Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Tucker
“I think the lady needs some water,” I tell Travis.
The Omega starts shaking her head desperately.
“Oh no, I’m fine,” she chokes out, although she’s sucking on that lime so violently, it’s giving me ideas.
I nod my head to Travis and he fills a glass from the tap, handing it to me. I offer it to the omega. She spits out the lime into her hand and gulps the water furiously.
“Not a big drinker, I take it,” I say.
“She used to be,” Annie says from beside her friend.
“I guess I’m out of practice,” the Omega says. She swipes her fingers under her eyes and blinks up at me. “You’re the cowboy from the field.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, tipping my hat. “Tucker.” I hold out my hand.
“Hollie,” she says, sliding her hand into mine. It’s small and soft and warm, and I have a violent urge to pull the little thing right against my body, sweep her up into my arms, throw her in my truck, and drive her straight back to the cabin.
Nash wasn’t lying. For once, he wasn’t exaggerating. The little thing sure is cute. Cute and pretty. Shit, I’d even go as far as saying she’s beautiful – all big blue eyes, long eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and plush lips just dying to be kissed.
“And what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” I ask.
“Annie,” she says. “She’s always been a bad influence on me.”
“Have not,” Annie says. “It was you who once convinced me to sneak into that music festival without paying, and you who nearly got us arrested for public exposure on the beach when you decided we should sunbathe topless.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hollie says, giggling.
I can’t help smiling at the girl. Even her giggle is darn cute. I motion to the shot of tequila. “Is that yours too?”
She nods, and I pick it up in my hand.
“Hey,” she says. “You’re not stealing that, are you?”
“I wasn’t planning on stealing it,” I say. “I was planning on saving you from it. I’m not sure you can take another.”
“I’ve only had one,” she says.
“Plus the two glasses of wine on the airplane,” Annie helpfully reminds her.
“That was hours ago,” Hollie says, shaking her hand in my direction. “Sure, I can handle it.”
“Okay,” I say, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I watch as she sprinkles salt on the back of her hand, sliding her tongue along it – an action that’s giving me another set of ideas.
Then she tips that tequila down her throat, and with her eyes slammed shut, gropes around for her mauled piece of lime.
I reach over the bar, find a fresh piece, and press it straight into her mouth.
She opens her eyes, blinking up at me, because, well, my fingers are now in her mouth.
“Not bad,” I say.
She sucks on the lime, taking it from my grip.
I shake my head at the two women in front of me. “I can’t believe you brought her to the Dirty Boot on her first night in Silver Creek, Annie Jackson.”
“And where else should I have taken her, Tucker Parker?”
“Anywhere but here,” I say, as Hollie scans the busy bar.
“Actually, I think I like it here,” she says. “It has a certain atmosphere.”
“That’s the tequila speaking,” I tell her. But I motion my head toward the band. “Music’s not bad, though.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I kind of like it.”
“Kinda?” I ask.
“I’m more into pop, not really a country girl.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be saying that in a place like this, Hollie Bright – not if you want to walk out alive.”
She laughs, although I’m pretty serious about that one.
“So, you’ve come to stay with us for a week, have you?”
“I’ve come to stay with Annie,” she corrects.
“For ten days,” Annie interjects.
“Ten days.” Those words have never sounded so sweet – nearly as sweet as the Omega’s scent itself.
“Well,” I tell her, “you’re very welcome here in Silver Creek.”
“Thank you,” she says.
I nod, catch Travis’s attention, and a moment later I have an ice-cold beer in my hand. I take a swig. She’s watching the band and the dancers, Annie now, as usual, engrossed in Travis MacCarthy.
I step closer to my packmate’s sister’s best friend. And honestly, what’s Nash worried about? The degrees of separation couldn’t be any further.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I say.
Her eyes flick my way, and for a moment I see a deep sadness hovering in her pretty eyes. Then her gaze flicks away, down to the floor. My gaze follows instinctively, and I see she’s wearing a pair of cowboy boots. I’m not sure they’ve ever looked so good on a girl before.
“Thanks,” she says. “It was... it was a while ago now.”
“Still hurts though, doesn’t it?” I say. “When you lose your mom.”
She bites on her bottom lip and nods.
“It’s good you came, Hollie,” I say. “No one should be alone at Christmas, especially after that.”
She nods again.
“You lost your mom too?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Back when I was just a kid. Still miss her every day, though, especially at Christmas time.”
“It’s strange,” she says. “I kind of want to forget about it. And I kind of... don’t.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I understand.”
Her eyes flick back up to mine again, and damn, Nash has never been so right. The girl really is pretty, especially with the neon lights from the bar falling across her smooth skin.
“Well,” I tell her, “if you want to take your mind off things, I’m always happy to help.”
Her eyes widen in shock, and I almost choke on my beer, realizing my misstep. I grin, laugh. “Geez, I didn’t mean it that way. You have a dirty little mind, sweetheart.”
She frowns at me. “You never can tell with Alphas.”
Which is fair. I could easily, so easily, have meant it that way.
“I was just meaning there’s a lot to do here in Silver Creek, especially down at the ranch. I hear you’re keen on horses.”
“I love them,” she says, that frown melting away instantly. “I love all animals. I’m a vet.”
“Are you now?” I say, because that ticks off about a billion other things I like in a woman – in an Omega. Clever, caring, good with animals. Honestly, why is Clay saying this girl is off-limits? Remind me, please.
“Yeah, well, we’re going to take you out riding then,” I tell her, “and then there’s skating down on the lake and a ride up to the top of the mountain.”
“Ah!” She nods enthusiastically.
“And also,” I say, motioning my head toward the dance floor, “there’s the good ole country pastime of line dancing. Want to try that now?”
She shakes her head. “Oh my goodness, no. I’m a horrible dancer, a really horrible dancer. I don’t have two left feet, I have two malfunctioning limbs with the inability to coordinate them at all.”
“Everyone can dance,” I tell her. “And as far as I can tell, you have a perfectly good pair of legs.”
My gaze drifts back down her legs, lingering on her ample thighs and tracking right down to those cowboy boots. She’d have a right to tell me off this time, because I definitely say it with a whole heap of flirtation.
“Not me,” she says. “I can’t dance. I never know what to do, I always feel self-conscious. I usually end up falling on my ass.”
“Yeah,” I say, swigging the last of my beer and slamming it down on the bar. “But that’s the good thing about line dancing. You just follow everyone else. There’s no free will or interpretation in it. Honestly, you’ll be just fine.”
She grimaces and glances at her best friend, who’s now completely engrossed in Travis, who seems to be taking a break from his bar duties altogether. She swings her gaze back to me.
I hold out my hand and give her my most charming smile. “Come on, you only live once,” I tell her, “and I promise,“ I lean closer toward her, “I’ll take good care of you.”
And is it my imagination, or do those words send a little shiver down her spine? She’s an Omega after all. There are certain reflexes, certain reactions, she just can’t help.
“Okay,” she says, allowing me to take her hand once again – another action that seems to have her scent spiraling up into the air. “But don’t blame me if I bruise your toes or kick your ankles.”
“Sure I’ve come across much worse with horses and cattle, sweetheart,” I tell her, pulling her closer, weaving my arm around her waist, and then leading her across to the dance floor.
For a moment we hover on the edge, waiting for the previous dance to come to an end.
I keep my hand just where it is, resting on her waist, and to my delight she doesn’t wriggle away or step to one side.
When the song finishes, I pull her out onto the dance floor, finding a spot for us near the back, because she clearly feels self-conscious.
“What do I do?” she hisses at me as the singer announces the name of the next song and several girls whoop from the front row.
“The steps are pretty basic,” I tell her, and run through them quickly. Her eyes widen again, this time with horror.
“What?” she says. “That was way too quick and way too complicated!”
I show her again, getting her to follow along this time. Although she protests, she picks it up pretty quick. I don’t tell her that’s only the first few steps – there’s at least twenty-odd involved – but then the music’s starting and it’s too late to back out now.
She steps through the first few confidently enough, but when everyone on the dance floor switches to the right and starts stomping in a different direction, she looks at me in alarm – like a passenger on a sinking ship who’s had the last life ring snatched from their grasp.
“It’s okay,” I say to her. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
She shakes her head again, gaze darting back to the bar as if, like a scared colt, in a minute she might make a bolt for it.
“I promised to look after you, didn’t I, Hollie?” I say.
I thread my arm back around her waist and pull her along with me. Automatically, her shoulders relax.
Okay, the steps are all wrong, and once or twice she does actually stand on my toe – but she’s moving in the right direction, not crashing into anyone else.
Which is good, because I’m not sure my Alpha instincts could handle this little Omega crashing up close and personal with any other man in this bar.