CHAPTER 1 — MASON
Itell myself I'm here for the whiskey.
It's a lie, and I know it before I push through the door of the Rusty Spur.
The same lie I've told myself four times in the past three weeks.
Same bar. Same stool at the end where I can see the exits and keep my back to the wall.
Same two fingers of bourbon I nurse for an hour while I pretend I'm not scanning the room for her.
I enter the bar and do a sweep of the room. She’s not here yet.
But I know she will be.
It’s busy tonight. Friday crowd, locals mixed with ranch hands blowing off steam.
Music blares from the jukebox—something country and forgettable.
Keeping my Stetson angled low over my eyes, I take my usual spot, order my usual drink, and settle into the familiar rhythm of watching without being watched.
I lift the glass to my mouth, my eyes never leaving the door.
We've never spoken. Just those few seconds weeks ago when our eyes met across the bar—hers sharp and assessing, mine probably too intense—before she looked away.
But that look stayed with me. Burrowed under my skin like a splinter I can't dig out.
I shouldn't be here. I should be at the ranch, running perimeter checks or cleaning my rifle or doing literally anything that doesn't involve sitting in a crowded bar hoping to catch a glimpse of a woman I have no business wanting.
But I can’t help it. I want Lily Carter.