Page 10 of The Cowboy Hitch

The look on Mack’s face is hard to read—the stoic bastard may be full of feelings, but good luck ever getting him to show them. Still, I get the sense he’s not on board with my plan.

“I just need to get it all under control,” I continue, trying to reassure myself as much as I’m hoping to persuade him. “Once I’ve got my shit in order, things will smooth back out.”

“Sure.” He nods, obviously still unconvinced. “Until your mother finds out.”

4

LACY

The cowboy tips his dark stubbled chin at me as I place a cold beer in front of him. The whiff of hops, or maybe it’s his cheap cologne, causes my stomach to revolt. My insides churn and I press my lips together.

His eyes widen at the panic on my face as I dash from behind the bar. The urge to vomit barrels up my throat like a freight train without brakes.

Luckily, it’s late morning and Oz’s isn’t anywhere near busy, with only the usual drunks and a few stragglers sprinkled throughout the club. I make it to the washroom in time, keeping my breakfast from hitting anywhere but the toilet bowl.

On my knees, I spill my stomach, and the stall door rocks back and forth behind me. The heat of someone at my back causes the hairs at my nape to stand, but I don’t check who it is. I’m not done and heave once more, bringing up nothing but bile. My shaky hand tears off some toilet paper to wipe my mouth and I flush before getting to my feet.

Lynette stands outside the stall, smacking her strawberry Hubba Bubba with her hands on her bony hips. Concern with a hint of knowing colors her heavily made-up face. “How far along are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s try that again.” She arches one perfectly shaped ginger eyebrow, twisting her bright red lips. “Answer me.”

I try to push past her, but she mirrors my moves. “Lacy, don’t even try to tell me otherwise. Take it from me. Three here.” She points to her flat stomach where, in fact, she did carry three boys.

The woman’s pushing forty but doesn’t look a day over thirty and all her kids live with her mother. She may be good at conceiving but that’s about it. As the oldest stripper, the only mothering she does is to the girls here at the club.

I’m not a stripper, not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s an honest living and who am I to judge. While I’m as confident as the next, stripping’s not for me.

Not that I have a problem baring skin if I want to. Just ask the boys at graduation. Skinny-dipping won me five hundred dollars.

Those jerks never dreamed I’d do it when I bet them. Yes, I was poor white trash who needed the money, but I never dated or put out. I was so damn virginal most gave up even trying.

“Lacy, honey, talk to me.” Lynette’s insistence drags me back to my present predicament.

Unfortunately, she considers herself in charge of everyone’s business and that includes mine. “Fine. I’m almost ten weeks.”

She moves out of my way so I can rinse my mouth, spitting several times before washing my hands. All the while, the sexy redhead studies me through the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t tell Oz.” I turn off the tap. “I’m telling him today.”

“Who’s the daddy? Do I know him?” She cocks a hip and plants her hands on her waist, narrowing her gaze at me. “Please don’t tell me it’s Gentry.”

Spinning to face her, I smirk. I want to see her squirm, just a bit. Gentry’s one of the bouncers. Nice guy. Hot if you like beefcakes, and it’s no secret he has a thing for me. And in turn, Lynette has a thing for him. She’s always got a thing for someone. Some days this place is a soap opera.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then whose is it?” Now she’s begging and when I walk by her, she grabs my shoulder. “Come on, Lacy, you can trust me.”

I snort, but hold back the derisive comment prickling the tip of my tongue. Lynette never met a secret she could keep.

“Someone wanna tell me why my bar is fucking unsupervised?” Oz’s tall lean frame eats up the doorway, and his Sam Elliot tone, that iconic timbre, causes both of us to straighten.

When not performing or working the floor, Lynette helps out with drinks and I’m on shift today. My ass should be behind the bar.

I slide past the woman, grimacing. “Shit, Oz, I’m sor—”

“Hold up. I wanna talk to you.” One weathered finger points at me and I falter while his dark gaze shifts to Lynette. “You, get out there and take care of Hank. Give him a shot of bourbon for the wait.”

---