The Cowboy’s Friendly Wake-Up Call (Slow River Valley Ranches #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Mercy

" I need two more pitchers for the party in the garden."

Holly tosses empties into the tubs behind the bar and leans back, waiting on me to fill the pitchers she needs.

"Same same?" I ask, already positioning a pitcher under the honey, pear cider tap.

The party out back that seems intent on draining the last of the cider keg that's been in our seasonal rotation for fall consists of sixteen women dressed in matching t-shirts that label their relationship to the bride.

They came in laughing and have gotten louder with each pitcher I've refilled-- and that's saying something, considering they're outside and I'm behind the bar, manning the taps.

There's twenty feet of space, two doors, and a juke box between me and the bachelorette party, but I can still hear Rebecca Pendergrast's voice every time someone walks in through the back doors.

I never expected her to get married before I did. Which is really fucking with my head tonight, because I've never really given much thought to getting married.

Until Reebie Pendergrast beat me to it, it turns out.

Setting the pitchers on the bar so Holly can grab them herself, I wipe down the polished surface and stare after my co-worker as she hustles back to the outdoor beer garden to do Tapped Out's part to keep the party going.

"Can I get a flight of the sours and--" My attention is drawn back to work by a kid at the other end of the bar. He's asking the group he's sitting with what they want for the other flight-- the seasonal beers.

I ask to see their ID's as the guy lists the six of our nine offerings that they want included in their sampler.

Shit. Twenty-one gets younger every day. I scrutinize the license of one of the girls; I would have sworn she was still in high school, but I don't think it's someone else's ID. I think she really is old enough to drink.

I've been pouring beers at Tapped Out since they opened up a few years back. Except, now that I think about it "a few years" turns out to be almost eight, and I'm not twenty-two anymore.

The bachelorette party stumbles out an hour before closing, drunker and louder than ever. I watch them pile into a long, white limo that's pulled up out front for them. It must have come all the way from Middleton.

Even the O'Leary's don't have a limo in Slow River, and they're likely the richest family here.

Reebie's not pretty, she wasn't popular, and her daddy's not rich-- but it looks like someone pulled out all the stops for her.

That sort of thing has never appealed to me.

I'm a blue jeans and boots girl through and through and I'd rather eat nachos with my hands at the rodeo than fret about whether I'm using the right fork-- but I can't help but wonder what it feels like to play princess for a day, as I watch the limo pull away from the curb out front.

"You look wrecked, what's up?" I ask as Lance slides onto the stool at the far corner of the bar where he usually perches when he swings by to see me at work.

"What do you have that's high alcohol and mean?"

My buddy looks tired and agitated as his eyes scan the beer board where all our beers are listed by name and alcohol content.

"Sounds like you should have gone to Virgie's," I set a mug of Mad as Hell IPA on the bar in front of him, without waiting for him to make up his mind. It's got a nasty eleven point two ABV, a bitter hoppy bite that even makes me wince, and it's brewed locally.

Well, up in Moonshine Ridge-- but that's still considered local around here.

Lance takes a long draw from the mug and I don't even bother stifling my laughter when his face scrunches up from the shock of the strong brew.

"I'd rather hang out with you," he says in response to my suggestion that he should have headed for the full bar where he could have ordered shots of tequila.

Tapped Out is a trendy tap house, beer and ciders only-- and a couple bottles of cheap wine in the cooler behind the bar for the people who just refuse to drink anything else-- but no hard alcohol.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" I push for intel as I lean on the bar across from him.

Lance's attention seems focused on the bar between us for a beat, then he leans on one elbow and runs the hand that isn't wrapped around his beer through his dark hair with a heavy sigh.

"Apparently, I need a date for the prom."

Lance

I t's been a rough ass fucking day, and I'm going to need a refill if I'm going to do this.

Mercy laughing at me loud enough that everybody in the joint turns to look at us isn't helping, either.

At least she put some distance between us, gives me a chance to think about something other than those tits of hers and how bad I wish I could wrap my hands around them while I showed her all the ways I could make her feel good.

"You didn't go to prom," she reminds me, completely oblivious to the way the memory makes me grit my teeth. "What? Now you wanna make up for lost time?"

Mercy Jean turns around to wipe down the chrome taps, giving me a view of her ass, round and full and covered in denim that hugs her curves from the waist down every bit as well as her low-cut t-shirt hugs her from the waist up.

She's got no idea what she does to me.

And I plan to keep it that way.

"The guys are making me rep for us at the expo this year," I explain, pushing my empty mug to the other side of the bar top in a silent request to get it refilled.

At least Mercy stops laughing.

"You don't want to go?"

She seems genuinely perplexed.

I pull from the new beer and pretend my eyes aren't tracking her every movement as she closes out the tab for the last customers left in here. She pockets her tips and follows them out so she can lock the doors after them.

Tapped Out closes early compared to the bars.

She shuts down the open sign in the front window and I go right on pretending that my eyes aren't glued to every bounce and shimmy of her movements as she walks to the back doors and locks them up too, after checking the back garden to make sure it's cleared out.

Or at least, that anyone left out there has already closed out their tab.

My dick doesn't bother pretending though, it's happy to make a statement that would give away my biggest secret...and ruin my friendship with Mercy for sure.

So I do what I've been doing for fifteen long years now-- I pretend I'm only watching Mercy's curvy figure move around the empty tap house as she closes down out of idle interest, and I ignore the hard-on that I've gotten damn good at hiding behind the untucked flannel work shirt I make sure to always be wearing when I'm around my best bud.

"Hell no, I don't want to go," I answer. "The guys are all coupled up now, one of them should go. They all got built in dates."

"Take your mom."

"She can't go." I rake my hand through my hair again. It's a nervous habit I've had since I was a kid, and Mercy doesn't hesitate to reach over and set right what I've messed up.

Her touch does nothing to bed down the desire that sparks up in my blood every time we're alone like this.

"She says she's got 'important stuff' she has to get done that weekend, but she wouldn't tell me what."

"Hmm, maybe she's not ready yet. She went with your dad every year, didn't she?"

The idea that ma turned me down because she's not ready to go without dad hadn't really crossed my mind. It'd just seemed suspicious to me that she was making excuses to get out of going. Now I feel shitty for being mad about it.

I turn all those thoughts into a single grunt and take another pull off the cold draft beer that's starting to do its job.

I don't need to get drunk, just need enough alcohol in my system to get through this next part.

"She said I should ask you."

Mercy's not going to go to this thing with me. She's been my best friend on earth since we were in grade school together. I've known she was my soul mate since we were twelve. She's been the only woman I can even think about being with since we were fourteen, but she's as tomboy as they make 'em.

I've never seen her in a dress or with make up on in my life, and this thing is black tie only.

"Love to, when is it?"

Her quick reply surprises me and for a second, I think the beer must have hit me harder than I'm feeling.

"You wanna go?" I look up and meet those blue eyes that are so damn easy to get lost in. "You know there's a formal dinner, right? Black tie."

"I know, stupid," she whips her bar towel so it snaps against my arm. "Everybody knows about the Expo. Just tell me what days, so I can get them off work."

"We'll drive out on Thursday, come home Sunday. Dinner's on Friday night, but there's stuff going on all weekend, so bring a couple changes of clothes-- and uh, your dress."

She's already typing the dates into the schedule on the computer. Mercy's been working here since the place opened, she's got seniority. If she wants the dates off, she'll get 'em.

This is when I realize how fucked I really am.

A full weekend away with Mercy Jean by my side without touching her any of the ways I want to.

At least we'll have separate rooms at the hotel.

It's gonna hurt, but at least I won't die.

Probably.