Chapter Three
B y the time evening rolled around, the August heat had only eased a little, and Matthew stepped into Tex Pub like he was walking into a wall of sound, smoke, and sensory overload.
Twangy guitar riffs bounced off the hardwood floors, barbecue and hickory smoke curled through the air causing a rumble in his stomach, and ceiling fans did their best to help the air conditioning chase off the lingering heat that drifted in each time the door swung open.
The Texas Republic—Tex Pub to locals—wasn’t just a bar, it was a Harland institution. Half honky-tonk, half community haven, it was the place to be on a Tuesday night, especially if you had even a small sense of rhythm.
Owned and run by sisters Kerri and Jordan McCall, the place had the right blend of grit and charm. Kerri’s brisket grilled cheese could cure almost anything. She ruled the kitchen while her husband, Conner, wrangled cattle and the occasional drunk.
Her sister, Jordan, a former sheriff-turned-live music coordinator and animal control officer, booked the bands, kept the peace, and ran the place with the same sharp eye she’d once used to read suspects. Her husband, Cole, managed McCall Enterprises but left the day-to-day to Jordan. Smart man.
Toward the back, Mac—Levi McCall—sat at the head of a table in the far corner, ESI’s usual spot.
He was Matthew’s boss at Eagle Security & Investigations as well as Jordan and Kerri’s cousin through marriage.
That made Tex Pub unofficial ESI-adjacent territory, and tonight was no exception.
Caspian, Cooper, and Carter were already dug in with burgers and beers, the low rumble of their conversation a familiar soundtrack.
The kind that came from shared missions, too many bruises, and the kind of trust you couldn’t buy.
Matthew headed for the open chair at the end of the table and nodded in greeting. “Hope I’m not late to the party.”
“Only by a beer,” Cooper said, sliding a sweating bottle down the table at him. “But we saved you from the karaoke sign-up sheet last night, so you’re welcome.”
“Damn shame,” Caspian added with a smirk. “I was hoping for your rendition of Neon Moon .”
Carter snorted. “Coming from the guy who cleared out half the bar with his Achy Breaky Heart encore?” He tipped his beer toward Matthew. “You’re safe tonight, Walker. But don’t let them rope you into the Copperhead Road showdown.”
In one fluid motion, he sat and caught his beer. “I only sing under duress or enemy fire. And maybe not even then.”
He took a pull from his bottle, eyeing the three with practiced amusement.
Cooper, Caspian, and Carter, he’d mentally labeled them the Triple C Threat his first week at ESI.
Cooper was the fast-talking former SEAL who could charm a snake out of its skin.
Caspian had the easy grin and devil-may-care swagger of a guy who’d probably broken as many hearts as bones, and Carter was the sarcastic tech genius who could rewire a surveillance grid while quoting conspiracy theories and bad jokes in the same breath.
Together, they were chaos on tap—loyal, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
Last month, the Triple Cs had managed to convince Bennett to fill out a fake karaoke audition form Mac “forgot” to turn in. For an entire week, the Tex Pub staff kept asking when he’d be singing Boot Scootin’ Boogie .
Bennett still hadn’t forgiven them.
Mac looked up from his burger, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Appreciate you helping Annie today. She texted me like it was a tactical drop.”
Matthew shrugged and set his beer down. “It got interesting at the nursery. Attitude grows there and a greenhouse full of trouble.”
That got a few knowing looks.
“Ah,” Carter said, lifting a brow. “You met Callie. She runs that nursery like it’s classified.”
Cooper leaned in with mock seriousness. “We’re talking tier-one tomato protection.”
“Roger that.” Caspian nodded. “And don't even think about touching the petunias without clearance.”
Cooper grinned. “Yeah, she’s not afraid to tell you exactly where to go—and what to plant when you get there.”
Matthew took a long sip of his beer, eyes scanning the room out of habit. “She’s…something.”
“She’s smart.” Mac leaned back, amused. “Keeps that place running better than a damn logistics center. Annie trusts her and so does half the county.”
“Sure,” Matthew said, gaze drifting toward the entrance. “Doesn’t mean she’s not trouble.”
Cooper elbowed him. “That’s the fun kind, brother. Try it.”
Before Matthew could fire back with a retort, the front door opened and in walked a tall man with sun-streaked hair and a confident gait, followed by a pretty woman with a mixture of brown and blonde curls, wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt that read Rescue. Repeat. Relax.
“Holden!” Mac called out, lifting a hand in greeting.
The man grinned and veered toward the ESI table. “Heard there were burgers and bad decisions. Figured I’d find you all here.”
Holden and Emily Jones ran the local animal sanctuary.
He was former Delta, solid and dependable with a calm that never quite left him.
She was a sharp-eyed Animal Control officer who could wrangle a loose donkey one minute and out-argue a rancher the next.
Matthew had met her during a volunteer shift last month, and he still wasn’t sure who ran the sanctuary—Holden or his wife.
Matthew stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re late. Karaoke night passed.”
“Thank God.” Emily rolled her eyes fondly at her husband. “I love you, but no one needs to hear you attempt to sing George Strait again.”
Holden shrugged, unbothered. “It’s not my fault y’all can’t appreciate greatness.”
“You’re safe,” Caspian said, lifting his glass. “Tuesday’s for line dancing. Less noise, more humiliation.”
Holden chuckled and pulled out a chair for his wife at the next table over. “We’re meeting Callie and her sister. Figured we’d grab dinner before they drag me onto the dance floor.”
Matthew glanced up at the name, his drink pausing midway to his mouth. Callie . He hadn’t expected to hear it tonight, much less feel the subtle kick of awareness it triggered.
He kept his expression neutral, but his attention sharpened.
Mac lifted a brow. “Didn’t know you guys were that close.”
“I went to school with them.” Emily slid into her seat with a grin. “Maggie was a grade below me, but Callie and I had algebra together. She was quiet but smart as hell and stubborn enough to argue with the teacher and win.”
“She still like that?” Caspian asked, clearly amused.
Emily smiled, her tone softening. “Always. But now she’s got a greenhouse and a way of grounding everyone around her. Some things don’t change—and thank God for that.”
Matthew smirked, hiding it behind his beer. Of course, she’d have a history with the local enforcers. He should’ve known the universe wouldn’t let him stroll into town without someone having a backfile on the one woman who’d already thrown him off balance.
After the server stopped by to take his order—brisket burger, seasoned fries, and another beer for good measure—she moved to the next table where Holden and Emily were settling in.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Three sweet teas, two brisket plates with double slaw, and the veggie melt with no onions. Oh, and extra pickles or my friend will riot.”
The server blinked, then smiled. “You got it.” Then she took Holden’s burger, fries, and beer order, before heading to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she returned with their drinks, placing another longneck near him, then dropped off drinks at Holden’s table before disappearing back toward the kitchen.
Holden took a drink of his beer and set it down with a satisfied sigh. “Still think y’all are trying to trick me into line dancing.”
Carter grinned. “It’s not a trick if you already know it’s coming.”
Emily smirked. “He’s just mad Callie always spins better than he does.”
“Not hardly. You’re lucky I dance at all, given I have two left boots.” Holden snickered. “Besides, you and Callie grew up with this stuff.”
“She grew up running between greenhouse rows and hauling fertilizer sacks twice her size,” Emily said fondly. “When her dad got sick, she didn’t even hesitate. She stepped in, kept it all going.”
Matthew leaned back slightly, something tightening in his chest at the quiet pride in Emily’s voice. He didn’t know much about Callie, but that one sentence said a lot.
“Hard to top that kind of grit,” Mac said.
“Yeah.” Emily nodded. “And the place is thriving, not that Callie would ever admit it. She acts as if she only waters plants and minds her business.”
Cooper snorted. “And yet, she’s already under Herb Boy’s skin.”
Matthew gave him a dry look. “Keep talking, Thompson. I’ll be the one to sign you up for karaoke next week.”
The door swung open, and laughter floated in ahead of two figures backlit by the glow from the outdoor lights.
Callie…
Even in a sea of cowboy hats and neon beer signs, Matthew spotted her immediately.
Her hair was loose tonight, falling in waves past her shoulders, only adding to her distracting allure.
She wore a faded denim skirt and a knotted chambray shirt over a white tank top, her legs bare and sun-kissed, boots tapping lightly with each step like she’d grown up walking into trouble and owning it.
Callie exuded the kind of confident stride that didn’t need backup, though her younger sister, all sundress and sunshine, provided it anyway.
Matthew didn’t usually notice those types of details.
He noticed terrain, exits, irregular behavior.
But apparently tonight, he noticed denim. Specifically, the way it hugged Callie’s hips and showed off a pair of toned, tanned legs that looked custom-made to wreck a man’s concentration.
His beer halted halfway to his mouth again.
Hell.