Chapter 6
sarah
As a teenager, I had friends—a lot of them.
I was dating one of the hottest guys in town, and we were in a tight-knit friend group, or what you think is tight as kids. But after their betrayal, after leaving Wildflower Canyon, I kept to myself. I had Aunt Gemma, and that was that.
After therapy—a whole lot of it—I finally was able to date again, have sex again. For me, it was never about finding a future. It was about proving to myself that the past didn’t own me anymore.
Which is why it made me nervous as hell when Aria and Joy dragged me to the Rusty Spur on a Friday night. They swore I needed a break after the week I’d had. And maybe they weren’t wrong.
Another thing about living in a small town?
Everyone knows everyone’s business. Which meant everyone knew I’d spent half the night at the Dunn ranch, where most folks would sooner spit on my boots than thank me.
But they also knew that even Lyle Dunn managed a few grudging words about my skill as a vet.
So that’s how I ended up in a cowboy dive bar that smells like whiskey, frying grease, and sweat-soaked denim.
The narrow room is crowded, shoulder to shoulder, and the live band on stage, which isn’t half bad, is pounding out a cover of Garth Brooks while couples spin and stomp across the dance floor.
Neon signs buzz above the wraparound bar where Moxy, gray hair pulled tight and a cigarette dangling from her lips, pours shots with the same hand that can haul rowdy cowboys out by their collars.
I remember Moxy—but then she’s been here since Reagan was president and hasn’t changed one bit, except her hair is now pink.
“How long do we have to stay?” I ask tentatively as Joy links her arm through mine and drags me to the end of the bar.
“We just got here, for the love of sweet alfalfa, and she already wants to leave,” Aria mutters good-naturedly.
Joy gives me a measured look as she pushes me toward a barstool. “Sit your pretty ass down, girlfriend, ‘cause you need a night out. Don’t argue. Everyone’s talking about what you did at the Dunn ranch. You’re practically the Wildflower Canyon hero of the week.”
Hero.
The word makes my stomach twist.
I don’t like the attention. Nothing good ever comes of it. The ones who remember what happened with Landon won’t see past it—won’t see me as the girl wronged by an entire town, but as an outsider who has no business sullying their pristine landscape with my presence.
“Bodie is in love with you,” Aria adds, sliding onto my other side. I’m now flanked by these two women who have decided that they’re my friends.
A warmth blooms inside me, and I have to make an effort not to run, afraid that when push comes to shove, they’ll turn on me as everyone always does. And where the hell would that leave me?
“According to Bodie, you worked that heifer at Dunn Ranch like you know how to be elbow-deep inside a cow,” she continues.
I laugh at that, despite myself. “He said that?”
“Louder than he needed to.”
Joy orders a pitcher of beer. I’m not much of a drinker—not at all, actually. Alcohol isn’t something I trifle with. That’s how Landon got me, and since then, I steer clear.
“Moxy, a bottle of water, thank you,” I call out.
The bartender shoots me a sharp look. “Ain’t got sparklin’ or any of that fancy shit.”
“Just your everyday water will do.”
“You don’t drink?” Joy asks, curious but not nosy.
I shake my head.
They don’t press. Maybe they think I’m an alcoholic, and that’s fine by me. I’m not touching alcohol in a place like this, not when it’s wall-to-wall of men and half of them already hate my guts. Nuh-uh. That’s a risk I’ll never take again.
While Joy and Aria chatter about a trip they’re planning to New York, my eyes sweep the room. It’s automatic now. When you’ve been prey once, you learn to look for predators.
The fear never really leaves. Being a survivor means you carry it with you everywhere—even when the danger is only in your mind.
I’m always braced for it, always scared of it happening again. My nightmares are all the same: a repeat of that night of the ten minutes of shame and horror.
Six hundred lousy seconds.
That’s all it took to change the trajectory of my life—like a stampede tearing through a fence line, splintering everything in its path, leaving nothing standing the way it was before.
“Red Angus’ll finish faster on less feed, I don’t care what you say,” a cowboy behind me says emphatically.
“Hell, Herefords’ll marble better. You just don’t know how to feed ’em right,” another counters.
A smile touches my lips. No matter where you are, if you’re in ranch country, the conversations are all the same. California, Montana, Texas, and now Colorado—I’ve heard these same discussions on repeat.
Two women lean over their longnecks, boots kicked up on the rung of a chair.
“Trimmed his gelding’s hooves myself last week. Took me nearly two hours.”
“Two hours? Honey, you need sharper nippers.”
At the end of the bar, an old cowboy slaps his knee, his voice carrying over the rest. “The fuck is that cunt doin’ here?”
I freeze. He’s talking about me. I have no doubt. I glance at the man.
Jim Probst. Landon’s best friend. His family owns the Canyon Livestock Auction.
“Hey, Jim, who you talkin’ about, bud?” someone asks.
I look up, startled. A tall man stands right behind me in a pair of jeans, a button-down—the cowboy uniform. He has dark hair and a sardonic grin that doesn’t give away much.
Recognition hits. Kazimir Chase.
“Mind your own beeswax, Kaz,” Jim snaps. His buddies laugh.
“Asshole,” Aria mumbles. “Fastest mouth in three counties, and slick enough that half the ranchers don’t notice he’s always working an angle.”
I swallow. This is what I wanted to avoid. This is what I didn’t—
“You know, Probst, there’s a saying about people in glass houses,” Kaz continues as he comes closer to me. Not crowding me, but just enough to let everyone know he’s with me.
I don’t understand it.
“What you runnin’ your mouth about, city boy?” Probst hauls himself up. He’s a big man—about a hundred pounds bigger than he needs to be. Next to Kaz, who’s all muscle and sharp edges, Jimmy Boy’s nothing but beer gut and bluster.
“Runnin’ my mouth?” Kaz’s grin is lazy as a cat in the sun. “Heck no, Probst. I’m talkin’ about how your wife filed for divorce not a month ago ‘cause she’s shacked up with her cousin.” He leans back easy, raising his voice toward the bar. “Mox, darlin’, line me up a shot of Wild Turkey, will ya?”
“Sure thing, Kaz,” Moxy calls, grinning wide. She’s enjoying the show.
“You keep my wife’s name outta your mouth.” Probst stomps forward, puffed up like a bull, trying to get in Kaz’s face.
“Oh, for the love of—” Joy throws up her hands. “We came here for a girls’ night, not some Goddamn cowboy drama.”
“Bitch—”
“You want to think real careful before you finish that sentence.” A tall cowboy I don’t know steps out of the crowd, one big hand landing heavy on Probst’s shoulder.
His hat shades his eyes, but his presence is enough to pull the air out of the room.
His voice is low, even, with just enough grit to scrape bone.
“You callin’ my sister names, Probst?” Maverick Kincaid seems to appear out of thin air.
What are all of them doing here? I didn’t even see them, and I freaking looked around for hostiles.
Aria sidles up to her fiancée. “He called Sarah the C word,” she tattles, eyes fluttering.
A spatter of laughter runs through the bar.
“Now, see, that wasn’t polite, was it?” Mav’s got his arm around his fiancée, but his tone is menacing as hell. The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up.
Silence falls. No one even pretends not to look.
Probst takes a step back.
Mav runs one of the biggest ranches and farms in the canyon, and no one wants to tangle with him.
Add in that he’s thick as thieves with Elena Wilder—whose husband’s ranch is not just the biggest in the canyon, but one of the biggest in the whole damn country—and suddenly Jim Probst doesn’t look half as loud as he did two minutes ago.
“I—” Probst stammers, then shakes his head like the words dried up. He jerks his chin toward his drinking buddies, but they’re already staring into their beers, shoulders hunched, silently saying, “We’re not with him.”
“Clear your bill, Probst, and get the fuck sobered up.” Moxy slaps a receipt on the counter.
Probst fumbles some crumpled bills onto the bar, then slinks out, the door banging shut behind him.
The live band starts up again, boots tapping back onto the dance floor like nothing happened.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Hunt.” The man with the low voice extends his hand. I shake it. “I’m the foreman at Wilder Ranch.”
“I thought you were too busy to be out here.” Joy nudges him with an elbow.
His eyes go soft as they fall on Joy. “You, okay?”
“Yep.” She winks at him.
“You sure?”
Joy sighs elaborately. “Yes, I am…Daddy.”
He growls low, almost feral. “I gotta go. I got money ridin’ on a pool game.” And with that, he saunters off.
I look at Joy, who’s looking mighty satisfied with herself.
Aria waves her hand in explanation. “There’s some drama there.”
“No drama.” Joy looks at her manicure. “He wants to get into my pants and—”
“And she wants to climb him like a tree,” Aria finishes with an eye roll.
Joy chuckles. “Can you blame me?”
Mav flicks his sister’s nose. “Leave the poor man alone. He’s gonna lose his heart to you, and you’re gonna break it for him.”
Joy makes a face and sticks her tongue out at her brother. “Fat lot you know about Hunt. He’s not the falling kind.” There’s something wistful in her voice.
Mav’s gaze settles on me. “All okay?”
Was it all okay? Yeah, it freaking was. I had a bunch of people who shut one guy up for making a snide remark.
Holy shit!
“Yes.”
“Good. We’re going to be right here, so you relax and have a good evenin’. Anyone bothers you, we’ll take care of them.”
I nod slowly while my pulse skips around like a spooked colt.
He and Kaz drift to the pool table in the back, where Hunt is.
I glance at Aria and Joy enquiringly. They never mentioned that their men were at the Rusty Spur. “They’re all here?”
Aria tilts her head, incredulous. “You didn’t think we’d bring you here without backup, did you?”
“But…why?”
Joy grins and downs the last of her beer. “‘Cause you’re one of us, girl.” She hops off her stool and claps her hands. “Now, who’s ready to dance?”
I’ve got more people stepping in to defend me than I ever had in my whole life. And it’s…disconcerting.
I don’t know what to do with it, with any of it.
I don’t trust it.
I’ve been conditioned to wait for the other shoe to drop.
Joy grabs Hunt and gets him on the dance floor while Aria stays with me.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I murmur.
She arches an eyebrow. “Not doin’ that at all, Sarah. I’m not the dancin’ kind. But Mav is.” She smiles then. “So…he may come by and convince me.”
There’s such possessiveness as she talks about her fiancé.
I know it’s not been an easy road for her family, what with her sister in prison for the murder of her husband and for sabotaging Aria’s ranch.
But she doesn’t seem to be carrying those burdens.
She’s happy, content, her eyes seeking out Mav.
“Aria.” Bree Keaton walks up to us.
Bree hugs her friend and grins at me. “How’s it goin’, Sarah?”
“Good.”
I remember her in passing. She wasn’t part of Cade’s and my friend group. But…she was there, then. I prepare myself.
I hate myself for feeling this way—always waiting for something to go wrong, for someone to take a shot at me. I’ve seen Bree out at Aria’s ranch, and she’s never been anything but polite, yet here I am, straightening my spine like I’ve got to defend myself from her.
The sad truth is, I expect the worst from people. And when it comes—the nasty comment, the sideways look—there’s almost a sense of relief. At least then I don’t have to wait for the axe to fall.
It’s when people are kind that I get nervous. That’s when the ground feels unstable, when I start to wonder if maybe I can trust again. And then the panic comes because I know how that movie ends: with the floor dropping out, and me flat on my back, hurting.
“Bree, what the fuck are you doin’ here?” Kaz is literally in her face, and I’m guessing that we have yet another drama.
“Mind your own business.” She waves to Moxy. “Get me a—”
“Nothing,” Kaz cuts her off. “She’s on antibiotics for that ear infection she had, so she’s not mixin’ it with alcohol.”
She gives him a look that could peel paint. “God! One would think you’re my father.”
Kaz grins at her and yanks her blonde braid. “You can call me Daddy anytime.”
“Ewww!” This comes from Aria. “What’s with the daddy nonsense? Joy wants to call Hunt daddy and now you, too. Ugh!”
“It’s a well-known romance kink,” Moxy tells us as she places a bottle of water in front of Bree. “Bree, darlin’, come back when you’re done with your medical shit, and I’ll serve ya, alright?”
“Et tu, Moxy,” Bree says with mock bitterness.
“I got no idea what that means.” Moxy gives her a bland smile and gets on with serving others. “But if it means I won’t serve ya when you’re drugged up, you can put money on it.”
“You’re not well enough to be out, Bree,” Kaz continues.
Just then, Mav comes and wraps his arms around his fiancée and rests his chin on her hair.
“Mav, tell Kaz to stop being an overbearing asshole,” Bree requests.
“Don’t drag me into this. I’m Paul, and this is between y’all,” Mav says smoothly. “Dance with me, baby.”
Aria giggles like a schoolgirl, and off the two go.
I watch them, Joy, and Hunt, while Kaz and Bree continue to bicker.
Hunt bends low, murmurs something in Joy’s ear. She swats him in mock outrage, her cheeks pink.
“Hey, Sarah, come on, let’s dance,” Kaz insists, catching my hand before I can tuck it under the table.
“Ah…I think you should dance with Bree.” I gesture toward her because anyone with eyes can see that those two have something simmering.
The town already calls me a whore, and the last thing I need is more fuel for the fire.
“I’d rather muck stalls barefoot,” Bree shoots back. She flicks Kaz a glare, then smiles affectionately at me. “No offense, Sarah, but he’s on my shitlist right now.”
“How about….” My throat goes dry. “How about we both dance with him? I…haven’t danced in a….” Not since Cade.
Bree tilts her head, eyes softening like she heard the words I couldn’t say.
“I’ll dance with you any day, Dr. K.” She hops off her stool, grabs my hand, then jerks her chin at Kaz. “Come on, hotshot, you can tag along.”
And somehow the three of us end up bopping like fools to Beyoncé’s “Texas Hold ’Em.”
We can’t line dance to save our lives, and that’s the fun of it. Bree laughs so hard she nearly trips. Kaz tries to look cool and fails miserably, and I…laugh.
For real.
It feels as if a cinch strap got loose, and I can breathe again.