Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DELLA
PRESENT DAY
I get to the bar in West Lancaster, the Brass Terrier, just as they’re closing. There’s a blonde woman wiping down the counters when I walk through.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I’m looking for somebody,” I say. “Jensen. He’s working on a job for me.”
She gives me a long look. Then, she shrugs, reaching over to turn off the neon sign. “He’s at the stockyards. Fifty-five, South Ave.”
“Oh,” I say. “Can I walk there?”
“You can. Just cut through the backyards. It’s at the bottom of the hill from the water tower.”
It’s a miracle I make it in the dark, but the tower is lit up with a spotlight.
All I have to do is scramble through backyards and down alleyways until I get close.
Underneath the tower sits two rows of metal roofing strung with lights.
I can hear the crowd before I see it—or smell it.
Everything smells like livestock out here.
It’s so crowded and hectic, nobody bothers me when I slip under the caution tape around the pole barn supports.
There’s a counter on the far side selling drinks.
Barrels are set up at all four corners, flames flickering from the round mouths.
It’s hotter than hell in here, the dust rising from the ground, choking me.
Sweat etches down between my breasts, staining the front of my dress.
I have a picture of him, but it’s from twenty years ago. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Head down, I make it to the bar. The bartender gives me the up-down glance from above his handlebar mustache and leans in.
“You in the wrong place, sweetheart?” he asks.
“I’m looking for a man by the name of Jensen,” I say.
He leans closer. “What now?”
“I’m looking for Jensen Childress,” I shout.
He startles. “Jesus, you don’t need to yell. He’s in the ring.”
I follow where he’s pointing, to the partitioned section at the center.
It’s surrounded by people, shoving and shouting.
My heart picks up. I might have grown up scrappy, but I’m out of my depth here.
The tent is mostly men, some with women glued to their sides.
Everything smells like beer and way too much testosterone for my taste.
I just hope there’s enough people around that nobody tries anything with me.
Slowly, I weave through moving bodies, closer and closer, until I’m standing on the other side of a circle of neon tape.
There are two men on the ground. Instead of dirt, there’s a plywood board laid out for them to fight on.
One of them, a man with a buzzcut, is falling hard.
The other is swinging, knocking out the first man with a fist wrapped in what looks like medical tape.
The referee hovers over them. The room is in an uproar, growing louder by the second.
The buzzcut man taps out. Right away, the other man helps him to his feet. They embrace, shake hands, and the referee helps Buzzcut out of the ring. The winner makes a slow circle, turning until I can get a good look at him.
Oh God.
Right away, I can tell this is an older version of the young man in the photo, and now that I’m seeing him in the flesh, I’m floored.
He’s fucking gorgeous. I came here with the intention of seducing him and cringing at the thought.
I’d expected a gruff bounty hunter type, grizzled and far too old for me. Not my ideal man.
But Jensen is something different, something that feels a tiny bit like home, way out here in the wild. And he’s so damn sexy, it’s making me uncomfortable.
He’s tall, over six feet, with a lean, well-muscled body that’s flecked in sweat and dirt. His torso is bare, and on his chest, visible through the hair, is a tattoo of a half bullseye. There’s more ink on his right arm, but it’s faded, like the sun has baked it out.
My body feels like it’s floating.
Why do I feel like I’ve met him somehow before?
I know for certain I haven’t. Maybe it’s the pale blue eyes that sweep over the room beneath lowered brows.
His face is angular, handsome in a rangy way I’m used to seeing back home.
His curly brown hair has a colorless quality to it, and it’s curled with sweat and flecked in grime.
He’s not really handsome, but he is so deliciously sexy that he’s gorgeous. He also looks…alone, like he’s been on his own for a long time. Maybe it’s the guarded way he accepts congratulations as he ducks below the tape. He’s friendly, but he’s keeping everybody at arm’s length.
Another fight starts. I keep my eyes on Jensen as he works his way through the crowd and takes a towel, a shirt, and some water from the bartender. He empties the bottle over his head, rivulets streaming down the ridges of his stomach and over his lean shoulders. My body heats up.
If I have to seduce anyone, he’s the ideal target.
He glances around the room. I swing my gaze back around, pretending I’m watching the fight.
I know I look good, even after walking to get here.
My dress fits me perfectly, cupping my curves.
With the amount of hairspray and setting spray I used, I know every strand of hair and bit of makeup is still in place.
Kayleigh taught me how to lock everything down.
I stare into the ring. Then, slowly, I glance to the side.
He looks too, at the same moment.
The air in the room sizzles like sweat on hot pavement.
He takes a step in my direction. My heart beats against my ribs.
I like the way he walks. It’s confident but careful.
I can’t figure out what to do with my hands, so I lift one and blow him a kiss.
His jaw goes slack. His eyes glaze before he blinks and pulls himself together.
Then, he starts walking faster, until he’s a few feet away. Our gazes lock. His thin mouth parts, showing a sliver of white teeth.
“Can I get you a drink?” he says.
His voice catches me off guard. It’s low, with some husk to it, and there’s still a clear Harlan County accent present. My body isn’t warm—it’s burning up all over.
“You were in the ring,” I say. “Congratulations on the win.”
He jerks his head, washed out eyes locking on the fighters inside. “Yeah, good night.”
“Does fighting get you a lot of girls?” I say before I can bite my tongue.
He laughs. “No comment.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I got one woman I’m concerned about right now,” he says. “And I’d like to know what she’s drinking tonight?”
He’s got a strategy; eye-fucking me with that confident gaze.
And it’s working. Nodding, I follow him back to the bar on the other side of the room.
He reaches for my hand, but I’m not ready for that.
Instead, I lean my upper back against the counter, pretending I don’t know how that’s pushing my breasts out, making them spill over my neckline.
“I think I’ll have a beer,” I say.
“A classic,” he says, leaning over to talk to the bartender. “Beer for the lady, on my tab. One for me too.”
The bartender slides the beer across the counter. My stomach flutters, studying the muscled rise of his shoulders as he catches them, handing one to me. I take a sip. He cocks his head. I let the bottle sink down and flick my tongue across my lower lip. Eyes on my mouth, he moves close.
He smells like sweat, but in a nice, salty way that sets my blood thrumming.
“Are you looking for something?” he murmurs.
“Am I…what?” I whisper.
He leans in, face above mine. From this angle, I can see his eyes up close. There’s no doubt he’s from Harlan. There’s only one place that produces eyes like that. Pale, almost shocked up close, like he saw something he’ll never forget and it’s burned into his brain.
“Are you looking for more than a drink tonight?” he asks.
“You’re bold.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. Lord, he’s pretty, roughed up and still breathless from the ring.
“You don’t like it?” he says.
“I am mortified, sir,” I tease.
He can’t stop smiling, and it’s giving him a single dimple beneath his stubble. “I’ve got a feeling you can handle me,” he says. “Might take both hands, but I believe in you.”
I gasp, laughing out loud. “Well, look at you—”
“Go right ahead,” he says, flicking something inside his mouth. “I like it.”
His jaw ripples, and I see a flash of white.
He’s got gum between his back teeth. For some reason, I find that incredibly hot.
Lord, he’s reeling me in fast. I’ve never been flirted with before.
Leland just pushed in like a bull in a china shop and tried to force our relationship.
The feeling of being wanted by an attractive man feels like being drunk.
It’s shutting off the rational part of my brain.
“Let’s see if you can earn it,” I say.
“I’m a hard worker.”
He shifts closer, his body inches from mine. He’s leaning his elbow on the counter, beer in his other hand. His eyes drop to my cleavage rising above the tan fringe dress. I picked this dress because it’s stunning on me, and I needed to look irresistible tonight. Clearly, it’s working.
I glance down. There’s a slight rise beneath his zipper.
“What’s going on down there, cowboy?” I arch a brow.
He doesn’t break eye contact. “Standing ovation for the prettiest girl in the room.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let your flag fly.” My face is on fire.
“I’ll keep it at half-mast for now,” he says. “Hoping for an opportunity to let it go full mast later.”
“Lord,” I whisper. “You are dirty.”
He leans in, eyes filling my vision. “I’d be happy with a kiss and a phone number.”
I smile, shaking my head. “I reward based on performance.”
“I’m highly motivated.”
“I can see that,” I say, waving a hand at the crowd around the ring. “How long have you been fighting in the stockyards?”