips were swollen, her body humming.

“I want to invite you in,” she whispered, breathless. “God, I want to. But Sloane’s there, and?—”

Bear kissed her again, slower this time, stealing the rest of her thoughts.

Then he pulled back, his voice low. “Your time without me is almost up, Bug.”

She sagged against the door, grinning like an idiot. “That supposed to be a threat?”

He stepped back, giving her one last wink before turning. “No. Promise.”

She watched him walk away, heat curling in her belly, heart pounding. Damn that man. Sexy as hell and finally hers.

She turned the key in the lock and slipped inside, not knowing this would be the last few hours she’d ever feel this carefree.

This whole.

This untouched.

Not knowing her whole life was about to shatter.