Page 7 of Destined Predator
“Sounds good to me, too.” Greg gave a quick nod and busied himself arranging the napkins and condiments while Rhett thanked Cindy and tried to get her to leave as quickly as possible without being rude to her.
“I’ve been in town five years, but I still don’t think I get how things—or people—are here,” Greg commented, picking up a wing and giving it a cautious nibble. “Not that I’m expecting to be treated as a Wyomie, but…”
A Wyoming homie.The slang amused Rhett. “Well, Cindy’s a real one of a kind. A one-off,” he tried to explain, attacking his own wings and tipping a little extra hot sauce onto them as he pulled the meat from the bones.
“Like this place, you mean?” Greg’s mouth quirked in a half-smile at the bar’s décor. It wasn’t exactly a smirk.Not like Casey’s.Who Rhett was not thinking about. But the thought stuck anyway—rough laughter, amber eyes, the faint scent of rain and fur that still lived somewhere under Rhett’s skin. Thinking about Casey Akers was like prodding a bruise: dumb idea, impossible not to. “It’s as much town repository as it is watering hole, right?”
“What, like California doesn’t have oddball taverns and saloons?” Rhett joked.
“Touché.” Greg’s dimple deepened as he described a couple of his favorite spots back home. He had a vivid way of speaking, making the places and people in them come to life. Rhett could smell the ocean when Greg talked about the tiki cocktail lounge with its surfboard tables and grass-skirt-wearing staff—male and female—and laughed at the thought of the Tom Thumb Tavern, all twenty feet by ten feet of it. Rhett smiled where he should, but something in him stayed distant, like watching sunlight through glass. The way Greg talked—bright, polished,city-smooth—only made Rhett more aware of the grit under his own nails.
Raising his voice against the country rock that Bard piped through the saloon if there wasn’t a band playing, Greg moved on to talking about a couple of cantinas he’d liked in Tijuana. He wiped his hands free of any grease from the fries before taking out the brand-new latest-model phone Rhett had admired when Greg had put his number in it, back in the supermarket. He showed Rhett photos of some of the quirky details including the bucket-sized colored drinks, then more shots of ‘TJ’ that he’d taken.
The color and vibrancy made Rhett feel flatter and duller than ever. A glutton for punishment, he asked Greg about other places he’d been to, and nodded at the long list of both US and South American cities Greg enthused about. But it was when Greg said, after another pause, “Tell me about your ranch,” that Rhett really felt things could be going better.
“I saw a wooden sign for it over there, right?” Greg asked, pointing a thumb toward the bar. “And a metal…brand, is it, with your logo?”
“Yeah. I’m part of the furniture.” Rhett tried not to sigh and was again grateful for Cindy bobbing up, this time with burgers. Although maybe it was hard to feel a spark over patties and buns. He should definitely have thought of a different place. Or topic…
One new subject,anda lead-in to it, occurred to him. “This place makes a change from a sports bar, huh? Hey, Meadowlarks or Roughies? MLB or NFL? Baseball or football?” he clarified further at Greg’s perplexed look.
“Are those local teams?” Greg asked. “Or maybe their nicknames?”
“Oh, you’re still into your home state heroes?” Rhett swiped at his mouth—it didn’t do to have ketchup dripping free on a date.“Lemme guess… Baseball, right? So Dodgers or Giants?” He tilted his head, but Greg’s clothes, jeans and button-down shirt, gave no clue. “Padres?” he tried.
“I’m not that into baseball.” Greg put the remains of his burger back onto its plate.
“Any point me switching to football, asking Chargers, Rams or 49ers?” Rhett tried.
“Justice League or Avengers?” Greg asked. “Or you gonna go left field on me and tell me you always liked Harley Quinn best?”
“I don’t get to the movies much,” Rhett confessed. He’d never followed comic book stuff. “Jack’s more into all that.”
“All that.” Greg nodded as he repeated Rhett’s words. His lips pressed together briefly before he opened his mouth and stuffed more burger in, probably so he didn’t have to talk.
Rhett would’ve done the same if he hadn’t already finished his. Greg had barely touched his buffalo wings, and Rhett eyed them, almost jumping in his seat when Greg wordlessly nudged the plate toward him. About to help himself, Rhett felt a chill on the back of his neck. No—it was a prickle, like his hair was stirring. Like someone was watching.Watching me make a piganda fool of myself.
The prickle ran straight down his spine, pure instinct. The air thickened, scent of leather and wild rain sliding through the beer and fried food. The compulsion to turn around pulled at him, so he obeyed. He turned because some part of him already knew who he’d find—and sure enough, there he was.Casey Akers.All confidence and danger wrapped in a slow smile. His gaze met a pair of amber-brown eyes that he’d swear flashed yellow for a quick second as they fastened on him. They were fringed by thick dark lashes. Rhett couldn’t see that, from where he sat, but he knew it, just as he knew that the wavy, shoulder-length hair held glints of brown and mahogany, because he remembered.
Rhett swept his gaze over him. His hair was sleeker than Rhett recalled—oh, it was wet. Casey looked clean and freshly showered, but not neat and tidy. He looked…wild. Which he was.Coywolf wild.
As Rhett continued to look, Casey pushed off from the bar and sauntered toward him. He came in a wide half-circle, so Rhett could—and did—turn where he sat, to keep his eyes on him for the whole length of his swaggering walk over. Rhett’s pulse hammered so hard he could hear it. The rest of Bard’s dimmed around Casey’s walk, every boot-step measured like a man who owned the floorboards and knew it. For one ridiculous second, Rhett thought of prey and predator—and knew exactly which one he was.
Casey stood by the side of their booth, looking down at them.
“Yes?” Greg said, his tone polite, if puzzled.
As he might well be. Most of Bard’s was covered in photos or paintings or something to peer at, but not the wall near them, so Casey being there made no immediate sense.
“Gonna introduce us, cowboy?” Casey asked Rhett.
“I ain’t—” He wouldn’t let Casey get to him. “Sorry, Greg. Greg Manning, manager, the Big Market here in town, and Casey Akers…” Rhett realized he didn’t know what Ben’s brother did.
“Foreman, TJ&M Construction. Working on the Miller place on Longview Lane.” Casey still hadn’t broken eye contact with Rhett.
“Oh, I know your brother.” Greg wiped his hands with the paper napkin. “I defended him against one of Mrs. Elgiers’ tirades.Yourbrother, too,” he started to say to Rhett, then frowned, as if realizing there was a link between the two younger brothers and also perhaps between their elder ones.
“What do you want, Casey?” Rhett had to ask, to break that intense amber-tinged stare. “You come over here for a reason, I mean?”
