Page 37 of Riding the Storm
I can’t look away.
“All right,” Matty calls out, pulling everyone toward the trucks. “Let’s get moving before all the good tables are gone.”
We all pile into two vehicles—Caison driving one, Cabe the other. I end up in the back seat beside Charli, which feels like divine punishment and sweet reward, all rolled into one.
She smells like peaches and sunshine. When the truck hits the bump at the top of the drive, her arm brushes mine, and I swear the temperature in the cab jumps ten degrees.
She glances at me, eyes narrowing—but there’s heat there, playfulness too. “You ready for trouble?”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “Are you?”
She looks away, but I catch the hint of a smile on her lips.
As the truck rumbles down the dirt road toward town, we settle in to silence as Cabe and Shelby argue over the radio.
For the first time in a long damn while, I don’t feel like an outsider, looking in.
Maybe it’s just tonight. Maybe it’s this town.
I glance beside me. Or maybe … it’s her.
When the neon glow of The Soused Cow comes into view, it looks exactly opposite of how I imagined—I pictured these women drinking it up in a nice dance club, not a roadside honky-tonk. I’ve been in a lot of bars across the country, and this one looks to be just my speed.
I instantly feel at ease.
The parking lot is packed, trucks and ATVs lined up side by side under the hazy glow of floodlights. The steady beat of music spills into the night before the old cowboy checking IDs even opens the door.
The moment we step inside, it’s like walking into another world.
The place is packed wall to wall and vibrating with energy. The air smells like beer, sweat, sawdust, cheap perfume, and stale cigarette smoke. The noise hits like a wave—laughter, clinking bottles, and the twang of a guitar being tuned onstage. The jukebox in the corner is still spinning old country hits while the crowd waits for the band to start.
Caison and Matty make their way through the crowd to a cluster of high-top tables to the right of the dance floor with Cabe following behind. He beckons me forward as I bring up the rear with Charli and the younger Storm girls in tow.
We push two of the tables together, and the girls settle onto stools.
Shelby waves over a server, and we order a round of drinks. The girls get a tray of shots, Cabe a beer, and Caison and I settle on a top-shelf whiskey. By the time the band starts playing, our tables are full of bottles and empty glasses, and the girls are getting giggly.
“Happy birthday, Matty Storm,” Harleigh bellows, holding one of the shot glasses in the air.
Matty laughs, grabbing one herself and clinking it against Harleigh’s.
Shelby picks up a glass and hands one to Charli. “To sisters. And badass women ranchers,” she adds with a grin.
“And to the poor bastards trying to keep up with them,” I throw in, my eyes going to Cabe and Caison. Who break into laughter.
Charli looks at me over her shot, the corner of her mouth curving up. “You talking about yourself, cowboy?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have no problem keeping up,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
She tosses back the tequila and slams the glass back on the tray. Then her tongue darts out and slowly licks a drop from her bottom lip. My eyes follow the movement, then lift back to hers.
She smirks.
Heat blooms in my chest. The woman is sexy as hell, and she damn well knows what she’s doing.
“We need another round,” Harleigh cries.
