3. Danger
CHAPTER THREE
danger
“It’s a new era for us, boys. Love is in the air.” Charming lifts his glass like he’s makin’ a damn speech.
“Remind me not to breathe, then,” I say, dragging my hat lower over my eyes.
“Oh, come on.” He elbows me, grinning like a fool. “You gotta admit—seein’ Trouble and Sawyer together makes you think it’s possible, right?”
Used to think it was possible. But truth is, love is just like Santa Claus—sounds good when you’re younger, and everyone wants you to believe in the magic of it.
Then one day the lie is exposed, and you see it for what it is.
Once you know the truth, there’s no stuffing that belief back in the box.
It’s gone. Poof. Then you feel like a fucking idiot for ever thinkin’ it was real to begin with.
“No.” I take a long pull from my beer. “Actually, I think the opposite. They kiss during breakfast. Breakfast, Charming. Faces stuffed full of pancakes. What’s next—Sawyer’s gonna start chewing his food for him once they’re married?”
Rogue snorts. “They’re in love. Not baby birds, bro.”
"They're definitely baby-birding." Charming nods toward them. "Look at 'em."
I don't.
“It’s embarrassing is what it is.” I wave him off. “And don’t even get me started on the way he kisses her over the chute rail.”
Charming shakes his head like I’m hopeless. “You're one of the top bull riders in the Pbr, and you're scared of a date? You need to get back out there. Have a little faith in the female species.”
Fuck no. Fuck feelings. Fuck dating.
I’ve seen how that story ends—my high school sweetheart—fleein’ town without me or my son.
Like we never mattered. Like my son didn’t matter.
Since then, I don’t trust women. Not like that.
I was a different person back then, though.
Weaker. There’s more blood on my hands now.
I’ve spent too many nights awake thinkin’ about what could happen if I ever let my guard down.
My life is protecting my son, protecting my family. Everything else? I got no time for it.
Which is why, with women, I stick to two rules: No fucking. No feelings.
Nothing that could lead to complications—or ending up with more kids who don’t have a mama.
Everything else? Fine. A hand job, a blowjob, knock yourself out—those things don’t lead to more children or me giving a fuck.
I cut him a look that I know he understands. “You really wanna go there? You haven’t even told the woman you’ve been drooling over your whole damn life how you feel about her. You do that, then I’ll consider it.”
Right on cue, said woman—Honey—slides fresh beers across the bar. Charming shoots me a look that promises death if she caught even one syllable.
Rogue breaks the moment with a low whistle. “Damn. He got you, Char.”
My eyes slide over to Winnie. Then, I notice the moment he turns on her.
Some old man at the end of the bar—mid-seventies, sunburned, already slurring—slides his drink back to Winnie.
“This ain’t what I ordered,” he snaps. “I said vodka soda. And don’t bother fixin’ it—I ain’t leavin’ a tip either.”
Winnie freezes, cheeks flushing that soft pink that happens when she’s embarrassed or pissed or both.
“I—I’m sorry.”
She whispers something to Honey, then she disappears toward the bathroom, but not before I catch that look on her face. Like she’s fighting tears.
I shouldn’t notice things like that.
But Winnie’s beautiful. It sneaks up on you.
She’s the kind of redhead people write songs about without realizing it.
Not loud. Not obvious. The kind you notice in pieces—hair that never quite behaves, freckles lightly scattered like she painted them on herself.
Bright smile. Eyes too honest for her own good.
She doesn’t try for it, and that’s the dangerous part.
And when she puts on red lipstick? It’s over. For everyone. It still doesn’t make sense to me what she ever saw in Trouble.
The old man continues to yell about Winnie.
Rogue’s chair scrapes back. “That’s my que,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles. “I’m about to handle that old man.”
Great. Here comes a knight in shining dumbass.
“Sit. Down.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I said sit your ass down.”
He rolls his eyes, then sinks back into his seat, snatching his beer off the counter.
Honey’s apologizing to the man before he finally stomps off. I catch her eye and shake my head once. I reach into my wallet, pull out a fifty, and drop it into the tip jar.
Honey’s brow lifts.
“You tell her I did that,” I say, low enough that only she can hear, “and I’ll come for you.”
Honey smiles like Christmas just came early. “Me? Tell anyone that Danger Stetson is secretly being nice? Never. Your reputation would be ruined.”
I nod at the bathroom door Winnie went behind. “What’s the deal with her workin’ here? You really think she can handle it?”
Honey shrugs. “We all gotta start somewhere. I happen to be a girls girl. I think she’ll be runnin’ this place before you know it.”
WInnie walks back out, eyes a little red but chin lifted up like she’ll die before letting anyone see her crack.
Honey grins, then points at the tip jar. “Don’t let that man scare you off. Somebody clearly thinks you’re doin’ just fine tonight.”
Winnie blinks. “Oh?” She peers at it. “Who?—”
“Didn’t get a name,” Honey cuts in smoothly, already moving down the bar.
Winnie side-eyes me, lips twitching. “Well, well. Maybe there are gentlemen in this town.”
I snort. “If there are, they sure as hell aren’t sittin’ here.”
“Hey now,” Charming says, leaning forward with a grin like he’s been waitin’ for his cue. “Speak for yourself. Good to see you around here, Winnie.”
She laughs—soft, easy. “Hi, Charming.”
Rogue lifts his glass. “Good to see you, Winnie.”
And all heads turn as Trouble carries Sawyer through the door like they just got hitched.
She squeals, and the bar cheers as they make their big entrance.
Honey pushes people out the way to hug Sawyer first and see the ring.
The thing practically blinds the room—big enough to weigh her damn hand down.
Then we all turn on Trouble like vultures.
“Well, guess she said yes,” Charming gets on him first.
“Consider me spoken for, brothers,” Trouble smirks.
“And yes,” Sawyer cuts in pointing a finger at us. “Every damn one of you has to wear a tux at the wedding.”
We all groan, and I take a pull from my beer.
“And you will all be at the engagement party and every celebration along the way. And I need you all to find some manners.”
“Thought this was the engagement party,” Charming says.
“It's an engagement celebration,” Sawyer corrects.
Rogue scratches his jaw. “That's just the same sentence wearing different boots.”
That’s when Trouble catches my eye. Serious. Too serious. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s up?” I ask as we step aside.
“Why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls?” he questions.
“Because I’m a damn man,” I shoot back. “Busy. Text me like a normal person.”
“Busy my ass. I’ve been running around settin’ up this engagement, and there’s something I couldn’t put in a text. Tried and kept deleting it.”
“Then spit it out.”
“She’s in town. She came by the ranch a few days ago and… she just pulled into the lot outside the same time Sawyer and I did. So… she’s here. Right outside.”
“Who?” I ask, half-distracted, lifting my beer.
“Her.”
I open my mouth to press him, but the bar does it for me—goes quiet all at once, the way it does when everyone around you knows somethin’ you don't. When everything is about to change, and you don’t know it yet. Chairs scrape. Heads turn toward the door.
I follow their gaze.
And there she is, framed in the doorway like a fucking nightmare. Rylee Whitmore.
Even thinkin’ her name tastes like blood in my mouth. My throat locks. For six years I told myself I’d never see her again. Not after she walked out of this town. Not after she walked out on me. On him.
On our son.
Red floods my vision. I damn near snap the bottle in my hand. Trouble reads me fast.
“Go sit at the bar. Take a minute. Let me talk to her first.”
I grind my teeth, but I move. Barely. Honey sees it, quick as always.
“Need to go out the back door?” she asks.
“Just pour me something strong.”
She doesn’t argue, already reaching.
Then I hear it.
“Danger, I need to talk to you.”
Her voice.
Trouble’s trying to block her. “Rylee, step back?—”
“It’s fine,” I snap, the words rough. “Outside.”
Trouble nods and backs away but doesn’t take his eyes off us.
She plants a hand on her hip, chin lifted like she has any goddamn right. “You can’t even look at me? No ‘hey, good to see you’ after all this time?”
My jaw ticks. “You’re lucky I’m givin’ you two minutes.”
Her smile flickers. “It’s… good to see you too, Dutton.”
I don’t bother answering. I just turn my back on her. If she wants something from me, she’s gonna have to chase my fucking shadow.
Her heels click behind me, crawling under my skin as she tries to keep up. I push open the back door hard enough it rattles.
I turn, crossing my arms. “Talk.”
She launches right into it.
“I know you’re angry, but I finally made it. I’ve got an agent and everything. Had tons of gigs over the past few years, but I finally landed the big one. A movie. With Dylan O’Brien as my… husband. Some kind of Stepford Wives thing, but it’s perfect for me. It’s going to open so many doors.”
Like I give a fuck about anything she’s saying. She looks the same, even after six years. Her hair’s got more blonde in it, eyes look tired, and she’s got too much make-up on, but all I see is a stranger wearing Rylee’s face.
“So what the hell are you doin’ here, Rylee?”
Her eyes shine, desperate. “I got everything I wanted after all these years, but the moment my agent told me about this movie, all I could see was you. The way you loved me. The way you protected me. Men in LA don’t treat women the way they do here. They don’t touch me like you did?—”
“Your two minutes are almost up.”
“I start filming in three months,” she presses, breathless like every second is slipping through her fingers.
“I want you to come with me. My agent didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come back here.
I walked out in the middle of a fight with him because he wants me to stay in acting classes in Los Angeles until the movie, but I told him that I needed to use my last three months to convince you to come with me when I film.
I got in a fight with my roommate about leaving so soon, and drove through a storm to get here.
I know you won’t just… say yes. But we could have a life, Danger.
Away from here. Away from the baggage that comes along with the ranch. ”
“You think I’m givin’ you three months?” I laugh once, humorless. “I can hardly stand you in my face now. The answer’s no. Now get the fuck out of here.”
I turn to leave, but her voice cracks behind me. “Dutton?—”
I whirl back, cut her off with a hand. “You know what the worst part is? You ain’t even asked about your son.
Ain’t said shit about him. You’re standing here, talkin’ about your life, your career, your big break…
you forgot to mention the only goddamn thing in this world that matters.
So let me make it clear—stay the fuck away from me. ”
She steps forward, tears threatening.
“And don’t you dare come near my son while you’re here without askin’ me first,” I threaten. “Don’t fucking test me. I’m not the same person I was when you left.”
She stops. Because she knows I mean it.
I walk back in, shoulders burning, fists tight. But one thought keeps hammering in my skull.
She’s back. And nothing good ever comes from ghosts.