Chapter 23
Saturday night at Bar None had the energy that made the hours blur together.
By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, Shylo's feet ached, her hair had slipped from the loose knot at the back of her head, and the scent of fried food, beer, and spilled whiskey clung to her clothes.
The jukebox had been fighting a losing battle against the crowd for most of the night, classic country giving way to a rowdy sing-along near the pool tables in the game room before someone fed the machine enough money to switch it over to Southern rock.
Laughter rolled through the room in waves, bouncing off the tin signs and scuffed wood paneling while the ceiling fans stirred the air without making much difference.
It should have worn her down.
Instead, for the first time all day, Shylo felt almost normal.
After making sure the dining room and kitchen were both clean and ready for tomorrow's lunch shift, Shylo untied her apron and pulled the night's tips from the pocket. She tucked the cash into her bag, rolled the apron into a ball, and stuffed it inside. It would go in with tomorrow's laundry.
Six hours of carrying heavy trays and pitchers of beer had left her back and neck aching. She stretched and rolled her shoulders until the muscles loosened.
Dean, the daytime bar manager, had come in on his day off to cover for another night bartender who'd called out sick. Between him, Alyssa, and Lou, the crowded bar never seemed to fall behind. Orders flew across the counter almost as fast as they were called in.
With the dining room closed, Giselle, Shylo, and Ryder were finally off the clock. Maddie remained busy serving the bar and pub tables, where the kitchen would keep taking food orders until one.
As Shylo reached the kitchen end of the bar, Dean set a chilled glass of her usual pinot grigio in front of her without a word before turning to fill another customer's order.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
He acknowledged her with a quick nod, already reaching for the next glass.
Giselle leaned against the end of the bar, her short cornrows neatly braided against her scalp, a draft beer in her hand. Ryder had claimed the stool beside her, one boot hooked on the foot rail, while Lane Myers, one of Hazard Falls's police officers, rested an elbow on the bar beside him.
Over the past couple of weeks, Shylo had learned there was a history between Lane and Lou.
They'd dated in high school before something had gone spectacularly wrong shortly before he'd left for the Marines.
Twelve years later, he returned to Hazard Falls and joined the police department.
Lou insisted she couldn't stand him, and Lane seemed to enjoy proving otherwise by teasing her every chance he got.
“So, Lou,” Lane called over the noise of the crowd, “when are you gonna climb up on the bar and dance? Or better yet, auction me off to the highest female bidder. It worked in Coyote Ugly.”
Dean barked a laugh.
Lou glared at him as she grabbed a bottle from the back bar. “Don't encourage him.”
Completely unapologetic, Lane only shrugged. “It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.”
“In your dreams.”
Dean slid another beer across the bar to another patron. “Personally, I'd pay to see either.”
Pouring whiskey into several shot glasses, Lou shot him another look. “You're not helping.”
“Hey, I'm staying out of it.”
“You better, if you want to keep your job.”
Dean gave her a mock salute without missing a beat as he reached for another pint glass, a grin spreading across his face.
Shylo couldn't help laughing. Beside her, Giselle snorted into her beer while Ryder shook his head as though this routine had played out a hundred times before.
Apparently satisfied he'd caused enough trouble for one night, Lane finished the last swallow of his beer and set the empty bottle down.
He pulled a few bills from his wallet, left them beneath the bottle, and then knocked on the bar with a grin.
“As always, Lou, it's been fun. But I've got an early shift. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Lou didn't bother looking up. “Only because it's a small town.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the customers within earshot as Lane chuckled to himself and headed for the door.
Shylo didn’t know what had gone wrong between them back in high school, but now, she suspected Lou protested a little too much.
Her gaze drifted across the crowded room.
Seth sat at a cluster of pushed-together tables with Jamie and several of the ranch hands. The empty chair beside him left little doubt that he'd saved it for her. When he caught her eye, he smiled and lifted a hand in invitation.
She smiled back, held up one finger, then pointed toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.
When he nodded, Shylo handed her wineglass to Giselle. “Watch this for me?”
She didn't want to leave the drink unattended in a crowded bar or bring it into the ladies' room.
“You got it.” Giselle took the glass, set it on the bar, then laid a cocktail napkin over the rim.
“Be right back.”
After relieving herself, she washed her hands, splashed cool water on her face, and studied her reflection in the spotted mirror. A few damp fingers smoothed the loose strands that had escaped her ponytail before she pinched a little color back into her cheeks.
She looked exhausted.
But at least she didn't look like someone whose asshole brother was in a motel room across town or like someone carrying a secret capable of destroying the future she'd started to imagine.
She looked like a waitress at the end of a long Saturday shift who wanted nothing more than to relax with friends—and with the man who had somehow become the best part of her day.
That was the problem with pretending. It worked right until reality reminded her that it existed.
When she stepped back into the bar, Giselle handed her wineglass back with a wink before Shylo made her way across the room.
Jamie spotted her first. “There she is. Thought Lou put you back to work.”
“Don't give her ideas.”
Seth stood and pulled out the chair beside him as she reached the table. “You survived.”
“Barely. Saturdays are always the busiest.” She eased into the seat with a relieved sigh. “I may never feel my feet again.”
Jamie tipped his beer toward Seth. “Good thing we’ve got a porch swing. You can sit there and let him massage your feet.”
She laughed. “Is that your official medical advice?”
“Absolutely. If I wasn’t a cowboy, I could’ve gone to medical school.”
“He once wrapped duct tape around a fractured wrist and called it treatment,” Seth said.
His coworker looked offended. “It held long enough to get through chores.”
“For about six minutes.”
Jamie took a drink of his beer before shrugging. “It was more like thirty minutes.”
“Eight max, my friend. And you bitched the entire time.”
The table erupted in laughter.
A few minutes later, Giselle and Ryder wandered over, borrowed a couple of empty chairs from a nearby table, and joined them.
The ranch hands swapped stories about chasing a calf through three pastures that afternoon, though according to Jamie, the animal possessed the strategic brilliance of a military commander.
Seth leaned closer so she could hear him over the noise filling the room.
“You okay?”
“Tired,” she admitted, taking a sip of her wine. “But good.”
His gaze lingered on her face for another second, warmth softening his expression. Then he leaned over and brushed a quick kiss across her lips.
Before either of them could say anything, Ryder launched into an enthusiastic explanation of how he'd worked the Rodeo Bonanza vendor schedule to his advantage. He'd happily signed up for extra hours at Bar None's booth—but not during the set by an up-and-coming country band he refused to miss.
Lou had already told the staff to sign up for extra shifts that weekend, which meant extra money. A few days earlier, that would've been all Shylo cared about.
Now every plan seemed to come with Troy attached. He'd given her five days to confront Shane, which meant it was highly unlikely she'd still be there for the rodeo.
She took another sip of her wine and let herself watch the comfortable rhythm of the room.
Dean, Alyssa, and Lou never missed a beat behind the bar.
Customers laughed. Glasses clinked. Somewhere in the game room—where the pool table, dartboard, and pinball machine were—cheers erupted over one of them.
For a little while, everything felt wonderfully ordinary.
Then she glanced toward the bar.
Her hand froze with the glass halfway to her lips.
A man stood three stools from the end closest to the front door, his shoulders angled toward a woman Shylo didn't recognize as he leaned in close to her. The brim of his cap shadowed part of his face, but she knew the line of his jaw and the smug curve of his mouth when the woman laughed.
Troy.
The surrounding noise seemed to fade beneath the pounding of her pulse. He wasn't supposed to be there. She'd told him to stay away from Bar None and had practically handed him the Last Chance Saloon, saying he'd like it better.
Of course, he'd ignored her.
The asshole had never met a boundary he didn't view as a challenge.
“Shylo?”
Seth's voice pulled her back.
She pulled her gaze from Troy, but not before she caught him following her line of sight.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The lie escaped before she could stop it. She set her glass on the table, hoping no one noticed the slight tremor in her hand. “I thought I recognized someone.”
His expression remained thoughtful.
“Who?”
She swallowed hard.
Across the table, Jamie was still arguing with one of the ranch hands that the runaway calf had outsmarted all of them on purpose. Behind the bar, Lou grabbed another bottle while Dean shouted for the bar-back to bring up another case of beer from the basement.
The rest of the bar carried on as though nothing had changed.
She forced herself to smile and meet Seth's eyes. “No one that matters.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but thankfully, he didn’t press her about it.
She tried to focus on the conversation, but every few seconds, her gaze wandered back to the bar.
Troy was still there. Still laughing and making himself at home exactly where she'd told him not to be.
In a town the size of Hazard Falls, strangers usually stood out, as she'd learned when she first arrived. But on Saturday nights, Bar None drew people from neighboring towns for dinner, drinks, live music, or a game of pool. Troy was just another face in the crowd.
Finally, he slipped an arm around the woman's waist and headed for the front door with her. Shylo followed them with her eyes until the door swung shut behind them. Only then did she realize nearly every muscle in her body was clenched. She tried to force them to relax, but it was futile.
Troy had left the bar, but the knot of dread he'd brought with him hadn't. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out of there before he came back.
She took the last sip of her wine and set the empty glass on the table. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”
Seth had been listening to something Ryder was saying, but his attention shifted immediately to her. “Everything okay?”
“I've got a headache, and my feet are really killing me.” Neither statement was a lie. “I think I'm just ready to crawl into bed.”
He studied her for a moment, and she wondered if he'd push. Instead, he nodded and got to his feet. “I'll walk you to your truck.”
After saying goodnight to everyone, she followed him outside. The heatwave hadn't loosened its grip much, though the air felt cooler than in the crowded bar.
They stopped beside her truck, and Seth cupped her cheek before leaning down to kiss her. The gentle pressure of his lips made it painfully easy to pretend Troy didn't exist—that she wasn't running out of time.
When he pulled back, his thumb traced her jaw. “Want me to follow you to the motel?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, that’s okay. It's only a few blocks. Stay with your friends. I'll see you tomorrow for dinner.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
He looked unconvinced, but after one more quick kiss, he stepped back. “Drive safe.”
“Always.”
“And text me after you get to your room, so I know you’re okay. Otherwise, I’ll come check on you.”
That was the last thing she wanted tonight—not with Troy lurking around. “I will.”
She climbed into her truck and started the engine. Seth stepped back as she shifted into gear. He lifted a hand in farewell, and she returned the wave before easing out of the parking space.
In the rearview mirror, she caught one last glimpse of him standing beneath the glow of the parking lot lights, watching until she'd turned onto Main Street.
The smile she'd worn for him lasted almost to the end of the block.