Cowboy Heat

by Delilah Devlin

  The bartender looked up from the cash register, his military haircut graying at the temples. “Welcome.”

  She stepped forward. “Thanks.” A row of five empty bar stools stood with their backs to her. She pulled out the middle one and looked to her left. Bad choice. She was directly in the cowboy’s line of sight, and he was definitely staring. She got that a lot: curvy with long, red hair and green eyes, guys made a point of ogling.

  Too late to move somewhere else, though. She didn’t want to offend the man. She sat and slung her purse strap over the back of the chair while sending a shallow smile to the cowboy.

  He touched a finger on the brim of his black hat.

  As her vision acclimated to the light, she barely caught herself from blanching.

  Part of his face was mottled, as though from burns. A puckered scar ran from the side of his nose down through his lip, as though his skin had been ripped in half then sewn back together. The hand wrapped around his beer was missing half an index finger.

  Layne looked away quickly. The poor guy probably got stared at far too often. She smothered a wry chuckle. The two of them were the perfect pair for people to eyeball.

  The bartender tossed a cardboard coaster down in front of her, cleverly getting it to spin a few times. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”

  If she’d been here with her girlfriends, they’d be ordering cosmos and margaritas until the bartender wished they’d go somewhere else. But, that’d been the draw of the place. For six country music-loving girls from inner city Denver, finding this bar only a few hours’ drive away, and the cute little motel within walking distance, had sounded like the perfect party.

  The bartender cleared his throat.

  “Sorry. Um…” After her walk, something cold sounded good. She gestured toward the cowboy. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  Cowboy looked up and a corner of his damaged mouth curved. His lips were full and manly despite the scar. He downed the last inch of his beer.

  “Actually…” Impetuous was always fun. “Let me buy a round for the whole bar.”

  “The whole bar?” The bartender laughed. “You got it.” He walked away and stuck a glass under the tap.

  “Thank you, miss.” The cowboy’s voice was heavy and quiet.

  “You’re welcome.” She turned then smiled at him. She was going to be here a few hours, and the cowboy looked about as lonely as she felt. May as well make a friend. “I’m not accustomed to your fine country manners, so please call me Layne.”

  “Layne.” He dipped his head. “I’m Kyle.”

  The bartender brought them glasses of beer and walked away with Kyle’s empty.

  She took a sip and let the cool bubbles float over her tongue and down her throat. She liked beer. Mitchell, the jackass, had asked her not to drink it at his company functions or when they were out with friends. He’d said wine and cocktails were much more upscale. “Go to hell,” she murmured. Picking up her glass, she drained half of it.

  “Pardon?” Cowboy tipped his hat back on his head, shedding light on his face. His eyes were a startling robin’s egg blue.

  Lovely actually.

  She shook her head. “Just toasting my ex.” Oh hell, why had she brought that up?

  The bartender knocked twice on the bar in front of her. “Elsie and Garth thank you for the beer.”

  How cute. Elsie and Garth. “They’re very welcome.” She sighed, relaxing into the cozy feel of the homey place.

  The bartender walked the few steps to the back and pressed buttons on the cash register.

  Layne glanced at Kyle. “So, y’all from around here?” She’d tried for a country accent, but had gone way too far south. Like all the way to Texas.

  “I am.” The cowboy nodded once. “I have a few cows on a couple acres west of here.”

  “Ha!” Turning, the bartender grinned at Kyle.

  Kyle ignored him. “You?”

  “From Denver.” Where her girlfriends and family were all spending too much time worrying about her since Marshall, the jackass, broke their engagement two weeks ago. Three weeks before the wedding.

  She’d spent a week canceling arrangements and a week feeling sorry for herself. This morning, she’d packed her bag and gotten the hell out of town. She’d never canceled her motel reservation for some reason. She looked toward the cowboy. “I’m running away from home.”

  He lifted his dark brows. “Good for you.”

  She laughed, the first real laugh she’d had in months—since things had started going bad between her and the jackass. “I’m about as far from Denver as I could get without running into another big city.”

  “Yep.” He tugged his hat back down over his forehead. “Not many folks can even find this place.”

  The bartender walked away, whistling a country song about friends in low places.

  She looked toward the stage. “I came to hear the band.” It was theoretically true. Her girlfriend was a fan of Lone Trail. Layne had never gotten the chance to hear them because the jackass didn’t like country music, and had found ways to monopolize her time to the point that she rarely saw her friends anymore.

  The cowboy looked at the wall clock. “You’ve got about a four-hour wait.”

  That was her plan. Get lumpy drunk, hear the band, meander back to her room before dark, and sleep it off.

  Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse. Her mother. “Hi.”

  “Are you almost there? There are storms rolling out of the Rockies.”

  “Yes, I’m close. A couple hours away, but the roads are clear here. Must have missed the rain.” As she glanced out the small window at the deluge, she caught Kyle’s stare, and he looked away. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

  “Kiss that new baby for me.”

  “I will. Bye, Mom.” She ended the call and sighed. “You’re probably wondering why—”

  “Nope.” Kyle held up a hand. “None of my business.” He shifted in his seat.

  Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was his quiet strength, but she wanted to talk to him. “I needed to get away. Everyone’s been smothering me since…since we broke off the engagement.” He’d broken it off, but she probably should have done it a year ago.

  “So you are running away from home. Literally.” He smiled, showing straight white teeth.

  “I literally am.” Since she was getting to ready to settle in for a good, long pity party, she probably needed to take care of business first. “’Scuse me.” Grabbing her purse, she wandered to the ladies’ room. There she washed her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She’d taken three weeks off her job at the brewery; one for the pre-wedding week and two for the honeymoon. What was she going to do with herself for twenty-one days?

  When she got back to the bar, another beer sat next to her quarter-full one. “Where did this come from?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head down. “No idea.”

  “Thank you, Kyle.” She sat one bar stool closer to him and shifted her beers in front of her. “Are you here for the band, too?”

  Giving her a sidelong glance, he lifted a brow. “Four hours early? No.” He took a drink of brew. “I was in town doing some banking. Thought I’d stop for one on the way home.”

  She downed the rest of her first beer and sat the glass on the bar rail. “That must be your big-ass truck out there.” She leaned to her right to look at the elderly couple. “Elsie and Garth don’t look like they need a fifth-wheel hitch with dualies.”

  “You know your trucks.” Kyle tapped the blunt end of his half finger against his beer glass.

  “I do. Always wanted one, but…” The jackass wasn’t interested in camping or horses or anything to do with the outdoors. She’d given up too many of her pleasures and dreams for him.

  “Well…” The cowboy set down his empty glass and stood.

  Her stomach dropped. She didn’t want him to leave. “I suppose you have a wife and kids waiting for you.”

>   Beneath his tan, the cowboy’s face went white.

  The bartender walked toward them. “Leavin’, Kyle?”

  “No.” His lips flattened. “Pour me one more, would ya, Ben?” He walked off toward the bathrooms.

  Ben stared after him until the bathroom door squeaked shut. “Huh.”

  She leaned closer. “I think I said something wrong. I asked about his wife and kids.”

  With a sorrowful look, Ben let out his breath. “He’s a widower. No kids, either.”

  Her heart thudded. What a stupid thing for her to say. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ben shrugged. “You couldn’t have known. It was a couple years ago.”

  “He looks so young.” Close to her age, she’d bet.

  “Right around thirty.” He gestured to Kyle’s beer glass. “Ever since, he comes in for a beer once a week and we talk. Must be a special occasion today.” The bartender winked at her. “I’ve never seen him have more than two.”

  The bathroom door squeaked.

  Ben walked away and grabbed a clean glass.

  Kyle slid onto his bar stool and laced his fingers together in front of him on the bar. “Suppose he told you, huh?”

  “He did.” She swallowed the ache that snuck up her throat. “I’m really sorry. It was insensitive of me to—”

  “No. Actually, it was a compliment.” He locked his blue gaze with hers. “Most women think I’m too ugly to be married.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Ben set down the fresh beer, glanced at Layne with a grimace, then left with Kyle’s empty.

  She didn’t know whether to cry or slap him. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, you’re doing a good job.” Her voice quavered just a little. Hell, she thought she was hosting the only pity party today, but there was Kyle, throwing one of his own.

  He scrubbed a palm down his face.

  “I’ll take my beer and go sit with Elsie and Garth.” She grabbed her purse off the back of her stool. “Leave you to your own company.”

  “No, please.” He reached toward her and set his hand, palm-down, on the bar. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

  She wanted to take his hand, wanted to touch him…but that was just crazy. How could her heart go out to someone that quickly? “All right, cowboy.” She hung her purse on the back of the stool to her left, the one closest to his, and slid onto it, hauling her beer and coaster with her. “We’ve got…” She looked at the clock. “Three hours and forty-five minutes to have a nice, quiet talk. Since we’re both evidently in need of someone to unload onto, and we’re already in this deep, I think we should just go for it.”

  He lifted a brow. “You do, huh?”

  “I do.” She settled in. “And I’ll start.” She told him about her ex-fiancé and her broken wedding plans. She admitted she’d snuck out of Denver that morning and told everyone she was going to visit a friend who’d just had a baby.

  He told the sad story of his wife of three years becoming ill and dying within months. When he talked about the last couple of years of his life, she had to wipe away a few tears. She could tell he was lonely. He never mentioned how he came by the scars.

  They sipped beer and talked about the plans and dreams that had fallen apart, and the futures that looked too daunting to give any solace.

  Layne’s strategy to get shit-faced drunk didn’t interest her anymore as they nursed their beers and later snacked on a couple of Ben’s burger baskets.

  Fifteen minutes before the band was supposed to start, the musicians came in and set up their instruments. She glanced around. More than half the booths were filled, waitresses carried drinks and food, and Ben had a woman helping him behind the bar. When had all this happened? She glanced at Kyle.

  He blinked as he looked around. Evidently, they’d been deep in their own little world, and had filtered out everything else. “Be right back.” He headed to the men’s room.

  She watched him this time: his slim hips, long legs and V-shaped torso were everything she’d expected in a real cowboy.

  “Can I buy you a beer?” A young man, dressed for a Saturday night at a honky-tonk, squeezed in between her bar stool and the empty one next to her.

  “No, thank you. I’m leaving in a few minutes.” She turned away.

  “My buddies and I were hoping you’d stay.” He gestured to a pack of five guys all staring at her like she was fresh meat. “Dance with us.”

  “No. Thank you.” She used her firm voice, the one that always sent guys fleeing.

  “Okay, but when you get tired of that old butt face cowboy, we’ll be waitin’ for you.”

  “What?” Her blood pressure spiked. “You know…” She turned to face him. “It’s bullshit like that that makes me hate pretty boys like you.” And he was pretty. “That cowboy is the nicest man I’ve met in a hell of a long time, and for you to judge him on his skin instead of his soul is narrow-minded and ignorant.”

  Pretty Boy looked up, over her head, and with a sinking sensation in her gut, she knew Kyle was back.

  The kid’s cheeks flamed red and he walked away.

  She turned to the cowboy.

  He stood next to his bar stool. “You don’t need to fight my battles.”

  He spoke softly, but she knew he was angry, his bright blue eyes had darkened. Damn, she’d insulted him again. How could she tell him she was fighting her own battles, too? She’d always been the pretty one, the one men asked to dance first, never her girlfriends. Marshall, the jackass, had always commented on how lovely she was, never how smart or funny or interesting.

  She’d had enough of acting like an idiot. As Ben walked by, she gestured to him. “Can you call me a taxi?” She didn’t want to walk in the rain, and who knew what that pack of pretty boys was capable of.

  “Okay. You’re a taxi.” He grinned but shook his head. “We’ve got nothing like that out here, but…”

  “I’ll drive you.” Kyle’s voice sounded too quiet.

  Ben nodded. “I can vouch for him. You’ll be safe with him.”

  She risked a glance at the cowboy.

  He seemed to have drawn back into his quiet zone. Pulling out his wallet, he settled up for all their drinks.

  She didn’t dare insult his manhood again by offering to pay her share, so she worked at finishing her last beer.

  “All right, cowboys and cowgirls!” The band member’s voice came through the sound system. “We’re Lone Trail, and we’re glad to be here tonight.” A smattering of applause and the sound of guitars tuning filled the room. “We’ve got some special occasions tonight.” He held up a piece of paper. “It’s Flo Bauman’s fiftieth birthday today. Where’s Flo?”

  Shouts from the far end of the bar revealed where her party was going strong.

  “Okay, and we’ve got Layne’s bachelorette party. Where’s Layne and the girls?”

  Silence.

  Layne looked at Kyle. His eyes were wide and staring right at her. She grimaced. “So…now might be a good time to leave, don’t you think?”

  His lips twitched in a partial smile as he came around the corner of the bar, holding out his hand.

  She placed hers in his and the zing of awareness rattled her. She stood and found herself almost a foot shorter than the cowboy.

  He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her toward the door. His height and the sure way he led her caused her heartbeat to rev. As they passed the pretty boys, she could almost smell the testosterone wafting off Kyle, as if he was marking what was his.

  The thought of being his made her core jitter with delight. His hand on her back warmed her through her whole body. The rain had slowed, and as he helped her up into his truck, his hands lingered on her just long enough to make her crazy for more of the cowboy.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. “Your bachelorette party, huh?”

  “I must have forgotten to tell you that part.” She’d intentionally left it out of her story. “Guess it makes me l
ook kind of…” She stared out the side window. “Pathetic.” Driving all this way for a canceled party. Pathetically crazy.

  “Hey.” His voice came out stern.

  She turned to look at him.

  “I’d say you were brave to do this. Seeking closure, right?” He got the truck moving toward the motel and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m impressed. You’ve got a lot more going for you than your looks.”

  She sucked in a breath. He was pretty damn amazing. Every instinct told her she could trust him, and every intuition said she shouldn’t let him slip away.

  Kyle pulled up in front of room seven, jumped out, and helped her down from the high seat. He walked her to her door, opened it and flipped the switch to turn on the lamp. He leaned in and glanced around her room to make sure it was safe.

  “Can I pay you for the ride?” They stood outside under the overhang as rain formed a wall, sealing them alone together.

  He looked down at her, his gorgeous eyes narrowing with a sexy look. He took her wrist and tugged her close. “Yeah, you can.”

  Oh hell, yes! She wanted this cowboy, every perfectly macho inch of him. Wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck, she pressed her breasts to his chest and went up on tiptoes.

  He groaned and lowered his lips to hers.

  Her skin flushed hot, her heart thudded, and between her legs, her pussy tingled and ached.

  His kiss took everything she had, his tongue feasting on her, tasting and teasing.

  The earth moved, but wait—it was him walking her backward into her room. The door slammed and he pressed her back against it.

  His steaming-hot body flattened against her front as the door cooled her back. His kiss slowed while he sucked her tongue into his mouth, encouraging her to explore and sample him. Beer and spices from the burger, and a male taste all his own combined on her tongue. She ran her tongue over his lip, loving the texture of his scar.