Chapter 4 Night Shift
I woke up with a full bladder, a dry mouth and the taste of Johnny still fighting for dominance on my tongue.
Jesus. Never again.
My head was splitting in half. Like someone swung an axe straight through my skull and just started twisting.
I stumbled down the stairs, nearly slipped on a goddamn sock, and accidentally jammed my foot into a slipper. “Who the hell leaves this thing here,” I muttered, holding onto the wall.
Made it to the bathroom.
In the dark. Didn’t bother turning the light on.
Big mistake.
I aimed.
Missed.
Felt something warm hit my sock.
My only sock.
“Holy—FUCKING—hell—!” I whisper-shouted, hopping back, tripping over the trash bin, and slamming my shoulder into the doorframe.
The damn seat was down.
Then I knocked over something—some loud-ass hairdryer not where it should be—and froze.
A creak.
Soft. From the living room.
Someone was out there.
I held my breath.
Listened.
Every cell in my body screamed danger.
I didn’t even think—just bolted to the cabinet, unlocked the safe, and pulled out the only gun big enough to stop a bear and my imagination.
Raised my voice.
“Who the hell’s there?”
Silence.
But not the empty kind.
The thick kind.
Like the air itself was hiding something.
“Rufus? That you?”
Then—barely a whisper:
“Cash… khm… it’s just me.”
I froze. Lowered the gun.
“Willa? Jesus Christ…”
I blinked at her silhouette.
Hair down. Hoodie. Bare legs.
And I was standing there—shirtless, reeking of whiskey, holding a damn rifle.
She stepped closer, trying not to laugh.
“I think… I think you peed on your sock.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Not humiliating at all.”
I dropped the gun with a sigh, ran a hand through my hair. Adrenaline had cleared my head faster than any coffee ever could.
“Sorry. I woke up when you started… crashing around. And I—well, I got kind of hungry.”
“Shit. I didn’t even offer you anything when we got in.”
I opened the fridge. Not much to be proud of.
A couple beers.
More beer.
And—surprise—some beer.
I scratched the back of my neck.
“What do city people usually eat?”
She slid onto the barstool, half-asleep, hair all messy and perfect.
“Normal stuff.”
“That so? No green goop? No matcha latte, beetroot café, turmeric moon dust?”
“Cash, it’s three in the morning. I’m not looking for a stimulant. Do you have bread?”
“Bread!” I said, like it was the answer to world peace. “Excellent choice.”
I bent down, grabbed the loaf, and started digging through the fridge door.
“Let’s see… we got homemade butter. Goat cheese. And—wait for it—spring onions.”
“Perfect.”
“You sure? Not too… unladylike?”
She snorted.
“I don’t belong to any cult that bans onions.”
She reached right over the counter, snatched the spring onion out of my hand—and took a massive bite. Just like that. Standing there in my kitchen at 3 a.m., barefoot, hoodie, wild hair… chewing raw onion like a damn outlaw.
“Do you have milk? Or anything with zero alcohol content?”
I squinted at her.
“You trying to say I drink too much?”
“Well, I wasn’t the one creeping around my own house half-drunk, terrifying my guest.”
“First of all, this is Dalmore. Round here, a man doesn’t even blink during sex without knowing where his gun is.
Second—alcohol disinfects. So if a hyena bites me in the middle of the night, I’ve got better odds of surviving.”
She paused mid-chew.
Trying to figure out if I was serious.
I didn’t help her.
Just turned around and poured myself a glass of water.
“So. You gonna tell me what that whole bull thing was about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said: Ride the bull, check it off my list.”
“Wow. Memory of a cowboy god.”
“Why do I get the feeling you see me as some loser cow chaser who can’t count past five?”
“Hmm… hadn’t thought of that before.” She grinned. “Do cow chasers ride bulls well?”
“We ride them best.” I leaned in a little. Close enough to count her freckles. And hell, that wasn’t all I wanted to count. “And that’s not all.”
“Oh boy, here comes another Cash fairy tale.”
“I object.”
“You’re always full of something—hyena attacks, midnight disasters…”
“Not my fault you didn’t do proper recon before launching your great mechanical bull mission.”
“Okay, point taken. So what’s the ‘not all’ part? Let me guess—you’re the mechanical bull champ of Dalmore? Or wait, the entire state of Montana?”
“Mmm… not that far off, considering you’re just guessing.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Just replace the word mechanical with real.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. This dumbass cow chaser you keep mocking? Held the Montana rodeo record. Six years.”
She stared at me, mouth slightly open. And God help me, I melted under that look. I took my chance—reached across, touched her hand. Soft. Warm. She didn’t pull away. Maybe still in shock. Maybe not.
Either way… walking around half-naked suddenly didn’t feel like such a bad life choice. Should’ve chopped that firewood shirtless too.
“Okay, your turn. So?”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull her hand back. Just looked at me and said it.
“I had a list.”
“A list?”
God, I loved that about her. No drama, no build-up. Just honesty, straight through the touch of her fingers on mine. This woman was messing me up.
“Just a list,” she said with a little shrug. “Compared to your championships, it’s nothing. Totally stupid.”
“Now you’ve really got me curious.”
“It was kind of a bucket list. And by the time I turn twenty-five—which is in two days—this was the last thing left on it.”
“Riding a bull?”
“Riding it… and staying on for at least three minutes.”
I saw the flicker of embarrassment cross her face. She dropped her gaze.
“But as you can see, that didn’t exactly work out. And with my ankle now… there’s no chance. But whatever. It was silly anyway. I didn’t have to come here. Could’ve gone to Vegas and made a fool of myself there.”
“Hey.”
I stepped around the kitchen table.
Finally—an excuse to pull her in.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.
“Dreams matter, Willa. We’ll figure something out.”
She looked up at me, eyes a little glassy.
Shit.
Didn’t mean to hit her that deep.
And I sure as hell didn’t want our first kiss to come from pity, or bad timing or whatever this was.
So I just held her tighter. Felt like that list meant more than she was letting on. But I wasn’t gonna ask.Not yet.
“Willa, not that I don’t enjoy your company, but we’ve got an early morning. Gotta head out and pick up McKenzie. And if you’d like to join me in bed… offer still stands.”
“Thanks, but I’m still saving myself for our wedding night. Remember?”
I was starting to get it—her humor might’ve been more armor than sass.
“Alright then. As the man of the house and your future husband, let me at least tuck you in properly.”
“Deal.”
She slid off the barstool slowly and held onto my arm—lightly, like she had to. Like I was the only solid thing in reach.
Pretty sure Admiral Cash was winning this battle.
I walked her over to the couch, grabbed a blanket, and tucked her in like I meant it.
Even threw another log on the fire.
“Sleep well, little bull whisperer.”
“Sleep well, sock pisser.”
I laughed, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. Then dragged my half-dead, whiskey-fueled body upstairs.
Too old for afterparties. And entire bottles of Johnny.