Page 3 of Buckled in Barbwire

I almost laugh. “Thought you didn’t need it?”

She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t, but I’d still like your approval.”

My boots scuff on the hardwood as I round the desk, resting my ass on the edge. “Promise to be careful?”

“Yes, I promise.” Bianca squeaks, dashing across the room to wrap me in a hug. “Thanks, big bro.”

I pat her back. “There’s one condition.”

My sister straightens, suspicion tightening her features. “What?”

“Colton is going with you.”

“Absolutely not.” Her arm slices through the air.

“Just to keep you safe,” I continue.

Bianca is shaking her head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Think of him more as a bodyguard.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I spit. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you leave withoutanyone watching out for you, I’ll follow and drag you back home myself.”

She draws in a slow breath. “Fine, but you have to do me a favor in return.”

I grunt. “Not sure you’re in a position to ask for anything.”

“Don’t give Paisley too much crap, okay?”

“No guarantees.”

“I figured you’d say that,” she quips. “Good thing I offered her a hefty salary to make it worth her while. And if she’s forced to deal with your surly attitude, she gets a bonus!”

“You must be joking.”

“Not even a little bit. Just stay out of her way and you won’t bleed money.” My little sister winks and retreats to the door. “Good luck.”

Those parting words sit heavy on my chest. For whatever reason, I feel like I’ll need all the luck I can get.

Idle chatter mixes with the swanky country song streaming from the overhead speakers. I scan the familiar faces gathered at our local watering hole. As someone raised halfway between here and Knox Creek, I have several options within close range. But my loyalty falls on this side of the fence. Cloverleaf Meadows is home.

It’s a typical crowd for a Wednesday night as we attempt to take the edge off after the daily grind. The Paddock grants us a reprieve from our troubles in the form of cheap booze and good company. That’s what keeps us coming back for more.

Coffee beans get lost in foam when I take a sip of my espresso martini. This Western-themed dive bar—or old-fashioned saloon, if I’m being generous—might resemble the interior of a barn, but their cocktails can rival any upscale city joint. And at a fraction of the price.

Movement from my left pulls me from those random thoughts. I swivel on my stool to face my best friend asshe props her elbow on the wood counter. Bianca has been unusually quiet since we arrived thirty minutes ago. My focus doesn’t waver while she twirls a dark strand of hair around her finger, appearing lost in thought.

“Hey,” I murmur. “Will you be okay?”

Her responding laugh borders on shrill. “You’re asking me?”

“Um, yeah?”

She waves me off. “I’m worried about how you’ll manage without me.”

“It’ll be a real struggle,” I admit. “But I’m glad you decided to go.”

---