Page 13 of The Cowboy's Friendly Wake-Up Call

Still, I find myself heading into the small bar off the hotel's main lobby seeing as how there's not much more to do while I wait.

Looking around at the other men in the bar, it's plain to see that I'm not the only one who stepped out of their room to give a lady space to get ready. Tuxedos line the bar and crowd around high-top bar tables along the wall.

The low hum of men's voices talking shop fills the small bar. Occasionally a burst of loud laughter breaks out and jars me from my thoughts.

A couple of members recognize me and offer condolences about my dad and tell me to pass them along to Ma.

Several guys try to convince me to sit and have a drink with them, but I mostly manage to duck the attention.

"Hey, O'Leary." Riot Ralston walks in with his brothers and a couple of other guys. They stick out among the formal wear in their jeans and button down shirts.

The Ralstons aren't members of the association and, if my grandfather was still around, they wouldn't be welcome to exhibit here at all.

"Riot."

It's a tight greeting, neither of us interested in talking more than the cursory acknowledgment.

"Saw you're here with Mercy." The eldest Ralston brother taps the bar top and puts in his order with the tender in a series of hand gestures and a nod toward the other men that came in with him, who have settled into a couple of tables across the room.

"What's it to you?"

Some folks in Slow River are holding a grudge that's older than they are. The Ralston brothers, and their family's Flying R ranch, are still paying for crimes their kin committed four generations back now.

But when you live in a place where cattle are a way of life for nearly everyone in town, one way or another, rustling is a crime that doesn't die with the men who hanged.

"Nothing." Riot trades his credit card for two tumblers of whiskey, tells the bartender to keep his tab open, and fixes me with a stare as he turns to head back to his table.

"Just thinking you better make your move on that before she ends up with somebody else. She's a good woman, but she won't wait on you forever, you know."

A waitress dressed for collecting tips, carries a tray of drinks over to Ralston's table and before I get a chance to tell him he doesn't know what he's talking about, Riot's following her, with an appreciative fixation on her short skirt-- or rather, what it's barely covering.

Those guys will be drinking the bar dry all night, since they won't be at the dinner.

Speaking of the dinner; I check the time and realize I need to get back upstairs to escort Mercy back down.

In the elevator, I find myself fidgeting with Riot's words ringing in my ears.

Mercyisa good woman. Lord only knows why some other guy hasn't stolen her away from me yet.

I've spent over a decade of my life telling myself that I'd rather keep our friendship safe, even if it meant watching her marry some other man and have his babies.

By the time I'm opening the door to our suite, though, Riot's words have gotten stuck so far into my head they've got roots. I can't let Mercy end up with anyone else.

She's mine. She's been mine since we were six years old. The only man who's putting babies in Mercy's belly is going to be me-- and it's past time I made that clear.

The door to the bedroom is open and when she hears me closing the front door behind me, she comes out to meet me.

The keys fall right out of my hand, landing on the carpet with the soft clink of metal on metal.

All the words I just had ready to tell her dry up in my mouth.

Mercy's wearing a red dress that's low on the top, tight in the middle, and clingy in all the right ways over her curvy figure.

Her long blonde hair is curled and pinned up on one side, so the curls fall loosely down the other. She's got jewelry on; tiny little diamond earrings that sparkle beside her cheeks and a matching necklace with a pendent that drops down to draw attention to her cleavage.

I can't remember ever seeing Mercy in make up before, but she's done it up so that she's completely transformed but not so heavy that it makes her look like someone else.

She watches me go all stupid while I stare at her, and casually lifts one foot to slip on a delicate high heel that's got rhinestones on the straps, then she's balanced on both feet, the transformation complete.

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