Chapter 18
The Cowboy Hat Rule
? She Won’t Be Lonely Long - Clay Walker
Callie
Despite every attempt to get out of it, the double date with Mo is happening… tonight.
I do a half turn in the mirror, giving myself a final once-over.
I've been on a handful of dates in the last decade, and I never know what to wear. The bed is strewn with several outfits I tried on and discarded. Now, I'm second-guessing my choice: a black floral skirt with a thigh-high slit, a black bodysuit, and a black cardigan. I look like I’m getting ready for a funeral, but I don’t have time to change again.
I grab my thrifted Doc Martens from the closet, then think better of it and swap them for a pair of chunky black heels.
A soft rap on the bedroom door draws my attention.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open, and Jaxon steps over the threshold. His eyes rake over me from head to toe, eliciting a not unpleasant tingling sensation.
“Is it bad?” I ask.
Jaxon swallows. “No. You look…”
Panic threatens to overwhelm me, and I pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, pulling my cardigan over my chest. “Oh my god. It's bad, isn’t it? Is it too late to cancel?”
Jaxon rushes over and skates his hands up and down my arms, steadying me. He chuckles. “Calm down. You look beautiful, Callie.” His voice turns serious before he adds, “You always look beautiful.”
My gaze snaps to his, searching for some hidden truth behind his words, but there’s only sobering sincerity in his eyes. Every heartbeat draws me impossibly closer to him until we’re chest to chest. His name comes out as a quiet whisper.
As if he’s been bitten, he rapidly pulls his hands away and takes one long step back. He clears his throat. “Mo’s here.”
“Right. I shouldn’t keep them waiting. See you later?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Yeah. See you later.”
With my stomach still tied up in knots, I shuffle down the steps and slide into Mo’s awaiting car.
“Are we going to a funeral?” they ask.
“I fucking knew it.” I release the seatbelt, and it clangs against the door. “I’m going to change.”
Mo laughs. “I’m just fucking with you. Chill out. We haven’t left the house yet, and you’re already in panic mode?”
“I don’t date,” I remind them, listening for the click of the seatbelt.
I relax into the seat as Mo turns off the gravel path and onto the interstate. “It’s not that serious. A couple of drinks at the bar, maybe some dancing if you’re up for it. No pressure. If you want to leave at any point, say the word.”
“Ok. I want to leave now,” I deadpan.
Mo snorts. “How do you expect to find a partner if you never put yourself out there?”
“Who says I want a partner?”
“You don’t have to say it. I know you, Callie. You want it all—the house, the family, the kids. The fucking horses.” They mutter the last part under their breath.
“Horses?”
“Look, all I’m saying is you should give the cowboy a chance.”
She doesn’t say which cowboy, but I can make an educated guess. Even if I had feelings for the stupidly handsome, tattooed cowboy with a savior complex, nothing would ever come of it. I’m damaged goods. The second he sees my scars, he’ll run. I couldn’t bear the humiliation—not with Jaxon.
“Fine. I’ll humor you for one night, but you’ll have to find another wingman for the next one."
“That's all I’m asking.”
We arrive early and find a seat at the bar. They make small talk with the bartender, and before I know it, several drinks are placed in front of us.
Mo slides a shot glass to me. “Here. For your nerves.”
“I think this is what a therapist would call enabling.”
“Good thing we’re not in therapy. Cheers.” They clink their glass against mine and we down the shots. In the absence of a chaser, I drown the burn with my dill pickle martini.
A large hand touches my shoulder, and I stiffen.
“You must be Callie? I’m Clint.” He’s a good-looking guy with an angular jaw and black wavy hair tucked beneath a worn brown cowboy hat.
His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and his tan skin is covered in tattoos along his hands and forearms. My mind instantly wanders to another tattooed cowboy—and then another. One faceless. One decidedly not.
I guess I have a type.
I shrug off the advance and plaster on a fake smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Nia joins us and pulls Mo in for a quick hug. I wonder if she got her panties back now that Atticus is gone.
“Sorry about my cat,” I tell her. “He’s harmless, I swear.”
Nia laughs, her brown eyes crinkling in amusement. “No worries. Should we grab a table?”
Mo leads the way to a high top with four stools. Clint’s hand touches my back, right over a large pink scar concealed beneath my clothing, and I flinch.
I manage to get onto the high stool without embarrassing myself, which is no easy feat. I have short legs, and my thighs spill out over the sides. It’s not the most comfortable seat, but I don’t want to complain and put a damper on the evening.
Mo and Nia sit across from Clint and me. Their chemistry is immediately evident. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here. They clearly didn’t need any help. Mo tucks a lock of Nia’s dark brown hair behind her ear, and I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on a private moment.
Reluctantly, I turn my attention to Clint. “So, how did you get roped into this?”
Clint flashes me his impossibly white teeth. “Nia thinks I need to start taking my dating life more seriously.”
“You two are close, then?”
“Twin sister. You can’t tell?”
“Clearly, I’m the better-looking sibling,” Nia teases.
I glance between the two, taking stock of their similarities. Nia’s eyes are more chocolate brown than black, and her jaw is softer, but they do look strikingly similar.
“Stop gawking at my date, Callie. You have your own.”
I shrug and bring my drink to my lips. “I’m an equal opportunity gawker.”
“I don’t share,” Mo says.
“That’s not what you said when Jaxon asked me out,” I remind her. “In fact, you were encouraging the threesome.”
Clint’s gaze strays to the far end of the bar. “Jaxon Hayes? You two dated?”
I let out an unsteady breath. “No, we’re just friends.”
He picks at the label on his beer. “He’s my boss.”
I already knew that. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t run into Clint at the ranch yet. If he knows I’m living there, he’s doing a great job at hiding it.
“There’s nothing between us. He’s just a friend.” Having to reiterate something I’ve already said to placate Clint sends up the first red flag. There’s nothing endearing about an insecure man.
I don’t know why I’m defending myself. It’s not like we’re together.
“How's Fatticus doing at the new place?” Mo’s swift change of subject seems to ease some of the tension.
“Atticus” —I exaggerate the correct name— “is loving it, but he's been pawing at the window trying to get at the free-range chickens when they stray too close.”
“I bet he loves that. His favorite treats are the chicken-flavored ones.”
“He’s like a kid at an aquarium, only he’s the one stuck behind the glass. I think they like taunting him.”
Nia leans over and whispers something into Mo’s ear, and they excuse themselves to the dance floor.
“Can I get you another drink?” Clint asks.
I already have a decent buzz from the first one, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long night. “Sure.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Dill pickle martini.”
He grimaces, but it’s quickly replaced by a half smile. “You got it.”
I watch Mo and Nia slow dancing in the middle of the bar. Mo sweeps a lock of hair away from Nia’s forehead and presses a kiss there. My chest aches, and I force myself to look away.
Clint returns several minutes later with two drinks. “So... Nia told me you’re a librarian. That must be pretty boring.”
It takes every bit of willpower to tamp down the urge to roll my eyes. “It's my dream job, actually. I love it.” I sigh wistfully. “I get a little boost of dopamine every time I help a kid pick out their next favorite book.”
“Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.”
It’s cliché, but at least he’s trying. “Something like that. Do you love working at the ranch?”
Clint launches into a speech about his job, but I’m only half listening, lost in thoughts of my new home and the man who brought me there. My mind replays the moment in the bedroom, and the look in his eyes before he pulled away. For the briefest moment, I thought he wanted to kiss me.
Clint finishes his diatribe, and I force a smile. I’m uniquely qualified to be the arbiter of shitty men, and as far as I can tell, Clint’s not a bad guy; he’s just... not Jaxon Hayes.
Jaxon
I sit at the far end of the bar, close enough to Callie’s double date to see what’s going on but still far enough away to go largely unnoticed.
There’s something deeply wrong with me. Some kind of Callie-induced psychosis.
I shouldn't be here, but I couldn’t stay away.
I’d do anything for a scrap of her affection.
I’d drop to my goddamn knees right here in the middle of the bar if she asked.
It’s been days, but I can still hear her quiet whimper on the other side of my door, still picture her perfectly flushed cheeks.
For the briefest moment, I thought she knew.
I thought our secret had been revealed, and I could finally have her.
I was wrong. Then she got sick, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.
I’ve considered telling her every day since, but how the hell do I even drop that bomb?
Hey Callie, you know that guy you sometimes pay to help you orgasm? That’s me. Surprise.
Cade, the bar owner, sets a beer down on my coaster with a curt nod.
I hold it up in a gesture of gratitude before bringing it to my lips. “Probably should’ve ordered something stronger,” I mutter to myself.
Callie laughs at something Clint says, and my grip on my drink tightens. It should be me making her laugh. What does she see in him anyway? He’s a fucking tool.