Chapter One #3
“So, what do you want to do? Shopping? Cruising a bar?”
“Hey, didn’t you tell me about a bar in town?” She frowned as she tried to remember the name of it.
“Dewey’s.”
“Yes! Let’s go there tomorrow night. Will Seth be alright with that or do you have plans?”
“We don’t have plans that I know of. If we do, I’ll let you know. If not, I’ll meet you there around eight.”
“Perfect. Where else to find the perfect muse for a cowboy than in a cowboy bar?”
“True. Talk soon. Love you.
“Love you too.”
Skylar stared at the document and hit delete. She knew she’d have to start over, so she’d go with a clean sheet.
Saturday night, Skylar perched on a stool at the bar, the low hum of conversation and the clink of ice rattling in glasses all around her.
She shifted uncomfortably, trying to tune out the cowboy behind her, his deep voice weaving pickup lines through the pulsing country track on the jukebox while the band was on break.
He’d been working his way into her peripheral vision since she’d arrived to wait for Ryan.
When her friend finally slid onto the stool beside her, they flagged down the bartender and ordered drinks.
“So, have you found your muse yet?” Ryan teased, brushing the condensation from her glass as Skylar lifted her whiskey sour to her lips. The tangy aroma of lemon zinged beneath the bar’s warm, amber glow.
Skylar laughed. “You love asking me that.”
“Well, I’m trying to help you keep up with this, ‘I’m not looking for a real man, just my muse’ bullshit you say all the time.”
“I’m an author. I have to research,” Skylar said, shrugging.
“Yeah, okay. So, have you found him?”
“Not yet.” Skylar shook her head, eyes scanning the room as she took a careful sip. Then her gaze fixed on the cowboy. “Oh, my. Yes, I have.”
Ryan arched her eyebrow. “Which is it? You have or haven’t?”
Skylar set her glass down and leaned forward. “I hadn’t, until right this second.”
“Where?”
She tilted her head toward the front of the bar. “He’s standing at the bar, black cowboy hat pulled low, red T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders, and good Lord, those arms. He has his elbows braced on the bar as though he’s hunting for a bartender.”
“Oh, I see him. Damn.” Ryan’s eyes lit up.
“Exactly.” Skylar grinned back.
“The woman on the stool beside him can’t take her eyes off him.”
“I can’t either,” Skylar confessed with a laugh. “She’s actually talking to him.”
Skylar watched the slim brunette lean in close; words lost in the bar’s din.
The cowboy’s face turned toward her, and Skylar felt her pulse quicken when he let his weight settle on one elbow, fully concentrating on the woman’s face.
No scanning the crowd, no bored glances, just him, fully focused on her.
“Now, that man knows how to make a woman feel like she’s the only person in a crowded room,” Skylar whispered, voice low. “See how he’s holding her gaze? She has his full attention. I wish I could see his eyes better. His hat casts a shadow, but that square jaw, wow.”
“I love scruff,” Ryan sighed, tracing the rim of her glass.
“Me too.” Skylar’s gaze sharpened. “And his hair’s dark. I want to know what color those eyes are.”
A bartender appeared, sliding a frosty mug of beer toward the cowboy. When he grinned at the woman, Skylar almost toppled off her stool.
“He has a gorgeous grin,” Ryan murmured, eyes dreamy. “Like Seth’s.”
“Yes,” Skylar agreed, voice soft. “Seth’s smile is beautiful.” She watched as the cowboy paid and motioned for the bartender to pour another amber brew, this one clearly for the woman. “Someone might get lucky tonight.”
“Too bad it’s not you,” Ryan said with a playful shove.
Skylar opened her mouth, then cut off, voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s looking at me.” Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she stole a glance. The cowboy’s gaze had lifted from the woman to fix on her for a fraction of a second, dark eyes meeting hers across the crowded bar. Good heavens.
When the woman spoke again, he glanced back at her, but Skylar felt that brief spark of connection lingering in the air. He was tall, as tall as Seth, maybe six foot four or five, with a lean strength that showed in the way he relaxed against the bar.
“I have to use the bathroom, but don’t want to move,” Skylar admitted, fingers tightening around her half-empty glass. “I could stare at him all night.”
Ryan nudged her gently with her elbow. “You can stare when you get back. If you need the bathroom, go. I’ll guard your spot.”
Skylar exhaled, the scent of whiskey and lemon lingering on her breath.
“Okay,” she said, pushing away from her stool, the wooden legs scraping against the floor.
She had to walk past him. Taking a deep breath that filled her lungs with the bar’s mixture of cologne, perfume, and beer, she strolled around the bar but kept her eyes off him.
Well, she tried. She couldn’t resist looking at him and her eyes met his again.
They were pitch dark beneath the brim of his hat, like pools of ink in the dim lighting, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks burning, but she knew that look would be burned into her brain for the rest of her life.
****
Rawley nodded mechanically at the brunette’s story, but his attention had drifted across the bar to where she sat.
Stunning was an understatement. Her hair cascaded past her shoulders in loose waves the color of sun-ripened wheat, catching amber highlights under the bar lights.
When her gaze briefly met his, he glimpsed eyes the pale blue of a winter sky at dawn; clear, arresting, and somehow both warm and cool at once.
He scanned the space around her, checking if some lucky bastard had stepped away momentarily.
But no, only another woman occupied the adjacent stool, chatting with the bartender, while her seat remained the last one at the curved end of the bar, as if positioned perfectly for his line of sight.
He watched as the blonde got down from her stool, walked around the bar, and he hoped she was going to say something to him, but she walked by him and disappeared down the hallway, heading toward the restrooms.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Rawley shifted his eyes back to the brunette and frowned. “What?”
“Do you want to get out of here,” she repeated, voice husky with beer, as she raked her crimson fingernails through the dark hair on his forearm, leaving faint white trails on his tanned skin.
“Uh—” The blonde sauntered past him again, her hips swaying gently.
The scent of her light perfume, jasmine with a hint of vanilla, wrapped around him like invisible silk.
Her faded blue jeans hugged the curve of her ass like a second skin, and he watched, mesmerized, as she climbed back onto the stool and said something to her friend, then picked up her half-empty glass, condensation beading on its surface like tiny diamonds, lifted the stemmed maraschino cherry, put it between her glossy red lips, pulled the stem off with a gentle tug, chewed with deliberate slowness, and swallowed.
All the while her pale blue eyes held his, unblinking and knowing. Son of a bitch! He swallowed hard.
“Look, if you don’t want to, just say it.”
Rawley looked at the brunette. “Say what?”
She slid off the stool, tossing her final assessment over her shoulder. “Handsome as sin but obviously not smart enough to carry a conversation.” The crowd parted as she cut through it toward the exit sign’s red glow.
Rawley’s eyes followed her retreating figure, the tight skirt marking each step with a defiant sway. He lifted his beer and laughed quietly into the foam. That was a first; being complimented and insulted in the same breath.
Laura Blackstone leaned across the bar. “Rawley, do you need anything?”
“No, thanks Laura.”
“Okay. Just wave one of us down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rawley’s gaze snapped back to the blonde, but she was deep in conversation with her friend.
His pulse quickened. The friend was gorgeous too, but the blonde, damn, she was magnetic.
He had to talk to her. But he needed the bathroom first. He gripped his empty glass, praying she’d still be perched on that stool when he returned.
The crowd had become a writhing mass of bodies.
He’d have to fight his way to the bathroom like a man possessed and then do it again on his way back.