4
T he minute I smell the stale beer and hear the country music, I know I’m in heaven.
Resurrection, Montana.
The name alone conjures images of tough-as-nails cowboys getting gunned down in the streets, while silk-gartered saloon girls in the balcony hope for a wild night.
Judging by the look of this bar, it’s not too far divorced from the past. Bikers clad in leather vests, girls with tattoos at the jukebox. Rugged and dusty and exactly the type of experience I want to have.
I chose Resurrection because of the name.
I’m sure the original founders wanted it to instill gloom and terror in the heart of the residents, but to me, it’s hopeful.
Like flowers, things die but still live on.
Main Street charmed me with its little boutiques and historical buildings and Wild West vibes.
And the mountains. They’re the most jagged piece of serenity I’ve ever seen.
Exploring can’t come soon enough. I can’t wait to make this town mine, even for a brief time.
But that’s tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I intend to find a doctor and refill my prescription and find a place to live. Tonight is for a job.
Once again, I try to get the bartender’s attention. He opens beers and mixes Jack and Coke with a surly attitude.
“Excuse me, sir?” Standing on tiptoes to see better, I wave the cardboard sign. “Mr ... uh—”
“Beef.” His vocal cords sound like someone grated them.
“Beef. Of course.” I inhale. “I have this sign here that says you’re hiring, and I was wondering if ...” Beef’s moving down the long line of the bar, leaving me in his dust.
Jerk. I tap a toe, considering my options.
I am not on this earth to have doors slammed in my face.
I am here to open all the doors.
Even if it is in some rowdy honky-tonk in the middle of Montana.
As I push my way down toward Beef, getting elbowed in the stomach and ribs, I catch my reflection in an old chipped mirror hanging behind the bar.
I wince.
My strawberry-blond hair is a mess. On the drive from Denver to Montana, I had the windows down, giving me a snarled air dry. I wear little makeup, and while I’m fully clothed, even I can admit the bright yellow sundress isn’t quite right for the Carhartt-and-flannel vibe of the bar.
I’m about to the middle of the bar when a cowboy in a bolo tie shoves his chair back, pinning me in place.
“Excuse me,” I say, speaking up to make myself heard. I push at the back of the chair to free myself. “I just need to—”
“You need to go,” a deep, rugged voice rumbles.
Flustered, I look up to see a man the size of a mountain looming over me. His brow is furrowed, his dark bearded jaw clenched.
I shove at the chair with a frustrated sigh. “Well, I would if I could get by—”
Before I can say another word, the guy’s strong-arming the chair forward, growling, “I’m moving your ass, Burt,” before he sends the owner of the chair lurching across the table full of beers, giving me the space to get unstuck.
“Thank you,” I say, sneaking past him to flatten myself against the wall papered with stickers. “I’m Ruby Bloom.”
“Charlie. Montgomery.” He says the words hesitantly, like they pain him.
“Nice to meet you.” I smile, but judging by the arctic chill coming off him, the feeling is not mutual.
He takes a step closer.
I press a palm over my chest, willing my jaw not to drop.
Handsome . The word pounds its way into my heart.
The man standing in front of me, arms crossed, legs braced, is a bonified cowboy.
The boots and big, bold western belt buckle give it away.
He’s well over six feet. Chiseled jaw. Trim beard.
Piercing cornflower blue eyes. Mile-wide shoulders.
He wears a black T-shirt that hugs his muscled chest and popped biceps.
His mussed dark brown hair, curled at the nape of his neck, suggests he had a hat on at a previous time.
He frowns down at me, like this is the one emotion they taught in cowboy school. “Listen,” he growls. His tan forearms, corded with muscle, flex. “Maybe you’re lost, but I don’t think you know what kind of trouble you’re in for being in this bar.”
“Oh, I very much do,” I reply with a bright smile. “I’m in Nowhere.” I hold up a finger as his mouth snaps open. “And I—”
“Need to go,” he barks in a hard tone.
“I am going. I’m going forth and conquering.” I make a move toward the bar, but he steps in front of me and blocks my path.
I draw myself up, hoping to look imposing next to his towering form.
“Listen, Cowboy. I’m not leaving here until I talk to Beef about this .
..” In my periphery, I notice a deep hole in the black wall.
My eyes widening, I lean in and run a finger over the groove.
My gaze flicks back to Charlie. “Is this from a bullet?” I gasp. “A real bullet hole?”
He stares at me, his expression a cross between disdain and amusement.
Beef is now hollering at a guy wearing a trucker hat and an “Armadillo by Morning” T-shirt who is arguing with a man dressed entirely in camo.
Trucker Hat Guy looks eerily like Charlie.
They have the same deep blue eyes, the same broad chest, the same square jaw.
The only difference is Trucker Hat guy is grinning while Charlie is scowling.
Charlie groans, his eyes on the same scene I’m watching. It’s funny. Two grown men, peacocking, arguing about horses while the entire bar minds their own business. I smile. Already, I like this town.
Keeping to myself should be easy.
Trucker Hat Guy punches his finger in Camo Guy’s chest and shouts, “You stole my horse, you Tweedledum motherfucker!”
Charlie swears .
His blue eyes drop to my face. Without warning, he steps closer. One big hand lands on the small of my back. His earthy scent surrounds me and I feel dizzy. My head falls back on my shoulders as I gape up at him.
That’s when I feel him. His hard body presses against me, every muscle tense like he’s gearing up for something.
Oh, wait.
He is.
“What’s happening?” I manage to remember how to breathe.
“There’s gonna be a fight.”
“What?” I gasp, both delighted and horrified. “Like a bar fight? Like fists flying and bottles smashing?”
He shoots me an irritated look. “Down.”
“What?”
“Ruby. Down.”
He remembered my name is my one idiotic thought before his hand closes on mine and I’m jerked down to the ground right as a chair sails across the room and smashes into the wall.
I let out a scream and clap my hands to my ears. “What do we do?” I yell.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this man, but I trust him with my life.
“Crawl,” he orders. “To the door.”
Charlie makes it look easy, so I follow his lead. Together, on hands and knees, we shimmy through peanuts and splash through puddles of beer. I should be terrified, but I’m not. Adrenaline flows through my veins.
Above us, I can hear fists flying, the hard crunch of bone on flesh. Cheers. And jeers. Curses.
“I’m crawling through beer!” I shout, overjoyed at the riotous turn the night has taken.
I yelp as someone kicks me in the shin, and I escape a near miss with a boot crushing the top of my hand. But I can’t stop laughing. I can’t stop smiling. It all seems so surreal and I’m right in the middle of it.
But we can’t get out. The crowd is thick and jostling and we’re stuck.
Charlie hisses, “Fuck it.”
I look over at him, a question on the tip of my tongue, but I never get to ask it.
We’re not on the ground anymore. Suddenly, I’m in his arms, pressed tight against his broad chest—hard, hot muscle—and he’s rushing us out of the bar.
I feel his muscles constrict, the pump of his heart as he holds me close.
Both sensations send an electrical current rushing through me.
His closeness has my head floating, a dizzy feeling I want to hang on to.
I like it.
It’s dangerous.
The door slams open, and then Charlie’s setting me on my feet in the dark parking lot.
I try to ignore the pang in my chest at being separated from him.
We both look at each other.
“Wow.” I tuck disheveled hair behind my ears. My legs are shaky, my heartbeat a kick drum in my chest. “My hero.”
I mean it. He’s like my knight in dusty cowboy boots.
Annoyance flickers across his face. “You were takin’ too long.”
“Something tells me you do this every Friday night.” I blush. “Fighting, I mean, not sweeping up strange girls in your arms.”
He gives a brisk nod. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’ve never been in a bar fight before.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be,” he grumps.
I shrug and smile. “It was fun. All the blood, the broken bones, the spilled beer.”
He steps closer and his nearness warms my stomach. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m very much not kidding, but I gasp.
I feel it.
A flutter.
Shit. Not here. Not now.
Not when I just bested a bar fight and am talking to a handsome, albeit grumpy, cowboy.
The signs are easy to spot. Black spots in my vision. The heavy beating of my heart echoing in my ears.
“Ruby?” Charlie’s frowning.
“I just—” Breaking away to catch my breath, I close my eyes. I bear down and breathe out strongly through my mouth. A maneuver my doctor taught me to shock my heart back into a normal rhythm.
Slow , I urge my heart. Stay calm. Slow.
In seconds, the heavy beat of my heart slows. The spots clear, the head rush fades.
“Hey.” A warm, broad hand slides down my arm to cup my elbow. “You okay?”
Blinking, I straighten up and brace a palm on the front of Charlie’s hard chest to steady myself.
If I thought it wasn’t possible for his entire body to tense anymore, I was wrong.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, hoping the lie will stick. “Stomach cramp.”
He regards me warily, brows furrowed tight with concern. After a second, he asks, “This bar doesn’t scare you?”
He looks like he hates himself for making small talk, but the hardness along the length of his jaw has me riveted.
“Only thing that scares me is not having a job,” I say brightly. “Think Beef’ll hire me?”
Charlie stares at me a long beat before he shakes his head. “If Beef knows what’s good for him, he won’t.”
I arch a brow, unsure what to make of his answer. “You plan to break his legs or something?”
His eyes narrow. “I might.”
His response has my heart beating faster.
Charlie crosses his arms, causing his biceps to bulge. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“The Yodeler.”
“Not there.” He makes a face like he’s stepped in dog shit. “Go next door to the Butterworth. Tell ‘em I sent you.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“Roaches.”
“What if I like roaches?”
Charlie pauses his scowling to blink at my reply, but not before allowing his eyes to linger on my lips, causing a storm of goose bumps to break out over my arms.
He opens his mouth to say something when there’s the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. We look over to see a boot fly through Nowhere’s stained-glass window.
Charlie lets out a deep breath. Hooks a thumb back toward the bar. “I better get back in there. Help my brothers.”
Ah. So that explains the doppelg?ngers.
“Sure.” I lift a hand, but I’m sorry to see him go. “Thanks for the assist, Charlie Montgomery.”
He takes a few steps towards the bar, stops, and turns.
“Listen,” he says, pinning his eyes to mine. A muscle flexes in his strong bearded jaw. “This isn’t the town for you, darlin’. I respect you tried ...but leave. Go somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”
Without another word, he stalks off, while I stand here watching his broad-shouldered form disappear into Nowhere, a warm gooey feeling settling in my stomach.
While I’m cozy in a plush bed at the historic hotel Charlie suggested, I count my heartbeats. They’re fast, but not overly so. Outside, a toenail moon glows in the dark sky. The scent of pine floats through the cracked window as I think of the cowboy.
His broody but handsome face. Those piercing blue eyes and tan forearms corded with veins and muscle. Dark hair that kicks up in a cute cowlick in the back. The solidness of his broad chest tensed against me as he rushed me for the door. The way his eyes dipped to my lips and lingered there.
Charlie’s words ring in my head.
Leave.
Never.
I have a good feeling about this town.
Resurrection, Montana, here I am.