Page 15 of Blame It On Midnight

“She’s a great girl.” He agreed. There was nothing wrong with Michaela. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about Collins Lafferty?

“Maybe it’s time you put yourself out there again.”

“I’m not looking for a wife.” He frowned. That ship had long sailed. He was too busy running a ranch. Too busy being a dad. Too busy living a life he’d gotten used to. At this point, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want that kind of commitment again.

“Nothing wrong with dating someone. Having some kind of relationship. Though I think Michaela might have her cap set on something permanent.”

He sighed and gazed over the crowd on the dance floor, up at the stage. “I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone who fits right.”

“You will, Bent. Just make sure that all the ones in between know the score.” It was a gentle warning, but not needed. Benton had never lied to a woman or led one on, for that matter. But maybe it was time for something more than getting that itch scratched now and again. Wouldn’t hurt to have a plus one from time to time.

The band took to the stage just then, a local outfit called Poke The Bear. They jumped into a medley of country classics. Your standard Cash, Williams, and Nelson. Benton leaned against the table, eyes on the band. They were good, and despite his mood, he began to relax and enjoy himself, though things would be a whole lot better if he had a glass of whiskey in his hand. He angled his head for a look at the bar and spied Millie Sue walking their way, a tray full of mugs in her hand. But it was the woman who trailed behind her, holding on to two jugs, that got his attention. She wasn’t hard to miss. Hell, she was taller than most.

Son of a bitch.

“Look who I found behind the bar.” Millie Sue grinned and set down the tray and stepped to the side so that Collins could drop off the jugs. “It’s Kip’s sister.”

Collins smiled at all of them. Said hello to Cal. To Vivian and Dallas. “Whiskey?” she asked slowly, eyebrow raised.

“That would be for me.” Benton couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Christ, it was hard not to; she was wearing the skimpiest top he’d ever seen. Hell, it would probably fit Nora. And the way her skin glowed in the low lights was something else. That hair. Those eyes. He could still taste her, like she’d been there with him all along. Since that night in Nashville.

Collins shifted her feet. She looked at him, and there was a moment when the band stopped playing. The folks stopped dancing. When everyone pretty much disappeared.

Christ, why did she have to smell so damn good?

Collins handed him the glass. Their fingers touched. And damned if that slow burn didn’t roar to life.

“Thank you,” he managed without sounding like a complete idiot.

A heartbeat passed.

“You’re welcome.” She licked her bottom lip and it took everything in Benton not to grab her up and march that perfect little butt out into the dark so that he could do wicked things to her. So that she could do them back.

But then Michaela was there, another glass of whiskey, another set of eyes on him. Michaela looked at Collins, then moved to Benton’s side. She leaned in closer than he liked and handed him the second glass of whiskey and murmured, “Here you go.” Like they were a couple.

Collins’ eyes turned to glass. They widened. Then narrowed. She gave a quick salute and disappeared.

Benton downed his first whiskey in one gulp. It burned all the way down. Then he downed the second. Aware that everyone was looking at him like he had two heads, made him antsy. He needed some air. This was wrong. A bad idea. Why the hell hadn’t he driven straight home?

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to no one in particular. He patted Michaela’s arm, which, from the look on her face, was the wrong thing to do, and strode away from the table. He kept his eyes above the crowd, centered on the door to the right of the bar. The last thing he needed was to lock eyes with Collins Lafferty again.

He pushed out into the night and reached for his pocket, then swore because he’d quit smoking more than five years ago. God, he’d give his left hand for a cigarette right about now.

Benton found the shadows that drifted in and out of the breeze near the edge of the building. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared out into the night, wishing like hell he’d bypassed town and driven straight back to the Triple B. At least there, when his mind turned to the things he didn’t care to dwell on, he could push them away. Tuck them in a box and never pull them out unless he wanted to.

But he couldn’t stop the thoughts that went round his brain. Didn’t like the way they made him feel. The plain fact being, at nearly thirty-eight, he was nowhere near where he thought he’d be in life. At one time, Daisy Mae had been his end game. And when she wound up pregnant, he was ready to commit. Ready to be a family. So was she. They were happy until her demons reared up, and her addictions became more important than him and Nora. For a few years after that, he would have happily taken her back if she had been willing to put in the work. But it never happened, and now he wasn’t interested.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, shoulders hunched. She’d come to him about six months back. Said she was clean. Said she wanted to make a go of it. And he’d given it a hard look, more so because of Nora. Didn’t every child deserve to have both parents in the picture? But the thought of tying himself down to a woman he didn’t love anymore wasn’t something he was willing to do. He didn’t think he’d survive the sacrifice. But more than that, he didn’t think it would be good for Nora. The kid saw things. She knew when something was real.

But now Daisy Mae was fighting him for custody, and he was standing out in the dark contemplating his sad, empty life, thinking about a woman who was all wrong for him. Maybe Calvin was right. Maybe it was time to move on, even if it meant settling for something less.

He ran hands over the scruff on his chin and decided to head inside and stop acting like a damn pussy. He’d say his goodbyes and apologize to Michaela. Maybe even offer to take her to dinner. Then he’d go home, grab himself a bottle of Mr. Jack, and drink it on the porch while he contemplated the irony of his life.

But there was an obstacle in his way and damned if he knew how to deal with it.

“Who was that woman?” Collins stood a few feet from Benton, legs spread, arms hanging loose at her side. Her jeans fit like they were made for her. Considering her occupation, they probably were. They rode low, exposing her belly button and a whole bunch of soft skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Because all that looking made him want to touch, and he’d already decided she was off limits.

He would play nice and move on.

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