9. Danger
CHAPTER NINE
danger
I think she’s lost it. In the world’s darkest storage closet, she’s pacing a war path between a mop bucket and a leaning tower of plastic crates. Did I forget to mention she’s talking to a cat?
And the cat seems more judgemental than helpful.
Winnie’s bent over the cat now, hands braced on her knees. “You can just tell me if you think this is a dumb idea,” she says. “You know that, right? Like, you could just blink twice, and I'll change my name and start over somewhere with fewer cowboys.”
I should tell her this is a bad idea. Pretending to be together, her and me.
At the moment, I wasn’t thinkin’ about how any of this was actually supposed to work. Maybe part of me just saw red watching Rylee talk to Winnie like that. Maybe part of me hopes this will hurt Rylee—and I can’t resist taking a shot.
And Winnie… she's just here. Trusting me. Looking at me like I’m not the kind of man who makes selfish calls.
Hell of a time to prove her wrong.
Winnie leans closer to the cat, a strand of hair slipping over her shoulder. “Wait… was that one blink or two?”
“I don’t think the cat blinked at all.”
She turns slowly. “What does that mean? No blinks? Is that bad? Is that, like, catastrophic bad?”
I rub my jaw, fighting a laugh. “Why are you taking advice from a cat?”
“My mom says animals tell us everything we need to know. We just have to pay attention.”
“Yeah? I think that one’s just sayin’ it’s hungry.”
“Wow. Okay. So you just hate Peach. Good to know.”
“I hate that you’re letting a creature who just licked its own backdoor guide your life decisions.”
“First of all, that flexibility is a gift. Second, you don’t know her journey.”
God help me, she sounds completely serious.
“Winnie, step away from the cat.”
Winnie sighs and pushes upright then finally turns to face me.
She clears her throat. “Okay. But—how do we even do this?”
I’m leaning back against a shelf of whiskey bottles, arms folded.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, simply. “You stay by my side. Let me lead this.”
She blinks. “That’s it?”
I push off the shelf, close enough to smell her shampoo—some mix of coconut and vanilla. “That’s it.”
There’s a pause. “I’m not good at lying. What if I forget which part’s the truth?”
“Then you look at me. I’ll know.”
Then, with a suddenness that shouldn’t be possible for someone so small, she straightens her spine and says, “Okay. I can do this.”
I reach for the tie at her back, then pull slowly. The apron falls slack, still hanging at her neck. I lift it cleanly over her head before I set it aside on the crate.
“There.” I look her over slow. “Now I can work with that.”
She makes a face. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Means you look like the kind of girl I’d date… if I did that type of thing,” I say, holding the door for her.
“And what kind is that?”
“The kind that's stronger than she gives herself credit for.”
Sometime over the years, she stopped being a kid. I just didn’t notice when it happened. She’s everywhere lately—the bar, the ranch, running herself thin. Smiling like she’s fine. Looking like she’s anything but.
I recognize that look. The world handed it to me years ago.
We’re all stronger than we think.
When we get back to the bar, I feel every set of eyes on us, but mostly I feel Rylee’s, drilling into my skull like a migraine.
I grab Winnie’s hand and steer her toward a booth in the back corner, where the crowd can’t sneak up on you.
I steal two drinks off a passing tray as Honey walks by and nod toward an empty booth.
Winnie slides in, and instead of taking the other side, I drop in beside her and drape an arm over her shoulders.
Her pulse flutters fast at the base of her throat, but she probably thinks I don’t see.
Then she whispers, “She’s watching.”
I don’t look over. “Good,” I whisper near her ear, close enough that it reads exactly the way it’s meant to.
After a minute, I say, “We need some rules.”
She’s stirring her drink with a straw. “Okay. Like what?”
“No feelings. No fucking. This isn’t more than it is.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell all the women you fake-date?”
“No,” I say, flat. “It’s something I tell all women, period.”
She shifts in her seat. “And what about your barn friend? You guys looked pretty cozy.”
“That wasn’t sex,” I say.
She considers that. Then she nods, once. “Fine. But you can’t make me look stupid. And I get to pick why and how we break up.”
I hold her gaze and immediately regret it. Her eyes aren't one color. Blue on the outside, gold near the center, like somebody couldn't make up their mind and decided to give her both. Whatever sparks in my chest gets buried just as fast. “Deal.”
She shoves her hair back, exhaling. “Okay. I guess—let’s just?—”
"C'mon," I say. "Dance with me."
She looks around the crowded bar. "Right now?"
"You got somewhere else to be?”
I stand and offer her my hand.
She shakes her head, smiling wearily, but takes it anyway.
The second she's in front of me, I slide a hand to her waist and draw her against me.
Her eyes widen. "Awfully close there, cowboy."
"That's kind of the point."
She glances up at me. "I don't think this is gonna work."
"You're makin’ my job harder than it has to be."
"Your job?"
"Makin’ this look convincing."
"Because nobody's gonna believe it."
I lean down, close enough that only she can hear me. "You're overthinkin' it."
She laughs, finally letting loose. “Sorry, not something I've rehearsed before.”
We dance, aware of every glance, every whisper. Aware my brothers are probably wondering what the fuck I’m doing. Across the room, Rylee’s got her arms crossed. Her posse flanks her, all of them watching.
“You okay?” I whisper, realizing Winnie’s grip on my waist has tightened.
“I think so.” She nods, a little too fast. “But I think she’s headed our way.”
There it is. The storm I've been expecting. Rylee stalks across the room.
“What’s happening here?” Rylee questions. “What is this?”
I keep my hands where they are. “We’re dancin’. What’s it look like?”
Winnie goes rigid but doesn’t say anything.
Rylee laughs. The broken kind.
“Oh, come on. Since when do you dance with girls like her?”
My jaw ticks. “Back off, Rylee.”
“No,” Rylee says, eyes dragging over Winnie. “Because I know you. And this? This isn't you.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Or maybe you just want me to be jealous because you're pissed at me.”
I almost smile.
“I stopped wanting you to be anything a long time ago.”
The words land how I hope. For a second, something flashes across her face. Then she recovers.
“Really?” she says. “Because I know you better than anyone.”
I shrug. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Her gaze drops to my hand on Winnie's waist.
“If you think some random apron girl is going to play house with my son?—”
There it is.
I stick my tongue into my cheek. “Now he's your son?”
“Don't do that,” she snaps.
“If you want to talk about him, fine. Not here. Not now. When I decide.”
Rylee's nostrils flare. “If you think?—”
I cut her off. “How much longer you wanna embarrass yourself tonight, Rylee?”
She glares at me, then looks around at the suddenly silent bar. Judging by the way everyone is staring, we're tonight's entertainment.
“Fuck this,” she says, and throws her cup at the wall before she storms out. It slides down and hits the floor. Somethin’ red splashes everywhere.
“You still doin’ okay?” I ask.
Winnie smiles—a real one, or close enough. “I think it’s the first time I haven’t felt so small around her.”
Before I can say anything else, a hand claps me on the shoulder. It’s Rogue, my brother, face grave.
“We got a problem,” he says.
Of course we do.