8. Full House
Full House
Ivy
I could have cried happy tears. Tonight, with the Sapphire Saloon at standing room only, my plan actually worked.
The DJ kept the vibe going, calling out dances for the ladies to ask the cowboys.
The bar was three deep. And the owner constantly smiled because they were blowing through the beers on tap special like crazy.
The first Cowboy Night had been a respectable attempt. This second time was something else entirely. Of course, somewhere out there, an anonymous blogger called the Forest Grove Gossip Gal had written a post about the first event that had spread through Silver County like brushfire.
I’d seen it shared on every local online group, texted around town, and printed out and taped to the bulletin boards at the stores. People showed up tonight because they didn’t want to miss what the Gossip Gal would write about next—or who would be written about.
I had no idea who the author was. I’d spent the past week trying to figure it out, studying every woman in town like a detective looking for tells.
My current suspect was the banker’s daughter.
Tina, the quiet, unassuming type, sat alone at a table near the wall, nursing a soda, her eyes darting around the room as if cataloging it all.
She reminded me a little of Sage, with that same wallflower energy: super smart, always observing, never quite in the middle of things.
Not that Sage wasn’t pretty—the Wylde sisters were blessed that way.
Just whoever the Gossip Gal was, I intended to find her.
I owed her a drink for helping spread the word.
Tonight wasn’t only about her, but about this renewed energy, proof that Forest Grove was not dead yet. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have all the eyes noticing the man standing beside me at the bar with his hand never veering far from the small of my back like it belonged there.
Perhaps I should have had a rule with Colt about limiting physical touch.
But I didn’t mind. We painted a handsome picture together, as I caught our image more than once in the mirror behind the bar.
Colt, with his dark button-down, the sleeves rolled to his meaty forearms. The way the veins along his wrists stood out, sexy if I stared too long.
He’d also parted his hair differently or given it a messy tussle, something that wasn’t his usual high and tight.
Whatever it was about him, he stood beside me with that easy, unhurried stillness he carried everywhere. The warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my top affected my concentration. Yes. Maybe a rule about limiting touch would be necessary.
We were putting on a show, that was all, per our agreement. A new public couple, convincing enough that nobody questioned it, and especially for people to see a woman who was spoken for.
I slipped further under his spell when his thumb traced a small circle on my back as we stood at the bar. I leaned into him instead of away. When my eyes would catch his while talking, he’d lean in and kiss my temple, or cheek, or—a lingering brush on my lips. With each one, my pulse got a workout.
A nice, friendly workout.
“You two look cozy,” Tina said, suddenly beside me at the bar, seeking a refill on her soda. Her eyes sparkled. She didn’t know it was fake. Nobody did. That was the point.
“He’s useful,” I teased, patting Colt’s chest; his heartbeat under my palm steady and even. Nothing rattled this man. I pulled my hand back and reached for my drink instead. “Tall enough to flag down the bartender for you.” Which he did, ordering Tina’s refill for her.
“So that’s why you hooked me,” Colt quipped with a wink.
The warmth of his deep voice matched the level of warmth in his eyes.
When he peered down at me, the corner of his mouth did that thing where it almost smiled but didn’t quite commit.
My stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with the fact that his almost-smile could be the most devastating weapon in Silver County to a girl’s heart.
Tina tilted her head and gazed upon us, chewing her cheek as if not buying the casual act. Smart woman. But what if the next Gossip Gal featured us? I should give her a sign or say something only for her ears and see if it ends up in her writing, if it’s her.
“Actually, Tina, in case you hadn’t heard, we are getting cozy. Very cozy. More than friends for a while now.”
“So Colt is off the market? What a shame. I overheard some women in the bathroom talking about him.”
The green-eyed monster rose within me. I swallowed hard, quickly stamping it out.
“You can tell them there’s only one woman I have eyes for.” Colt layered it on thick, complete with pulling me closer into him.
“I’ll help you spread the news,” she finished with a knowing glance at me. “Daisy’s not here tonight? And what about Knox?”
Ah-hah! She must be the Gal.
“Daisy was too tired from work and wanted to stay home,” I provided.
“Knox claimed to have pulled a muscle calming down a horse today,” Colt said.
“Two bucks for the soda,” the bartender called out.
“Put it on my tab,” I exclaimed, and handed Tina the glass. “Here you go, Tina. The least I can do for you.” I nodded at her, with an all-knowing glance right back.
“Thanks, Ivy. And Colt, is Jake here tonight? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”
“He had barn duty. We have a few horses we’re keeping an eye on around the clock right now.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. I couldn’t have her sad. What if that leaked into her writing on Gossip Gal?
“Hey, there are plenty of guys here. Need me to introduce you around? I’m a great wing-woman,” I encouraged her, but she shook her head and made her way to the door, disappearing through the crowd. “Tina, wait. Let me help—”
Colt stopped me. “Let her go. Jake was talking about her this week. I think he’s ramping up to ask her out. So let things flow naturally.”
I was glad to hear it, and he was right. I just hoped she got plenty of good things to report if she really was the Gossip Gal.
“Dance with me,” Colt insisted. Not a question. He set our drinks on the bar and took my hand. The confidence in that gesture sent a pulse of heat through my body that I blamed entirely on the fact that I simply liked to dance with anyone.
Gone by Christmas was the message he made clear. Damn shame; I’d miss his friendship. Would we at least have that across the miles when this was all said and done? Keep in touch now and then?
Those thoughts left me the moment he pulled me in close on the slow song, closer than last time, his hand firm around my waist and our bodies aligned in a way that left no light between his chest and mine.
He moved me through the two-step, quick-quick-slow-slow, that made every woman in the room glance our direction.
“People are watching,” I murmured, my lips near his jaw.
“That’s the idea.” His hand slid an inch lower down my back.
“You’re getting better at this fake boyfriend thing.”
“Says the woman with her mouth at my neck. Who’s performing now, Wylde?”
I pulled back enough to peer up at him. My breath caught. If he was acting, he played the role well. His eyes were laser-focused on me. The entire bar disappeared.
“Careful, Calhoun, a girl could get used to this.”
Another inch further his hand went, almost cupping my bottom, when the song ended.
The DJ announced he’d take a break. Colt stepped back with a smoldering smile, and a couple of the ranch guys came laughing up to him, taking him away to do a round of shots.
The moment shattered between us like glass hitting the floor.
My heart hammered. None of that was real.
We were performing. We had rules. He was leaving at Christmas.
I didn’t do relationships. The rules existed for exactly this reason: because Colt Calhoun’s hands on my body and his eyes on my face made me feel things I had no business feeling.
The last time I’d felt things like this for a man, I’d ended up as an accessory to crimes I was still afraid to talk about.
I sighed and left the dance floor. With Colt occupied, I still had a job to do.
I shook off the warmth he’d left behind and got back to it, moving through the crowd the way I always worked a room—touching shoulders, laughing at the right moments, steering single women toward groups of cowboys who looked like they’d forgotten how to start a conversation.
The night was working. I needed to work it back.
I found Sage near the far end of the bar, half a beer in hand, talking with friends. I caught her eye. She smiled and was fine. I moved on.
The crowd had thickened. I was cutting through the space between a cluster of high-tops when I stopped dead.
Seth Brewster stood five feet away. Close enough that I registered the particular scowl that he had mastered. He clocked me at the same time, his jaw tightening, and stepped forward.
Ice raced through my veins. No, I can’t deal with him right now. Where was Colt when I needed him?
I turned on my boot heels and threaded back through the crowd with my pulse in my ears, aiming for the hallway near the bathrooms and the fire escape beyond it. I needed air, a wall at my back, and Seth far away from me.
I made it to the hallway entrance and collided hard with a solid wall of chest.
Hands caught my arms. “Whoa, Wylde—” Colt locked me down with his brow creased. His eyes went from my frantic face to the crowd behind me and back. One second was all he needed to tell something was wrong. “Come with me.” He steered me toward the door without asking questions.
The smell of garbage, old grease, and empty beer bottles hit us.
But the alley was at least empty of people.
I leaned against the brick wall, pressed my palms flat against the rough masonry, and breathed in the cool Montana air.
I tilted my head to the big sky; nothing but stars on this clear night to greet me.