Page 36 of One Summer Day (Prosperity Ranch 1)

Holt had spent over an hour nursing a single beer at the table he’d snagged in the corner of Racoons. He rarely drank the stuff; that was always Knox’s department. In fact, it had been months since Holt had been to this bar. Despite Barb’s suggestions that they go dancing together, Holt had always put her off. Since his mom’s cancer diagnosis, he’d avoided the bar. Until now.

And he blamed Knox for driving him to these lengths. Heat still simmered through Holt from the conversation earlier in the day. Knox coming to Prosper . . . Holt couldn’t think of a worse scenario or worse timing. He wasn’t naïve, and he knew that relationships could be sticky and complicated. What if Macie forgave Knox? What if . . .

Holt tried to keep his glower to a minimum, but it was nearly impossible. A few people had stopped by his table to say hi, but left after only a moment or two. Holt was just that grumpy, it seemed. Not that he hadn’t gotten some interested looks. Primarily from Barb, who’d waved at him soon after he entered. He’d nodded, but didn’t approach her or the women she was with.

Driving home that night after a long day, he’d spotted Barb’s Cadillac, and he had the insane urge to stop. To see if Macie had come with Barb after all.

His question had been answered in the first thirty seconds after stepping inside, when he’d spotted her dancing with Jonny Rush. Jonny was harmless, and Holt should have turned around right then and there and left. But he didn’t leave. He supposed he was equal parts curious and equal parts all about torturing himself. His thoughts were like a broken record, spinning with the same question over and over about what Macie would do when Knox showed up.

Holt bit back a groan.

Ever since Macie had hugged him after he’d given her the boots for her and little Ruby, he hadn’t been able to get the feel of her body against his out of his mind. Or her scent. Or the way she’d smiled at him as if he’d just single-handedly handed her the moon, then cried over some damn pink boots.

She was vulnerable, and he didn’t want any guy in Prosper to mess with her. He’d go big brother on them if he had to . . . Even as he thought it, he knew his protectiveness over Macie went way above the concerns of any brother, brother-in-law, or ex-in-law. He wouldn’t let himself define it right now, though. No. He was at Racoons to unwind after a long day, and an even longer week. Just like every other human inside the place. Right?

And now . . . she was dancing with someone he didn’t know—must be from out of town. Maybe a guy here to prep for the upcoming rodeo? Macie looked good in the boots he’d bought her. More than good. Her legs had to be a mile long, and that blouse she wore . . . tied at her stomach and showing more skin than he had a right to notice . . . especially since she was off-limits.

Knox had made that clear.

The way her hair waved down her back and curled against her shoulders only made Holt want to find out if it felt as soft as it looked. She was wearing more makeup than usual, which only emphasized her already naturally beautiful features: her dusty pink lips, those large brown eyes of hers, that dimple.

Knox was an idiot.

Holt took another sip of the now-tepid beer. What did it matter that he was tracking every movement of Macie’s? Sizing up every man she danced with? Watching for any signs of distress or burnout? It was because of his careful observations that he saw Briggs before Macie saw him.

The guy wore a patterned green silk shirt. On any other night, Holt might have razzed the guy over his wardrobe choice, but he didn’t feel like joking around with anyone tonight. Especially while watching Briggs watching Macie.

Briggs’s gaze was locked tight on Macie as she danced with George Anderson.

George was one of those friendly-to-everyone guys; he wouldn’t harm a fly. George had also had a thing for Barb as long as Holt could remember, but all Barb did was tease the poor guy by flirting with other men in front of him.

Speaking of Barb, she’d been watching Holt plenty, but had yet to come over. It seemed she was enjoying her girls’ night out, while surrounded by half the population of Prosper. Holt shook his head. Barb was incorrigible, to say the least.

Holt’s grip tightened on his beer bottle as Briggs reached Macie, interrupting the dance with George.

George didn’t seem to mind though—he was just that type of mild-mannered guy. Seconds later, Holt wasn’t sure exactly how it all happened, but Briggs was dancing with Macie, and George was sauntering off.

Holt stared.

Macie seemed to be fine, though. She smiled her pretty smile at Briggs, and he laughed at something—that he’d said or she’d said? They danced more to the center of the dance floor, and Holt’s view was obstructed by other dancing couples. He tried to relax, but he was more on edge than ever. What could go wrong, though? They were in the middle of the dance floor, and although Briggs hadn’t shied away from his interest in Macie, the guy had no record or anything.

Still, Holt stood from the table, trying to get another view.

Ah. There they were. Still dancing. Macie smiling. Briggs beaming.

Holt swallowed the last of his beer with a grimace. Cold beer was decent on occasion, but tepid beer, not so much. He should go. Tomorrow was another early morning, like so many mornings before. Story of his life. Responsible, boring, just like Knox had accused.

Holt headed toward the exit, resolved to let Macie live her life. Enjoy a night out. She was a grown woman. She could handle Racoons.

Just before he left, he glanced over his shoulder. The song had changed again, and Macie and Briggs stood at the edge of the dance floor now. They were done dancing. Even better news for Holt. But then he saw Briggs grasp Macie’s hand and gesture toward the exit.

Holt moved aside to let a rather drunk couple pass. His gaze was transfixed on Briggs, whose conversation seemed animated as he gestured. Macie shook her head and tugged her hand away.

Good for her, Holt mused; she could hold her own. Although the back of his neck prickled.

Briggs grabbed her hand again and pulled her close, grinning.

The look of panic that shot through Macie’s eyes had Holt striding through the crowd, pushing past people with no apology.

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