Page 18 of Burn the Wild

Mind off the cowboy. Focus on the drink.

That’s when I realize he’s frowning at me.

“Help you?”

Finally, some service.

Pushing my sunglasses on top of my head, I give him my most charming smile. “Hi.”

He wears a backward baseball cap that covers a shaggy head of golden hair. It reminds me of a lion’s mane. His narrowed eyes are deep brown streaked with gold, almost honeyed. Like the whiskey I want.

He crosses his arms, jerks up his chin. “What?” The question is brisk, annoyed.

“Whiskey. Top shelf.”

He says nothing, just gives me a lazy once-over and an eyebrow raise.

While he pulls the whiskey, I set my arms on the bar top, adjusting the bangles on both of my wrists. The familiar jingling sound settles over me like a lullaby.

I glance up and the cowboy stands there, frozen, whiskey bottle gripped in his fist. His eyes land on my bangles. Something like recognition filters into his gaze. “Not from here, are you?” he asks, sounding surly.

I rack my brain to think if I’ve seen him before. No. He’s just a dusty, crabby cowboy who should be pouring me a drink. “How’d you guess?”

His nostrils flare. “Because when people are stuck on the side of the road in a small town, you typically stop to help.” He pours whiskey into a crystal glass.

I scoff. “Strange men, hitchhikers? I don’t think so.”

His frown deepens to a scowl. “Let me guess, that’s your car out there takin’ up three parkin’ spots.”

Whatever’s put this bad-tempered cowboy in an even worse mood, I want no part of. My sigh is weary as I drum my nails on the lacquered countertop. “Look, give me the drink and I’ll go.”

His gaze returns to me like a magnet. “Let me break it down for you, honey. You won’t get far givin’ the orders ‘round here.”

I bristle at the termhoney. I’ve been called it every day of my life. It’s just a throwaway word for a throwaway girl.

“Don’t call me honey.” I swallow, push aside the pang of hurt. “Seriously. Give me my goddamn drink.”

He lays a long, cocky look on me, instantly annoying me. “The whiskey’s for paying customers. Guests.” His lip quirks up. “You have a room here? You lost? Because I have a map with directions to the best way out of town.”

For a moment, I tense, unable to shake off that unwanted feeling. Then I slam my purse on the bar and rip out my wallet.“Here,” I snap, throwing my credit card at him. It bounces off his broad chest, and I watch those long, calloused fingers snatch it up.

“Fuck me.” He stares at my credit card as if it’s a bomb. A muscle jerks in that chiseled jaw as his amber eyes lift to mine. “You’re Reese?” he demands.

“I am.” I toss my hair. “And I suppose you are the unfortunate grouchy cowboy welcome wagon.”

He scowls.

My jaw tightens. I hold out my hand. “The drink.”

The glass bobs in his hand like he’s considering something. Then he drawls, “Sorry, honey. Don’t think you need this today.”

I watch in horror as he downs my drink in one long shot. Smirks.

A squeak comes from the blonde girl behind him. Her blue-eyed gaze pinballs from me to the cowboy.

Fists clenched, I stomp my heel. “You—you asshole.”

“Tell it to the judge. Here.” With a cocky grin that lights a fire in my chest, he slides a glass of water toward me. “Cool off.”

---