Chapter 25
The sun sinks slowly behind the mountains, dragging streaks of orange and violet across the Montana sky, reluctant to set. The peaks hold on to the last of the light stubbornly, their jagged edges glowing like embers before finally burning out.
The house still smells of beef stew and fresh bread as I stand at the kitchen sink, sleeves pushed to my elbows, scrubbing the last of the dinner plates.
The hot water scalds my knuckles, burning through a scrape from yesterday’s fencing.
Knox stands beside me, drying each dish while yapping about some girl he met at the feed store the other day.
The faucet squeaks when I turn it off. Eager to head out, Knox bolts from the kitchen for a shower before I’ve even dried my hands after the last dish.
“Don’t let him drive like an idiot,” Dad requests from the table, barely pulling his gaze from the book in front of him.
“I never do.”
He grunts softly in response. It’s his version of, have fun, and as close to, be safe as he’ll ever say out loud.
When I step into my room, I catch my reflection in the mirror over my dresser and stop mid-step. Dirt still smudges faintly along my jawline, and there is a faint bruise blooming on my forearm from yesterday’s stubborn gate.
I take a quick shower, dry my hair, and settle back in front of the mirror to finish getting ready when Knox bangs on my door. “Don’t take all night,” he shouts through it.
Out on the ranch, covered in sweat and dirt, I don’t think about how I look.
Now, my hair hangs loose, instead of the tight braid I wear for work, falling in soft waves down my back.
I swipe on eye shadow and mascara, darkening my lashes just enough to frame my eyes, then add a swipe of blush lipstick.
Content with my hair and makeup, I slip into a ruffled white dress with a slit running up my left thigh.
I add a brown leather belt before pulling on a matching pair of boots.
I give myself a once-over in the mirror.
It’s a transformation from grit to gloss.
I don’t look like the dirt-soiled cowgirl who walked into this room no less than twenty minutes ago.
I stare at my reflection and shake my head.
Why did I ask him? I don’t even remember deciding to. The words just slipped out.
The air has cooled by the time I step out onto the porch.
I pull my thin denim jacket tight around my chest in a futile attempt to fight off the chill.
“Finally.” Knox sighs dramatically, already halfway to the truck, the keys jingling in his hand.
I roll my eyes and jog to catch up with him, my boots crunching over the gravel with every stride.
On the way, I pass the bunkhouse. The porch light glows dim and yellow against the dark, illuminating Easton.
He sits in one of the old wooden chairs, tilted back on two legs, his hat resting low over his face.
A notebook rests open in his lap as his pen moves slowly and steadily across the page.
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and the light casts shadows along the hard lines of his jaw, accentuating the five o’clock shadow prickling along it.
His posture is relaxed, but there is something introspective about the way he holds himself, like he’s living half inside his own head. It’s a look I see on him often.
He tips his hat slightly, a faint smile spreading across his face. The gesture is subtle and respectful, yet my stomach does a deeply inconvenient little flip. I give a polite smile back and continue to the truck.
“We should ask him to come,” Knox prompts when I reach him, waiting impatiently, opening my door.
Heat creeps up my neck as I climb into the truck. “I did.”
“You what?”
“I asked him,” I mutter, wishing he would shut the door so this cab could swallow me whole.
His grin spreads, slow and wolfish. Fuck… “As in you asked him to come with us? Or with you?”
“Shut up,” I hiss, reaching for the handle to end this conversation myself. “Just get in and drive.”
Knox laughs as he rounds the truck and climbs inside. He starts the truck, and the engine rumbles to life, headlights cutting twin beams through the dark. Not heeding Dad’s request, he stomps on the accelerator, and gravel spits behind us as we pull away from the ranch.
Livingston at night isn’t much different than it is during the day.
It’s small and familiar, filled with the same faces I’ve been surrounded by since I was a kid.
The only thing that changes when the sun goes down is the dirt-soiled clothes being replaced with clean denim adorned with rodeo buckles.
Main Street glows under old streetlamps, the storefront windows reflecting passing headlights. We park half a block from The Dew Drop. The sign—red neon script resting against weathered wood siding—flickers above the door.
I step out of the truck and tug my jacket tighter around my shoulders. Country music spills into the street every time someone walks inside, growing louder as we approach.
“You’re quiet,” Knox shares, studying me.
“Thinking.” Knox takes a seat on the wooden shelf outside Miller’s Hardware Store. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you a minute,” he teases. “This is new.”
“You’re one to talk.” I give him a playful shove and head toward the bar. He’s not wrong, though. Guys are usually the furthest thing from my thoughts. Mainly because I’ve already dated Livingston’s handful of eligible bachelors in my age bracket.
The second we step inside The Dew Drop, I’m hit with the familiar—and almost comforting—aromas of beer, sawdust, and a mixture of cheap cologne.
A string of lights crisscrosses the ceiling, drawing my attention to the dance floor.
It is packed full of couples tonight—cowboy hats, worn denim, and well-polished, oversized belt buckles in every direction.
The band playing is local. They aren’t great, but they aren’t terrible, either.
We weave through the crowd toward the bar. Knox immediately draws the attention of a few girls perched on barstools in tight jeans—and even tighter tops—giggling obnoxiously.
Knox’s favorite: Buckle bunnies.
“Ladies,” Knox croons, tipping his hat and throwing them a cocky smile as we pass, only feeding into their giggles. He slips his arm around my shoulder and playfully pulls me close. “Gonna be a busy night.”
Gross.
The bartender tips he head at us in recognition. He holds up two fingers and shouts, “Two beers?” over the music.
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Yeah.” The cold bottle sweats against my palm when he hands it to me. I take a sip as Knox leans against the bar, scanning the room.
“Jess is here,” he shares. Of course she is, she’s here every night.
My oldest friend—almost by default since we grew up together—has been determined to land herself a husband since graduation.
Maybe even before. It’s the sore spot in our relationship.
She’s dying to settle down and grow roots here, while I’m dying to get out of this place someday.
I follow his gaze to find her. She looks gorgeous, as always, wrapped in a tiny denim dress, her curly brunette hair cascading down her spine.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Relax.” He grins, and if it weren’t for that glimmer in his eyes, I might almost believe he’ll stay away.
We wander around the bar, making small talk with familiar faces, neighbors, and other ranchers. My eyes keep drifting to the door. You’re being ridiculous, Teagan… He said no.
Knox drains half his beer in a single go. “So… since when do we keep secrets from each other?”
I lift my bottle to my lips and take a slow sip, buying myself a moment. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Asking Easton to come out. Without telling me.” He arches an inquisitive brow.
“That’s not a secret,” I huff.
“Sure looked like one.” He nudges me with a smirk. “How long have you been holding out on me?”
I glare at him. “Since about the time you started sleeping with all my friends, in hopes you’d start doing the same. Because… Ew!”
“First, not all.” He winks overtly across the bar at Jess. “At least, not yet.”
“Gross.”
“Okay. Fine.” He chuckles. “I promise not to go talk to Jess if you tell me what’s up with you and Easton.”
“The city boy?” I scoff, maybe a little too quickly. “Nothing.” It’s a lie. A small one. But we both know it.
Knox glowers back at me, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
“There is nothing happening,” I insist. “He works on the ranch. That’s it.” Even as I say it, my mind flashes back to the barn this morning. It’s so vivid that I can practically feel the warmth of his palm on my skin again and the heaviness in his eyes as he stared down at me.
I glance around the bar. Every guy in here grew up within a fifty-mile radius of the ranch.
Wyatt, Cole, and Boone all sit together on the other side of the bar.
They’re good men, solid and predictable.
I know their stories before they even open their mouths.
I know their fathers, their reputations, and their plans. Or what little plans they have.
I’ve dated all of them. Each relationship started the same way—easy laughter, shared history, and hands that roamed a little too freely.
And each time, it fizzled out just as fast when I realized I didn’t want the same things they did.
A life of popping out mini-cowboys and spending every Saturday night spinning the same tired circle on this dance floor isn’t enough for me.
Even the bedroom had been the same—routine, careful, and over too fast—like they were following a set of misguided instructions instead of actually seeing me.
Easton is different. At least, he seems different. If nothing else, I don’t know every detail of his life. Actually, I know almost nothing about his life. That alone should not be an attractive quality. Yet, it is. The broad shoulders and dark eyes don’t hurt, either.
He’s quiet and introverted, forever scribbling in that notebook I saw him with tonight, but he has a presence about him, too. He isn’t flashy or trying to impress anyone, but he carries an air of quiet confidence.
Knox takes the final swig of beer and slams the bottle onto the bar a little too zealously. “Well… Unlike you, I don’t plan to sit here moping all night.”
“I’m not moping.”
“You’ve looked at the door three times.”
Feeling warmth blooming over my cheeks, I’m suddenly thankful for the dim lighting. “Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” He grins with satisfaction. “And now I’m going to talk to Jess.”
I jab a finger into his chest. “Just remember you’re my ride home.”
“Got it,” he says, already scanning the dance floor. “Bathroom stall or parking lot hook-ups only tonight.”
“Knox!”
“Relax, Teag.” He laughs, already backing away and disappearing into the crowd.
He’s swallowed quickly by the sea of hats and flashing lights as he makes his way across the dance floor.
I’m left leaning against the bar, as the band shifts into a faster song.
Boots stomp with the rhythm, and someone whoops from near the mechanical bull not in use tonight.
An older cowboy I vaguely recognize from a neighboring ranch slides onto the empty barstool beside me. “Hey, Teagan.”
“Hey.”
“You dancin’ tonight?”
“Maybe later,” I lie, not in the mood to do anything other than enjoy a beer from the comforts of this seat.
He smiles confidently. “I’ll save you a dance.”
“Don’t.”
He laughs like I’m joking.
I’m not.
The music swells, and laughter rises as Knox spins Jess across the dance floor like they’re the only two people in the room. I shake my head at them. From the look on his face, he is either going to break her heart or marry her by next winter.
I finish my beer and order another as my gaze wanders over the familiar crowd and then to the door. Usually, I find comfort in this place. But tonight, it feels small, like I’m standing in the middle of a snow globe I’ve shaken a thousand times before.