Chapter 2
BEAU
“Proposition, huh?”
The word rolls off her tongue, and damn if her sass doesn’t hit me square in the chest. She tilts her chin, lips pursed like she’s daring me to say no.
I shouldn’t take the bait. Hell, I came to Frosty Pines to get away from crowds, fans, temptation. From women who wanted the idea of me—the rodeo champion, the cowboy in worn jeans and chaps—without giving a damn about the man underneath.
But Coco North isn’t like those women and she’s never—not even once—batted her eyelashes my way.
Even so, she’s the reason I keep coming back to the bar.
The reason I linger too long over one drink, hoping for five minutes of her time.
The reason I’ve been thinking about asking her out since the day I rode into town.
I swing a leg over the saddle and dismount, boots thudding on the frozen ground. Duke snorts, restless, but settles with a pat to the neck. “Stay put, boy.”
Coco slips inside the bar the second I step away from Duke. Most folks can’t resist giving him a scratch between the ears, but not her. She keeps her distance with an anxious smile stretched across her face.
Inside, the bar hums with easy chatter—locals pack the tables, glasses clink, holiday music plays in the background. Coco slides behind the bar and starts working with a rhythm that comes from years of slinging drinks.
She gestures to my usual stool. “Sit. First round is on me.”
I settle in, watching her move. She’s efficient, tossing out saucy one-liners to regulars as easily as she pours whiskey.
She pours a draft for one, pops a cap off a bottle for another, then slides both across the counter with a smile that doesn’t miss a beat.
It’s a balance of personality and business.
Only a fool would cross the line she draws between friendly and off-limits.
And yet, every time she swings back in my direction, her eyes spark with something just for me.
At least I like to think it is.
“So,” she says, bracing her palms on the bar. “About that proposition…”
I lean in, elbows on the bar, intrigued. “Careful with that word, darlin’. Gets a man’s hopes up.”
Her laugh is quick, nervous, but it does dangerous things to my blood pressure. “Not that kind of proposition.” She grabs a shaker, drops in ice, and starts mixing something bright and fruity for a couple at the end of the bar. “But I do need a favor.”
“From me?” I arch a brow, watching the way her hands move. Thinking about her and what those fingers could do to my stiffened cock keeps me up most nights.
“Yes, from you.”
She walks the finished cocktails to the couple at the far end of the bar, and I can’t help but notice the casual sway of her hips. But I’m no fool. I drag my gaze away before she catches me ogling like a frat boy.
“But here’s the deal. You have to hear me out before you say no.” She grabs a glass and fills it with a three-finger pour.
“Now why would I say no to you?”
Her lips twitch, like she doesn’t know whether to take me seriously or not. She slides the glass of whiskey in front of me—neat, just the way I like it. “Because I know your type. Quiet. Private. The kind of man who keeps to himself.”
She’s not wrong. I retired from the rodeo to escape the noise—the fans, the cameras, the women. I traded stadium lights for starry skies, dust and sweat for a slice of mountain heaven.
And yet, here I am. Sitting across from Coco, drinking whiskey I didn’t pay for, hanging on every word that falls out of her smart mouth. I’m a sucker for beautiful women. Especially women who keep me on my toes.
She’s definitely trouble. The kind I can’t seem to stay away from.