Wrangler

by Dani Wyatt

  “Hey, did you see that guy over there? Like Grizzly Adams.” Lacy says as she nods into the mass of humanity and I don’t need to look to know exactly who she’s talking about.

  Something makes me feel protective, and I speak before I can check it. “Yeah. He’s at my table.”

  “I think it’s my table now.” Lacy sneers.

  “Drinks up, Lacy!” Leonard bangs a hand down on the bar and Lacy jumps. “Get on back to work, you’re not on break.” Leonard winks at me from behind her back. “And I catch you stealing tables again, you’re fired this time. Clear?” Leonard wipes the counter service area clean keeping her in his line of sight.

  Leonard is like an older brother to me. He’s been working here forever, he and Crutch know each other from their time in the Navy. Crutch has ten years on Leonard, maybe more, but I know he’s always in my corner along with Crutch, and I also know that grinds Lacy’s gears.

  “Whatever.” Lacy flips her Morticia Adams hair off her shoulder and dismisses me with a shake of her head. “Can’t I have a little fun? Besides, I don’t have to wait on his table to get what I want.” She tosses an arrogant smirk my way.

  She sashays away with her tray on her shoulder, her daisy dukes riding half way up her butt crack.

  “Uggggh.” I throw the French fry down onto the plate.

  “Eat it, stupid. Don’t let her bother you.” Tabitha leans forward. “You can’t let her see it get to you. That’s all she wants.”

  I tug my lips to the side, retrieve the coated French fry and stuff it in my mouth with a satisfied sigh.

  “See?” Tabitha chuckles. “That’s as good as sex.”

  I chew and swallow, look down at my watch. My ten minutes are up.

  “Like I would know.” And with that, I maneuver my tray to my shoulder and put my game face back on.

  “Trust me, most guys have no idea what they are doing.” She lifts her drink to her mouth, then pauses. “The fries are better,” she says, then sets her mouth back on the straw.

  Honestly, I have no idea which one is better. So I just giggle and make my way back into the crowd.

  I’ve taken no more than three steps before my belly begins to tighten. That giant guy, the one from that table with those girls, is standing there like a carved statue. His friend is next to him, happily gabbing away with their dates, but he’s just standing there.

  Looking right at me.

  I’m trying my best to give up most of the self-loathing over my weight, but there are times it rears its ugly head. Right now my tank top feels too small, my skirt too short and the waistband is digging in. It’s as if my body is overflowing my clothes.

  I hate that Lacy gets to me like she does. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had the easiest life, and she doesn’t seem to be nice to anyone so I know it’s not personal, but I still hate that she gets to me. The only place I seem to be able to be comfortable is at home on the farm with Aunt Jessie.

  She’s taught me to love myself. I’m who I am today because of Aunt Jessie, despite the short time I’ve been there. Not that it’s always that simple. I have these insecurities from my past, and it’s a struggle some days more than others. But at least I don’t wake up every morning wishing I was someone else. Or no one at all.

  But with the way this guy looks at me, all of those insecurities come back to light on my shoulders, whispering in my ears. Most of the other girls that work here wear short shorts or miniskirts. But the dress code only says no long jeans, so I usually opt for a nice knee-length, flowy sort of skirt. I’m just not built for sexy.

  He’s still staring as I make my way to my section. At least I think he’s staring, it’s hard to be completely sure. Between the dim light, the flashing strobe, his ball cap and the facial hair I could be wrong.

  “Stoooop looking at me,” I mutter under my breath as I work my way forward slipping their drinks onto the table mumbling about running a tab.

  The guy in the cowboy hat says yes to my question and I turn and get out of there before I completely embarrass myself somehow.

  When I’m at work I’m as outgoing as I’m going to get. As if I’m in character, I smile and joke around with the customers. But I still talk to myself. I guess it’s because in real life, I don’t have much to say. Books are my friends. I love to read them and I love to write.

  Apart from Tabitha and Aunt Jessie, I don’t talk all that much to people outside of work. Not for pleasure, anyway. So I talk to myself instead.

  This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone around here, but this bar has grown and gathers people from all around. I’ve become very adept at sizing up who’s who. City, town, rancher, farm hand, etc. But this guy, with his beard and long hair, has me a bit stumped.

  Despite my best effort, I look his way. Immediately, my skin warms and some low voltage courses up and down my back. My eyes are drawn to him, and every time I lose the battle and glance his way, his eyes are pinned on me.

  I take care of every table but theirs, half hoping that they’ll leave and half dreading the very same thing. My stomach is knotted up in ten different ways, but I know deep down I can’t avoid them forever. A momentary lapse and they’ve caught me looking their way. The two girls thrust their empty glasses in the air like it’s some sort of salute. I smile and nod, but they just raise their eyebrows and mouth something I know I don’t want to hear, looking impatient.

  He’s still staring. The mountain man.

  But when the two girls start waving at me and acting annoyed, mountain man breaks his never ending gaze at me, barks something toward the two girls. Their arms come down and they look down at the table.

  “Deep breath, it’s just a drink order,” I mutter.

  I’m deceiving myself if I think he’s actually staring at me with anything other than impatience. I mean, he may be rugged, but he’s hot. Like Viking, sling you over my shoulder and carry you off to make babies kind of hot. And that kind of guy does not look at this kind of girl. That’s not the way the world works.

  But he is looking at me, and from the way the hairs stand up on my arms, I not only see him looking at me right now, I feel it.

  And it feels pretty darn good.

  In the time I’ve worked here, I’ve never felt anything like this. Sure, even with my extra fluff and my plain-Jane, down home looks, I get my share of flirting from bar guys. I always assume it’s the beer-goggles talking.

  But this is different. And maybe I should be scared, he’s more than a little scary looking, but for some reason I’m not. I’m interested. And my body is telling me that it’s not all one sided, even if my brain is insisting otherwise.

  I lick my lips and muster up a smile as I reach the side of their table. My palms are sticky and I don’t seem to know where to look.

  His friend is sitting, leaning over and chatting it up with the brunette. Mountain man is still standing, an empty chair right in front of him, and I wonder why he isn’t sitting with his date.

  I admit I’m sort of glad he’s not, but still, it just adds to his mystery.

  I put on my happy face and stand next to the blond.

  “Hi, you ready for another round?” I push a smile to my lips and hold it there.

  “Yes.” The blond starts off snarky, but when she glances up at the standing sentry glaring at her she changes her tune. “Yes, please, two more rum and diets. Thank you.” Her sticky sweet change of manner makes me smile.

  “And for you two?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Gimme another Guinness on tap.” The guy sitting down gives me a warm smile, it’s flirtatious but not obnoxious.

  He’s cute in a cocky, mischievous sort of way, but I don’t feel anything dangerous with him. “And I’m trying to think of the name of a drink for my friend.” He looks up at the other guy then toward me with a question in his eyes.

  “Okay, I’ll try to help,” I answer, trying to keep my eyes on him.

  I feel his friend staring at me and the warmth that covers my cheeks is sin
king down over my torso, making me shift my legs in an effort to keep the tingling between them at bay. “What’s in it?” I ask, trying to focus.

  “Well, I think it has something called ‘Relax’ and then it’s mixed with something else called ‘Lighten up and have some fun.’” He turns from me so his words are directed at the brooding mountain standing to his left. They’re buddies alright, no doubt about it. He backhands the man mountain in the gut and doesn’t get his teeth knocked out as a reply. “My friend here needs a double.”

  I take a shaky breath before I look up. It’s one thing glancing his way from across the room, but this close I feel like I’m lighting up inside. A glow is radiating out from inside me and I’m just sure everyone can see it. Somewhere deep inside I have this niggling feeling I’m going to be humiliated somehow.

  I’m about to ask if he wants an actual drink, when the lady selling roses steps from the crowd to his left and leans into the table so both guys can see her.

  “You like to buy a rose for your dates? They’re a dollar each.”

  The girls both flip their heads around with hope in their eyes.

  What girl doesn’t like to get a rose?

  And there it is, exactly what I was expecting. Mountain man reaches for his back pocket and my heart sinks. He pinches a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and reaches to the roses as he shoves the money into her hand.

  I don’t wait for his order. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” I look down at the floor and wish I could crawl away. A thick wall of people blocks my retreat, forcing me to make my way around the back of the table behind both guys.

  “Come on, Rachel, why do you care?” I whisper to myself, fighting off the prickle of jealousy about a man I don’t even know.

  I’m close enough I pick up on the girl’s joyful giggles, and against my better judgment I swivel my head around just enough. Out of the corner of my eye I see them each holding a red rose under their noses. I look anywhere but at him as I shuffle forward, putting as much space as possible between me and the table before I have to turn around to go behind.

  My muscles tense as a hand comes from nowhere to rest on my arm. It’s crowded in here and I hate it when customers touch me.

  The hand is firm, not forceful, but I mean, just use your voice. I’m already shaking with embarrassment, thinking of all the ways I can just go crawl into a hole.

  “What?” I snap, my lips quivering. I’m ready to unleash on someone but the smell hits me.

  The aroma of roses and the quintessential scent of a real man engulf me and I lift my eyes to see him standing there.

  The mountain.

  And he’s holding the entire basket of flowers looking at me with something in his eyes that makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies start flapping in my belly.

  “These belong to you.”

  Chapter Four

  CHAD

  I’ve never bought flowers for a woman before. Now I want to buy every flower I can find and give them to her. It wasn’t enough to buy her a rose; I bought them all, and the basket too.

  And the best part is when I hand them her way.

  There it is again.

  That dimple.

  That smile.

  And it’s not just on her lips. It’s in her eyes and I’m imagining all the ways I want to take that sweet mouth and fill it with dirty things. She’s one part hometown, one part angel and all mine.

  My cock is lighting up inside my jeans and making it damn uncomfortable as I try to keep from stealing her away and discovering just how sweet this homegrown honey is. She can’t hide the way her nipples pebble against the thin fabric of the tank she’s wearing either. That’s a fucking mating call to me, and I can’t ignore it.

  Fuck, how many years has it been since a woman gave me solid wood from just a look? I have no clue. And now I’m hard as a country oak tree, and ready to convince this beauty it’s time to make babies.

  “Thank you.” Her two syrupy sweet words shake the ground under my boots.

  Not only because I think anything she says to me is magic, but because I hear how much she means it. It’s not just polite, it’s more than that. She’s grateful that someone is showing her this kindness, this attention, and it makes me want to gut punch someone for how they must have treated her in the past.

  And at the same time it makes me the happiest guy in this fucking bar.

  Bar. I never in my life thought I’d meet someone like her in a bar. Hell, I never thought I’d meet someone like her anywhere.

  She shakes her head, the smile gone. “But, I can’t accept them.”

  Like fuck you can’t.

  So, you would think a dude standing with a full basket of roses and a girl telling him she’s not taking them might throw some shade on what he thought had to be some cosmic connection.

  Nope.

  “You don’t need to accept something that’s already yours.” I see she’s getting uncomfortable, so I rein it in, settle for the twinkle in her eye. The last thing in the world I want is for her to feel anything but happiness. “Tell you what.” My mouth is beginning to water. Being this close to her... I lick my lips. “I’m going to go over where you were sitting there. That’s a friend of yours?” I snap my head around and light my eyes on the red head I saw her chatting and sharing some fries with a while ago.

  She turns around and looks where I’m looking. “Tabitha.” Her eyes dart back to mine. “I mean, yes, she’s my friend.”

  “Then I’m going to go make sure she watches these for you while you work. I’m also going to make sure she knows they are yours and they need to go home with you.”

  I take her silence to be acceptance and instead of blocking her path, I decide to give her some space. I’ve never come on this strong with anyone before and it’s even scaring me a bit. But I can’t leave it at that, so before I turn to walk away, I slip one rose out of the basket, snap the stem off at six inches with my teeth, reach over and tuck it behind her ear.

  “Keep that one for now. The rest will be waiting.”

  Her eyes light up something inside of me that must have been dormant until now. My gut is spinning, my chest is like a furnace, and my balls are sending a message that they’re ready and able to serve. Inside my brain, a tribal drum beats out a single word over and over.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  I don’t mind so much that my boner is visible to anyone that gives it a hard stare in the dim light of the bar, but hell if I’m going to cream my jeans. For the first time in my life, I realize there is only one place I ever want to cum again and that’s inside her pussy.

  Or any place on her or in her as far as that goes. She’s going to be wearing me inside and out if I have my way.

  Her name tag catches my eye again, and the name Lori still doesn’t fit for me, so I come up with my own name for her. One that’s more fitting.

  She backs away, turns, and I let her go even though it hurts.

  Roger’s giving me some shit about standing there with a basket of flowers but I don’t care. I watch her for a few minutes, then wander off around the back wall of the bar, making my way to the table where her redheaded friend is sitting.

  “These belong to her.” I tip my head to where my dove is taking a customer’s order. “Make sure she takes them home, okay?” I don’t want to discuss it, so I turn and leave her sitting there with her mouth open.

  The next couple hours are torture. I have to watch guys looking at her, breathing next to her. I don’t even want them sharing the same fucking oxygen. If one dude touches her or disrespects her, I’m not going to be able to restrain myself. That was a one-time deal. Next time it won’t end with a few threats and a juicy apology tip from the offending asshole.

  As the night wears on, I settle into my chair at the table. Roger switches his drink of choice to ice water for the rest of the evening, because despite doing a very good asshole act he’s actually an upstanding guy. He’s just easily distracted by available pussy.

/>   She waits on us a few more times, but I make due with just looking for now.

  This bar is wearing on me. Sally and the brunette, who I now know is Loretta, are sloppy drunk and spending most of their time falling all over themselves on the dance floor.

  Roger and I fall into our comfortable groove. Joking and talking old times. His ranch is doing well, and he offered to let me move in there until I find my own place, but I’m not sure that feels right.

  This draw to come back home has been strong for a couple years. Then, when the training facility I was running in Oklahoma sold out the business to a new owner, I figured it was time to make a few changes in my own life. I’ve been training and rehabbing horses of all kinds.

  I take on pro bono situations more often than I should and I’m a sucker for a hard case. A sad story. But for the most part, my magic is for sale.

  I’m not bragging when I say magic, it’s just a knack I have. I once saw this documentary about an artist and he said that he could already see the painting on the blank canvas, even when it’s nothing but white fabric. Then thousands of brush strokes later and his vision comes to life. To me that’s fascinating; you ask me to draw a stick figure and I’m lucky if I get the head mounted on the right end. But I understood what he was saying, because for me it’s horses. That’s where I see the masterpiece inside.

  Humans fuck them up. Hurt them and break their spirit. But I see through all that. I see the beauty, the majesty, the creature who longs for peace and connection. Just like humans, they long to connect. To feel safe and be part of something special. They just need to be brought out on the canvas.

  Over the years, I’ve garnered clients from all over the world. I may look like a mountain man cowboy, but I’ve worked with royalty. Horses worth millions have come under my care. But to me it’s not how many kings you sit with, it’s how you comfort the fallen. The forgotten.

  Money gives me freedom and security, but I don’t worship at the altar of the golden calf. I have no interest in wearing it or using it to impress anyone.