Page 44 of Redemption

I take another step back, shaking my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nic. Meet me at Clay’s. Say at eight o’clock?”

“Why don’t you come to pick me up instead?”

“Can’t. I’m going to be working late tonight. I had a quick errand to run on my lunch break, but I need to get back.” I push open the door and step over the threshold. “I’ll see you at eight.”

Nicole’s still frowning as I exit the store, but I pretend not to notice. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I don’t want to spend the next thirty minutes listening to her attempted negotiations. I really do need to get back to the ranch.

As I’m rolling up the driveway, I see Mr. J’s truck parked in front of the main house, so I know Presley’s made it back. It takes every bit of willpower I possess to continue driving until I reach my place. As I exit my pickup, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. They’re a ways away, but there’s no mistaking the gorgeous Arabian nor the stunning blonde walking beside her, taking her by the lead. I know I’m witnessing something special as I watch them. Magnolia’s not wearing a saddle, which tells me Presley has no intention of riding her. The woman may have grown up around horses, but she couldn’t ride bareback to save her life, and I doubt that’s changed during her time up north. This moment between them is intimate, almost, and I feel like a bit of a voyeur, but I can’t force myself to look away.

I move closer, drawn to the wild beauty of it, but I’m mindful about keeping my distance. It’s obvious they’re reconnecting, and the last thing I’d want to do is interrupt like I did last time. Presley strokes the horse’s mane lovingly, and when Magnolia lowers her muzzle to nudge her companion, Presley’s face lights up in laughter. Mag drops her head even farther until their foreheads are touching. Pres runs her hand along the animal’s neck as she’s speaking softly to her. They remain that way for quite some time, the light breeze blowing Presley’s hair around as the two re-establish the bond they once shared as if they had never been apart.

Christ. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my life.

When Presley finally lifts her head, her eyes wander, as if she can sense she’s being watched. When her gaze locks on mine, she freezes. We stare at each other across the space between us, and something shifts in the air. Like an acknowledgment of sorts, mutual respect for our past. Life may have shaped us into different people in some ways, but what happened on that sidewalk earlier proves that not everything has changed. And that small but significant fact has me contemplating something I haven’t thought about in a long time: maybe things between Presley and me aren’t over after all.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Presley

“Okay, I know you’re still supposed to take it easy on your shoulder, so why don’t you stick to beer and shots for now? Once you’re operating at one-hundred percent, we can work on some of those girly cocktails chicks love.”

I whack my brother with the dishtowel that was slung over my shoulder. “Sexist much?”

Clayton holds his hands up. “What? It’s true! I seem to remember you havin’ a fondness for Cosmos back in the day. You’re a chick, and drinks don’t get much girlier than that.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s because I was a teenager who didn’t know any better. I also thought Boone’s Strawberry Hill was fine wine.”

He belts out a laugh and swings his arm around my neck, pulling me into his side. “I’m sure your tastes are much more refined after living in a big city, huh?”

I shrug out of his hold, suddenly not finding the moment so amusing. “I guess.”

The truth is, I rarely drink. When you’ve been on the receiving end of alcohol-induced rages like I have, you tend to lose your taste for it. I know the irony behind taking this job, but it’s not the same here. Here, things feel normal. Like, maybe this is where I’d be going on a Friday night if I hadn’t moved away. Even if my brother wasn’t standing right next to me, I’d still feel safe. In a town of less than five hundred, nearly everyone who walks through those doors knows everyone else. And Clayton has assured me he’s not afraid to cut someone off before things get out of hand.

Throughout the night, I see many familiar faces. I have a lot of conversations that end in some variation of: “Let’s get together and catch up sometime.” Clayton’s stuck close by for the most part, but he seems to have figured out how important it is that I don’t use him as a crutch. Tending bar is definitely not something I’d ever enjoy doing long-term, but it’s a step in the right direction. I can’t stay holed up in that house anymore, wondering if and when Sebastian is ever going to make his move. I texted my new number to Agent Simmons earlier, and he promised to have his wife call me first thing Monday morning. I suppose once I file for divorce, Sebastian will have no choice but to acknowledge me.

Dive Bar also sells pub food, so we had a rush around suppertime, but we’re having a bit of a lull right now. Since it’s Friday night, Clayton says business will really start picking up around nine. I’m due to clock out at the same time because he didn’t want to overwhelm me on my first day, but I might hang out for a while after my shift. It’s refreshing having this little slice of normal, being around people who don’t have a pretentious bone in their body. The front door opens, and I silently amend my previous statement. I guess I spoke too soon.

Nicky—I refuse to call her Nicole after the way she treated me earlier—saunters in, wearing a skin-tight red dress that pushes her boobs up and a cute pair of brown cowgirl booties.

My brother whistles from the other end of the bar, closest to the door. “Damn, Nicky.”

My lips twitch as she pins him with a glare. “Kiss my sweet ass, Clayton.”

Clayton rests his elbows on the bar top and leans forward. “Well, I’ve already been there, done that, honey, but if you’re lookin’ for a repeat, I will gladly oblige. You just say the word.”

I duck my head, shaking with silent laughter. This boy hasn’t changed one bit, has he? Clay would never move in on another man’s girl, especially not one of his friends, but that doesn’t stop him from flirting with everyone bearing a pair of tits. Nineteen or ninety, it doesn’t matter. He can’t seem to help himself. The only exceptions to that rule are the women he’s related to.

She huffs. “You wish. Have you seen Beckett? He’s supposed to be meetin’ me here.”

Lovely. I knew this was bound to happen eventually, but I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with it on my first night. Especially after Beck and I had that weird... whatever it was earlier.

Nicky’s eyes wander around the room before turning back our way. She must not have noticed me before because as contemptuous as I thought her expression was then, it’s nothing compared to now.

“Presley.” She looks me up and down, taking in my outfit with a sneer. I’m not sure what her problem is. My wardrobe choices are limited to the things I wore when I was eighteen, but thankfully, I had a pretty timeless fashion sense back then. My shirts are a little tighter than they used to be because my breasts are two cup sizes fuller, but it’s not revealing in any way. “What are you doin’ behind the bar?”

Before I can answer, Clayton swings his arm over my shoulders and says, “Didn’t you hear? Presley’s sticking around. She’s gonna be helping me out for the foreseeable future. Isn’t that great?”

Nicky’s face transforms into what could only be described as severely constipated. “Yeah. Just great.” Her tone says that it’s anything but great. “I’m grabbin’ a table in the back. When my boyfriend gets here, will ya send him on back, hun?”

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