Chapter Three
Wade
Idon't go back to the ranch, though I probably should. Instead, I linger in the parking lot, waiting for Harlow's shift to end. It's warm enough that I dry after a while, though my socks are still damp and uncomfortable as hell.
A little before two in the morning, she finally steps outside, looking like she's completely done with cowboys and all our bullshit.
My dick still twitches in my jeans, pressing up against the fly.
Goddamn, she's beautiful. Wild red hair frames her heart-shaped face, tendrils plastered to her porcelain skin.
Her uniform—a green t-shirt with Silver Spoon Spur emblazoned across the front and jeans—skims her body, hinting at the curves beneath.
Even from across the parking lot, I sense the frustration and leeriness in her emerald eyes when she spots me leaning against the tailgate of my truck. Her steps falter before her shoulders go back, her chin lifting stubbornly in the air.
She's brave; I'll give her that. She stomps toward me like she's ready to set me on fire, her wide hips swaying hypnotically. A little bolt of pride goes through me when she tightens her grip on her keys, placing one between her fingers like she's prepared to shiv me with it if necessary.
"I thought I told you to leave hours ago, Jessup."
"Wade."
"What?" Her brows furrow, confusion flickering across her expression.
"My name is Wade," I murmur, staying right where I am so I don't end up with her key between my ribs. "Wade Jessup."
"Oh. Well, why are you standing in the parking lot?"
My gaze flicks to her keys. "You going to shiv me with that key if I tell you that I was waiting for you to get off work?"
"Maybe."
"Good girl." I grin at her. "You know how to take care of yourself."
"It happens when you do it long enough," she says, her gaze still full of distrust even though she's standing in the shadows. "What do you want?"
Just how long has she been taking care of herself? I'd love to know the answer to that question, but I'm guessing she isn't going to tell me, at least not right now.
"Morgan Hendrix sent me," I say instead of asking.
"Morg…" she trails off with a groan. "Of course she did. Is that why you told Danny that we're dating?"
"Something like that," I say, not entirely sure that is why I said it.
I mean, that was the plan when I got here.
And then I saw her. I can't explain what the fuck happened between point A and point B, but now, I'm not so sure I have a plan.
This is all just…instinct and intuition, or whatever it's called when meeting someone feels like a goddamn electric shock right to your heart.
Punching Danny in the face probably didn't do me any favors here, but it's not like I regret punching him in the face, either. He has a very punchable face. Sue me.
"Well, thank you for your service," she says. "I could have done without the fight and the hour and a half it took to clean up after you."
"I offered to take care of that," I point out.
If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under. "And yet, I'm the one with the backache from mopping up," she says, her tone dry. "Imagine that." She tosses her head. "Next time Morgan wants to send a cowboy to help me out, can you ask her to send me one who doesn't destroy everything in his path?"
"Hey, now," I protest. "You were the one with the water."
"I could have called the sheriff instead."
Well, hell. She's got me there.
"Does Danny bother you often?"
"Sometimes." She shrugs like it's not a big deal, but the way her eye twitches tells a different story. He stresses her out. "Usually, he just watches me."
"You into him?"
She doesn't even have to say anything for me to know that's a hell no.
It's written all over her face. But she answers anyway.
"Oh, sure. I'd just love to be property for some cowboy who thinks a woman's place is serving him.
Who wouldn't want that?" She rolls her eyes at me, her tone acerbic.
"You're not the brightest cowboy in the corral, are you? "
I splutter a protest, though I'm pretty sure I insulted her first. It wasn't intentional. I just wanted to make sure I don't need to bury that fucker six feet under. The only cowboy I want her into is me. "I do alright."
"Uh-huh. You're a one-man wrecking crew, Wade Jessup," she says, relaxing enough to loosen her grip on her keys.
How much do I hate that she has the wrong impression of me? A lot, actually. But I'm not sorry I hit him after he called her a cocktease. The prick deserved it. I won't be telling her that, though. If she didn't hear him, she doesn't need to know what he said.
The important thing is, he learned not to say it again. And if he didn't learn the lesson well enough, I have no problem reintroducing his face to my fist.
Hitting him is all kinds of therapeutic.
"Do you two have history or something?"
"Something like that," I say.
"Is that really all you're going to give me?"
"Let's just say that working for him is about as much fun as serving his alcohol," I murmur, not willing to get into all of that at two in the morning.
It's not an important story anyway. Shady bastards like Danny are a dime a dozen, especially in a town full of millionaires.
Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of good ones here.
But there are just as many who made their fortunes off the backs of everyone around them.
"Is he dangerous?" There's a tremulous thread in the question, even though she tries to hide it.
"Nah, baby," I say. "He's not dangerous. Just arrogant. And a thief, a liar, and a womanizing bastard."
"Aren't all cowboys?"
I stare at her levelly. "Do I look like a liar and a thief to you, Harlow?"
"I'm sorry." She grimaces, guilt flickering through her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant the other part."
"Yeah, you've got the wrong cowboy for that part, too, beautiful. I don't fuck around."
"Sorry," she whispers, staring down at the ground. "I just…I've been here for a week, and I've heard the way these guys talk. I've seen how many of them leave with a different woman every night. I just assumed…" she trails off with a gulp. "Um, anyway. I didn't mean to insult you."
"You've been working a week?" I arch a brow. "Morgan said you just started two days ago."
"That was my first solo shift," she says. "But I shadowed Redd beforehand to learn the ropes."
Learn the ropes? Son of a…
"You've never worked in a bar before, have you?"
"Yes." She hesitates. "Kind of."
"Kind of?"
"I worked the bar at a restaurant in Houston a few times."
Jesus H. Christ. What the fuck is Redd thinking putting a girl like her on shift alone when she's never worked a bar, let alone a cowboy bar?
Like she said, the Spur is full of cowboys who have nothing better to do with their time off than drink, fuck, and hit on anything that moves.
And Danny Palmer isn't the worst thing that's ever strolled through the doors of the Spur. Not by half.
Drifters come through here all the time, and they aren't all on the up and up. I've been a ranchhand long enough to know that when you can't find stable work on a ranch always in need of extra hands, there's usually a reason. That reason is rarely that you're a solid dude.
Harlow may be smart enough to take care of herself, but a predator is a predator. And she's here alone.
Absolutely the fuck not.
"Where the fuck is Redd?"
"At his daughter's wedding in California."
Ah, dammit. I forgot his kid was getting married.
"You working tomorrow?"
"Yes. Why?" she asks, her tone rife with suspicion.
"Same time?"
"Yes…"
"Alone?"
"I just said that Redd is at his daughter's wedding. He won't be back for another two weeks."
That's what I thought. Fuck my life. There's not a chance in hell she's working alone for another two weeks, not with every goddamn cowboy in Silver Spoon Falls passing through this bar. I will lose my shit if something happens to her.
"Might need to arrange my schedule a bit, but I'll be here," I say.
"What?" She gapes at me. "Why?"
"You shouldn't be working alone, beautiful."
Apparently, that's the wrong thing to say. She draws herself up to her full height—all five foot nothing of it—and hits me with a deadly glare. "Excuse me? I don't know who you think you are, Wade Jessup, but I can take care of myself. I don't need y—"
Yeah, nope. She's too goddamn beautiful when she's pissed, and if my dick gets any harder, I'll be embarrassing both of us in this parking lot.
I lean forward, pressing a hard kiss to the corner of her mouth. She immediately stops talking, instead making this adorable little sound that's half indignant squawk, half gasp.
"Never said you needed me, beautiful," I murmur, drawing back. "I just said I'd be here tomorrow." I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It's even softer than it looks. "See you then."
Instead of giving her time to argue—and I'm absolutely certain she will as soon as she comes to terms with the fact that I just kissed her—I stride around the side of the truck and climb in.
She stands rooted to the ground for a long moment, gaping at nothing, and then she says something. I can't hear her, but I'm guessing it's a curse or a threat, maybe even a warning. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.
Come hell or high water, I will be here tomorrow. She doesn't have to like it, but sooner or later, she'll learn to love me.