Page 5 of Between Two Thorns

And the pull was intoxicating.

“You got an ID, miss?” Asked a man who had to be a bouncer. He was a solid block of a guy, standing by the air vent closest to the door, soaking up all the cold and knowing no one would say shit about it.

Rose had to crane her neck to look up to his face.

She fished for the stolen—lost—ID in her pocket, before having the sudden worry she should have put it in some sort of wallet. Made it look a little less like she’d just obtained it.

The big guy grabbed the card out of Rose’s hand before she could come up with a clever excuse. He peered at it, and looked like he was about to pull a flashlight up from his belt, because the flashing lights coming from just above the dance floor didn’t exactly allow for close reading.

Then the door opened behind Rose, and suddenly her questionable ID wasn’t the bouncer’s biggest issue.

“Here ya go, little lady.” The man said gruffly, and Rose repressed her ire at that particular nickname.

It was the bane of her existence; always accompanied by a man putting her down and pulling a terrible cowboy accent that sounded more southern than midwestern. Unlike Mr. Charming and in Charge, who sounded like he rode a horse here from Texas.

Rose was saved from the exercise of biting her tongue when Fred loped into the bar behind her, looking short, pissy, and sweaty in his weather inappropriate hoodie. The bouncer held out a hand at once, stopping him before the door shut.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically as he spoke. “Come on, man!”

Rose grinned as she tucked away her ID and dove headfirst into her first night out at a bar.

The Bone & Barrel was exactly big enough for the crowd it contained—with no elbow room to spare. The bar and a cluster of tables were in the darker corner of the big open room. Every wall held fake parchment wanted posters, like those sold in tourist traps like Tombstone, Arizona. Though by the amount of middle fingers depicted, Rose guessed these were custom.

The rest of the bar was all dance floor.

A crowd of people swayed in unison to an old country tune blended with a contemporary beat by an unseen DJ. Every movement was carried out with a palpable enthusiasm and energy as every body moved as one.

It was nothing like the rain dances or hoedowns at the Ranch. The ladder was a thing they did four tourists whenever it rained—making the best of one of the random days where the weather didn’t cooperate—with all the spice of a middle school dance. The former was just fun for the ranch hands. What else could you do when the roads turned into mud rivers, the horses refused to come out, and the cattle wouldn’t budge?

Dancing on the Ranch was fun. But this was an actual party.

With real, dirty dancing.

And Rose felt like a fish out of water.

She should get a drink before going out on the dance floor, right? That was what girls did in movies. Rose marched confidently towards the bar, ready to take on the night.

It was mostly empty during the thump thump thump of the current track, other than a guy sitting in the far corner like he didn’t want to be disturbed.

It wasn’t until she set her hands on the polished counter in front of her, looked up at the illegible chalkboard scrawl and unidentifiable bottle shapes—that Rose realized she knew nothing about how to drink.

Dead Wood Ranch had been a dry destination since she was born. One of her grandfathers. He’d had a problem. Though her parents never said which one. Tourists were almost always disappointed. Regulars knew to bring their own supplies—like the Briar sisters did every year at spring break.

Rose’s eyes wandered off the menu board as she floundered over her order, her attention drawn like a magnet back to the man in the corner.

A green light from the dance floor rolled over the polished wooden counter in front of him, up arms clad in tight cotton sleeves that clung nicely to his lanky frame and the square of his shoulders. Right up to the fringe of dirty-blond hair covering his eyes.

Maybe Fred’s outfit choice wasn’t all that weird. Why would anyone else wear long sleeves in a hot and humid place—and who would come to a bar like this and look like they wanted to be left alone?

The blond wasn’t alone for long.

A couple in white shirts blocked Rose’s ogling for a moment. But only for a moment.

They had a brief exchange with Mr. Strong But Silent. The man shook his hand, then the couple took off together.

“You gonna order somethin’ on the menu, honey?” A woman behind the bar grinned, leaning on her elbows, a knowing smirk on her lips. “That tall drink might just be a little much for you.”

Rose blinked, blushed at the implication, then turned her body right around on the barstool, chiding herself for not even pretending to play it cool.

---