by Dahlia West
Chapter Three
‡
SAWYER ENTERED THE honky-tonk that locals referred to only as The Spur and waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. It was one of the few places in town where you could get a drink and the only place you could dance, outside of the few church-sponsored shindigs every once in a while. And one thing was certain—you wouldn’t see a feast of female flesh quite like this at the Saint Joseph’s Fourth of July picnic.
Short skirts and tight jeans were everywhere, on all kinds of women, from middle aged to barely legal. Sawyer was only looking for one, though, one woman who stood out in any crowd. Since he’d come back home from the rodeo, Cassidy Conroy had walked into his field of vision, and she’d had his attention ever since, which hadn’t been hard to do since he’d found himself thinking of her often.
She was one of the few things he’d missed being on the road. Though he’d never held her in his arms, never so much as kissed her red lips, the idea that she existed and was walking around Star Valley like its reigning queen had always made Sawyer miss home.
Cassidy Conroy was a staple of Star Valley, like the fair or the fireworks or the tall grass that sprang up in March, or the Tetons that stood out from the sky in any kind of weather. As far as Sawyer Barlow was concerned, she was Star Valley. It still didn’t stop him from yanking her chain. In his opinion, she needed it. Because God forbid Cassidy would ever realize just how much even the idea of her meant in this town. She’d be positively unbearable.
He kept looking but didn’t see her yet. Then again, it was still early. The jukebox was loud, and people had to talk over it, but Sawyer didn’t hear her name on anyone’s lips. It was just as well. He wanted her for himself.
His eyes found Walker, though, seated at the bar alone. Sawyer headed over and slid onto the empty stool. He ordered a beer then looked over at Walker. “What are you doing?” he asked his older brother. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
Walker merely shrugged.
A lot of things had changed since Sawyer had left home, and that was another one. Walker wasn’t his usual good-time self these days. Okay, Walker was never a good-time kinda guy, really, but he seemed even more dour lately. Sawyer assumed much of it was because the man was preoccupied with running Snake River. But even in his down time now, Walker chose a bar stool over the dance floor, which wasn’t the Walker that Sawyer had left behind all those years ago.
Dad had died over three months ago, and life had to move on.
Sawyer followed the man’s gaze to see Dakota mixing it up with Dale Vaughn on the dance floor. Things seemed innocent enough, but Walker didn’t look too pleased. It was probably also why he wasn’t dancing in spite of the numerous available women tonight. Part of Sawyer understood entirely. The dance floor was less appealing when you couldn’t have the partner you really wanted.
As he took his beer off the counter, he scanned the bar again but saw no sign of Cassidy, which was disappointing as hell. He did see Annie Lorne, though, who was making her way over to him. He smiled but not too broadly, merely politely. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.
They’d had a couple of good times together, but he didn’t see any real future there, unfortunately. He’d dance with her, if she asked, but he decided against taking her home, even if it meant going back to Snake River alone.
Sawyer had never been much of a heartbreaker.
“Hi!” she said, grinning widely.
“Hey there, darlin’.”
She looked at him coyly from underneath the brim of her Stetson. “Will you dance with me?”
Never one to leave a woman unattended, he nodded. “I believe I could take just one turn around the dance floor with you.”
Her smile faltered a bit as he stood up. It was obvious she wanted a little more than one dance. He took her by the hand and led her away from the bar.
“I missed you,” she told him.
He’d been out on the range last weekend and unable to get to town. He’d been a little antsy himself, being away from the action. Unfortunately, though, it hadn’t been Annie that Sawyer had been longing to see.
“I was making camp,” he replied, placing her hands on his shoulders. She had been reaching for his chest but that seemed a little too intimate.
She seemed determined to forge some kind of connection anyway. “How are you doing?” she asked, and the look in her eyes told him what she meant.
He smiled. Politely. “Good,” he replied and meant it.
In the days and weeks following his father’s death, things had been hard. More than hard. Sawyer hadn’t been sure how they were all going to go on. And the knowledge that their father had left them by choice, to secure their future, had not sat well with any of them.
That wasn’t common knowledge, though, that it was suicide. No one outside his brothers and the Vasquezes knew. Sawyer figured that Seth might have told Rowan, but that was to be expected, since Rowan was basically family. To the outside world, the people in Star Valley, Rafe Barlow had just gotten caught in a fast-moving snowstorm and lost his way back home. The insurance money would keep them afloat for a few years, but it didn’t really make anything better.
But Dad was gone. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Sawyer was determined to live the best life possible out of respect for the man’s ultimate sacrifice.
He guided Annie Lorne across the dance floor to an old Hank Williams tune and twirled her for good measure. “I think I better let some other cowboys have their shot here in a minute,” he told her.
She pouted at him over her shoulder. “I’d rather have you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Annie,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “Not tonight.” Or ever again, he thought but didn’t say, because he didn’t need to embarrass her.
“But you’ll finish the dance?” she prompted.
He twirled her again, and she laughed.
Chapter Four
‡
CASSIDY PARKED AT the far end of the lot and got out of her car. She could hear the loud voices and the strains of country music wafting through the warm night air as she headed toward the front door of The Spur. It was impossible to distinguish the trucks in the parking lot. Everyone had a pickup. They were all covered in mud. Only Cassidy’s Mercedes stood out among them.
The inside was dark, and it had never quite lost the stale scent of cigarette smoke despite the fact that no one could indulge indoors these days. It was annoying, but there was little to choose from in the way of nighttime hotspots. Thankfully, the opposite was true when it came to men. Star Valley was filled with cowboys who’d come by their muscles through hard outdoor work. Cassidy could almost have her pick but looked toward the bar first and found the person she’d come here to see.
Walker Barlow.
He was alone, nursing a beer and brooding with his full ruby red lips downturned. She took a deep breath and headed his way to try and cheer him up. Charlie Monroe caught sight of her, and Cassidy nodded to him. A silent drink order was all that was required at this point—she came here often enough.
He topped off a clean glass and added a lime wedge then set it down on the gleaming wood of the counter. Cassidy picked it up and sipped the club soda slowly. “Hey,” she said to Walker, leaning against the bar, as close as she could get without actually touching him.
He glanced at her for a second then gave her a curt nod.
Disappointed at the brush-off, Cassidy took another, longer sip of her drink, trying to decide how to proceed. She set the now partially empty glass down next to his beer to make it harder for him to ignore her. “Want to dance?”
The corners of his mouth turned down even more. He pushed her drink away from his so that he could wrap his huge hand around the bottle he’d been working on. “No, thanks,” he grumbled.
Walker’s deep voice hit her right in her lower belly. You could say a lot of things about him—that he was rude, that he was too conservative; but you co
uldn’t say he lacked sex appeal. You couldn’t say that about any of the Barlows.
“Are you having a good time?” she said loudly, competing with the jukebox in the corner. The question sounded lame, even to her, but Cassidy was unused to being ignored.
Walker didn’t answer, which felt like its own answer. He certainly didn’t look happy.
She leaned in closer, pressing her breasts to his upper arm. Her heart was pounding in her chest, almost louder than the music, or at least it felt that way.
Walker froze, beer in hand.
Cassidy got the distinct impression that he would’ve pulled away if there hadn’t been someone right next to him on the other side blocking him in. She put her lips right next to his ear. “You want to go somewhere else? Go for a drive?” she purred.
“No,” he said loudly, not even bothering to turn his head.
She sighed inwardly and pressed her nails into her palms. God, this was humiliating. And not seeing any other option, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Do you want to go to the bathroom at least? I bet you taste good. I want to find out.”
Cassidy had no idea what she was going to do with Walker Barlow in the men’s restroom at The Silver Spur, but she assumed it would involve her being on her knees. She shuddered and wished she’d put on jeans.
That finally got his attention. He turned to her, and Cassidy sucked in a sharp breath. All at once the truth hit her full force. She knew it, had always known it, but it was never more clear to her than it was right now, standing beside him.
She didn’t want him.
The second he took his eyes off the dance floor and actually looked at her, Cassidy’s stomach lurched. Gorgeous as Walker Barlow was, with those biceps that were barely contained inside the sleeves of his T-shirt and all that wavy dark hair peeking out from underneath his pristine white hat, she didn’t want him.
“I’m not interested, Cassidy,” he said in his low, unhurried grumble.
Far from being disappointed, Cassidy’s heart leaped for joy.
That was it, then, right? She’d tried, hadn’t she? He’d said no, and there was nothing she could do about that. She couldn’t exactly lasso him and drag him to a cabin in the woods like the old stories about the Barlow family. She’d tried—and failed—through no fault of her own this time, and surely that would be the end of that.
She simply gave him a winning smile and nodded her understanding, then she turned and sought out someone else altogether. The place was packed, but she peered carefully at the blur of faces as they glided past. She almost gave up, assuming that he wasn’t here tonight, until her eyes finally lit upon the one Barlow she really wanted to see.
Sawyer.
He grinned. “Thought I felt a cold front moving in.”
Normally Cassidy would draw out their interaction, trading barbs with him (and enjoying it). But she’d had enough of them circling each other. She was interested, and she knew he was, too, because for all his jabs that kept her off-balance and confused, that hungry look in his eyes wasn’t confusing at all. She recognized it, had seen in it every man she’d ever met.
Sawyer Barlow wanted her.
And tonight, she’d almost decided, she was going to let him have her. Instead of insulting him as she walked past, she moved toward him and reached for his shoulders. “Dance with me,” she demanded.
The cocky grin slipped from his face, and Cassidy had to force herself not to pump her fist in the air in triumph. It was nearly impossible to surprise Sawyer. It took even greater effort to render the man speechless. He had a lot to say, especially about Cassidy, and none of it good. But that’s what intrigued her about him.
He recovered well, though, and gripped her hips so tightly she had to resist a shudder. She wondered where else he could put them and what that would feel like.
“Well, yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “Good thing for you I’m so damn good at it.”
She smirked at him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re light on your feet?”
Sawyer’s look turned absolutely molten, and this time Cassidy couldn’t keep herself from shivering in his arms. He leaned down until his mouth was just inches from hers. “Test me again, Princess, and see what happens. Right here in a bar full of people. You’re used to an audience, right?” That cocky grin returned. “I’m used to a whole stadium of people watching my rides.”
Cassidy didn’t know him well enough to assume he was kidding. She glanced at the other patrons, many of whom were watching them closely. When she turned her gaze back to Sawyer, he smirked at her. “Not sure you even want to dance with me,” he said. “I think maybe you just want to be in the spotlight.”
“And you don’t want to be seen dancing with me?” she countered. “Every man here wants to be in your boots right now.”
Except Walker, which had turned out to be a blessing.
The corner of Sawyer’s mouth quirked up again, and Cassidy wanted to hit it. Or kiss it. Maybe both before the night was over. This was Sawyer Barlow, after all.
Chapter Five
‡
SAWYER TWIRLED HER then shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of flashy horses in the rodeo. Pretty, but they move around too much, difficult to wrangle.” He leaned in, just inches from her face. “They don’t give good rides.”
He enjoyed watching Cassidy’s cheeks burn with irritation, struggling with the obvious instinct to declare herself a good ride but realizing what that would sound like to him and anyone else listening. Sawyer grinned. Every once in a while he could make the Ice Queen crack, and when he did, Goddamn, it was fun!
“I don’t feel like dancing anymore,” she declared, twisting away from him.
Sawyer caught her elbow gently and pulled her back. “Oh, come on now. We’re just playing.”
She looked up at him, and for a fleeting moment a strange look crossed her face that gave Sawyer pause, like maybe she wasn’t playing. She shook it off, though, physically even, fanning her shoulder length hair out as she did and turning the corners of her mouth up into that pageant-queen smile. “How about a different game?” she asked.
Sawyer would rather dance with her, but he was up for anything if she was involved. “Sure,” he replied.
She turned and walked away.
He followed, curious.
She led him to the back, to the pool tables, and picked up the plastic rack hanging from a brass hook.
He’d seen her play once or twice in the few times he’d been to the Spur since returning home a few months ago. He’d never paid attention to her game, though. He stepped back while she filled the rack, and when she looked up at him, cue in hand, he made a sweep gesture toward the felt-lined table. “Ladies first,” he said magnanimously, though he’d never met a woman who could break worth a damn.
Cassidy surprised him, though, with a solid first shot that knocked the two ball into the far corner pocket. “Solids,” she called out.
Sawyer snorted.
“I can take stripes,” she amended. “If you feel like you need a head start.”
His grinned turned down sharply. “Just play, woman,” he growled.
Cassidy lined up her next shot, banked the cue ball off the side, and sank another solid handily. She grinned at him over the table. “Want to up the ante?”
Sawyer smiled. “Well, I would, Cassidy. But I don’t fancy getting hauled into the tank for playing strip pool with you in public.”
She laughed. “Ten bucks says you miss your next shot.”
He put down his beer and stepped toward the table. “All right. I’ll take that bet.”
It was tricky. There were no good angles to choose from. Sawyer lined up the nine ball and tagged it just underneath its bold-yellow stripe. It had a good spin but not quite enough momentum. It bounced uselessly off the side, just an inch from the pocket. “Damn it,” he groused.
She grinned and instantly sank another ball.
Not to be outdone, Sawyer squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his fu
ll height. He wouldn’t be run off with his tail between his legs by a woman who was good at pool. “I got this,” he declared. “Let’s make it twenty for this shot.”
Cassidy pressed her lips together.
Sawyer snorted. “Come on, Princess,” he coaxed. “You’re good for it.”
The nickname brought the fire back into her eyes, and Sawyer warmed in other places himself when he saw it. God, he wanted to get this woman alone.
He made his shot, calm, cool, and collected, despite his rising interest in the woman standing just a few feet away. They took turns, each missing a few shots along the way, Sawyer wishing more and more that this game was already over so they could play a better one. When he sank his third shot in a row, he stood up and said, “Let’s play for real,” surprising even himself.
She paused and looked up at him. “I thought we were.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Nah. This is just beer bucks. Let’s make it interesting. Let’s make it a hundred.”
Cassidy smirked at him. “Show me the money.”
He pulled out his wallet and opened it in front of her. Next to the bills, the silver foil of a condom flashed in the overhead light. He glanced up and saw that she’d taken notice. He pulled out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill and laid it on the felt, re-pocketing his wallet. He still had some rodeo money saved, and he’d planned on getting a new saddle at some point, but this seemed even better.
She laughed but shook her head. “I’d feel bad taking that much from you, Sawyer.”
He laughed because she hadn’t quite caught onto the stakes just yet. “Oh, I don’t plan on losing,” he told her. “And when I do win, I’m not going to take your money, Cassidy.” He paused for a moment to let it sink in. “Those are the terms, take ’em or leave ’em.”
Instead of answering, she picked up her drink and took a long, slow sip, looking at him over the rim of the glass.
