Chapter 4 - Colt
Another Friday night. Another trip to the Blackwater Falls Saloon. Another round of drinks and dancing and women who smile at me like I'm exactly what they've been waiting for.
Except tonight, I'm bored out of my fucking mind.
I'm on my third beer, standing at the bar, watching the same crowd doing the same things they do every weekend. Sarah the bartender is flirting with anyone who tips well. The jukebox is playing the same rotation of country songs it's been playing for the past decade.
And I feel nothing.
"Hey, cowboy." A blonde sidles up next to me, all curves and confidence in a tight dress. Pretty. Available. Exactly my type on any other night. "Buy a girl a drink?"
I should say yes. Should turn on the charm, buy her a drink, get her on the dance floor, and forget about the mystery woman who ran out on me last night. That's what the old Colt would do. What I've always done.
But instead, I just nod toward Sarah. "Whatever she's having."
The blonde's smile widens. "You're sweet. I'm Amber."
"Colt."
"I know." She leans in, her perfume heavy and floral, nothing like the subtle scent the mystery woman wore. "Everyone knows Colt Sullivan."
Great. My reputation precedes me.
Sarah brings Amber's drink. Some fruity thing with too many cherries and Amber takes it with a smile that promises things I'm not sure I want anymore. We make small talk. She laughs at my jokes. Touches my arm. Does all the things that usually work.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
"Dance with me?" she asks, tilting her head in that way women do when they think they're being cute.
I should say no. Should tell her I'm not in the mood, save us both the trouble. But what else am I going to do? Stand here drinking alone, thinking about a woman I'll probably never see again?
"Sure," I say, and let her lead me to the dance floor.
The song is upbeat, something with a good rhythm, and Amber knows how to move. She presses close, running her hands up my chest, swaying her hips in a way that's designed to get a reaction. And yeah, she's attractive. Yeah, her body feels good against mine.
But it's not the same.
It's not soft curves that made me want to grab and squeeze. It's not amber eyes that looked at me like I was both salvation and sin. It's not dimples that appeared when she smiled, rare and beautiful.
It's not her.
"You're quiet tonight," Amber says, looking up at me with curious eyes. "Usually you're more... fun."
"Sorry," I mutter, spinning her because that's what I'm supposed to do. "Long week at the ranch."
It's a lie. The week was fine. The ranch is actually doing better than it has in years, thanks to Sierra's investment. Wade and Tucker are happy with their women. Boone's practically glowing now that he and Nicole are together. Mason and Rhett are their usual steady selves.
Everything should be perfect.
But I can't stop thinking about last night. About the way she felt wrapped around my fingers. About the sounds she made when I touched her. About the way she looked at me, like she wanted to lose herself in me the same way I wanted to lose myself in her.
And then she ran.
I keep replaying it in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Was I too aggressive? Did I push too hard? Should I have stopped when that person came into the bathroom instead of keeping my fingers buried inside her?
But she hadn't pulled away. She'd stayed there, trembling and sweating and so close to coming that I could feel her pussy fluttering around my fingers.
Did she really end a relationship? Probably.
"Earth to Colt," Amber says, and I realize I've completely zoned out.
"Sorry." I force a smile. "Like I said, long week."
She pouts, pretty and practiced. "Maybe I can help you relax?"
The offer is clear. Take her home, fuck her, forget about whatever's bothering me. It's worked a hundred times before. Should work now.
But I don't want to.
I want the woman from last night. Want to know her name. Want to know her story: where she came from, why she was at the bar alone, what made her eyes look so sad even when she was smiling. Want to know what hurt her badly enough that she ended up in Blackwater Falls, of all places.
Want to know if she thinks about me the way I can't stop thinking about her.
"I appreciate the offer," I tell Amber, pulling back slightly. "But I think I'm just gonna call it a night."
Her expression shifts from flirty to confused to annoyed in about three seconds. "Seriously? You're turning me down?"
"It's not you—"
"Please don't give me that line." She crosses her arms, her drink sloshing slightly. "Whatever. Your loss."
She stalks off, and I can't even bring myself to care. I head back to the bar, signal Sarah for another beer, and lean against the worn wood, surveying the room.
Groups of friends laughing. Couples slow dancing. Singles on the prowl. The usual Friday night scene in a small Montana town where there's not much else to do.
And none of it appeals to me.
What the hell is wrong with me? I love this. I've always loved this. The freedom, the fun, the lack of complications. No commitments, no expectations, just good times and good company.
But tonight it all feels hollow.
"You look like someone killed your dog," Sarah comments, sliding me my beer.
"Don't have a dog."
"Then you look like someone killed your truck." She grins. "Which would actually be worse for you."
I manage a small smile. "Just not feeling it tonight."
"The mighty Colt Sullivan, not feeling it?" Sarah leans on the bar. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the girl you disappeared with last night, would it?"
My head snaps up. "You saw that?"
"Honey, I see everything." She gestures around the bar. "Comes with the territory. You two were all over each other on the dance floor, then vanished for a bit, then she came running back through here like the devil was chasing her."
"She ran because—" I stop. Because I don't actually know why she ran. "It's complicated."
"It always is." Sarah wipes down the bar with practiced efficiency. "Pretty girl. Looked sad. New in town, I'd guess."
"Yeah." I take a long pull from my beer. "I don't even know her name."
"And that's bothering you."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. It is."
Sarah gives me a look that's part sympathy, part amusement. "Well, well. Didn't think I'd see the day Colt Sullivan caught feelings."
"I didn't catch feelings," I protest, even though it sounds weak even to my own ears. "I just... I want to know who she is. That's all."
"Uh-huh." Sarah doesn't look convinced. "Look, if she's new in town and sticking around, you'll run into her again. Blackwater Falls is too small for two people to avoid each other forever."
That's what Boone said. And logically, I know it's true. But logic doesn't help the restless energy crawling under my skin, the need to see her again, talk to her, understand what happened.
I nurse my beer, only half-listening to the conversations around me. Amber's found another guy to dance with, good for her. The jukebox is playing something slow and romantic that makes my teeth hurt. A group near the pool table erupts in laughter over something.
And I'm just... here. Present but not really. Going through the motions.
This is pathetic. I'm pathetic. One woman who I barely know, who ran away from me, and I'm acting like some lovesick teenager instead of a grown man who knows better.
Except I've never felt like this before. Never had a woman burrow under my skin this way. Never spent the day after a failed hookup thinking about her instead of moving on to the next one.
Never jerked off in my bathroom thinking about a woman whose name I don't even fucking know.
I'm seriously considering just going home, admitting defeat and calling it a night, when the door to the bar opens.
I don't look up immediately. Why would I? It's just another person coming in for drinks, another face in the crowd. But then I catch Sarah's expression. She's looking toward the door, her eyebrows raised, and there's a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"Well, well," she murmurs. "Looks like your night just got more interesting."
I turn.
And my heart fucking stops.
It's her.
The mystery woman from last night, standing just inside the doorway like she's not quite sure she should be here.
She's wearing jeans tonight instead of a dress, and a soft sweater that hugs her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
Her short hair is styled differently, and she's got less makeup on, but I'd recognize those amber eyes anywhere.
Those eyes that are currently scanning the room like she's looking for something.
Looking for someone.
Looking for me.
Our gazes meet across the crowded bar, and the impact of it nearly knocks me on my ass. I see recognition flash in her expression, followed quickly by nervousness, followed by something that might be determination.
She came back.
She's here, after running out on me last night, after disappearing into the darkness. She came back to the bar where we met, where I touched her, where everything between us ignited and then imploded.
"Go talk to her, dumbass," Sarah mutters, and I realize I'm just standing here staring like an idiot.
Right. Talk to her. I can do that.
I push off from the bar and start making my way through the crowd. She hasn't moved from the doorway, just watching me approach with those expressive eyes that show every emotion—nervousness, desire, regret, hope.
I stop in front of her, close enough to catch that subtle scent I remember from last night. Close enough to see the freckles scattered across her nose. Close enough to notice that her lips are slightly parted, like she's trying to find the right words.
"Hi," she says finally, her voice soft enough that I have to lean in to hear it over the music.
"Hi," I repeat, and I'm probably grinning like a fool, but I can't help it. She's here. She came back.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," she continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. "Actually, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't be. But also hoping you would? If that makes sense?"
"It doesn't," I say honestly. "But I'm glad you're here anyway."
She bites her lip, and fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. "About last night—"
"You don't have to explain."
"No, I do." She takes a breath, meeting my eyes with obvious effort. "I owe you an apology. For running out like that. It wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry."
"You don't owe me anything," I tell her, meaning it. "You said you couldn't, and that's enough. I'm not the kind of guy who pushes."
"I know." Her lips curve into a small smile. "You let me go. That's... that's why I came back, actually. To explain. And to..." She trails off, color rising in her cheeks.
"To?" I prompt, stepping slightly closer.
"To see if maybe we could start over," she whispers. "Properly this time."