Page 49 of Alive and Wells

“Just… what if he ends up being in town tonight?”

“Then I’ll be with half a dozen or more men who have sworn to protect me. I think I’ll be just fine.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “Go have fun.”

Wait. That’s it?I was expecting at least a small amount of pushback. Instead, he reaches out, gives my hand a small squeeze, and disappears into the quickly fading daylight. And I could chase after him, but I don’t.

Exactly twenty-five minutes later, I’m squished between Red and Denny on the front bench of Red’s pickup truck, with Sundial and Colt in the back.

Colt taps me on the shoulder. “You look pretty tonight, Filly.”

“Thanks. I’ve been waiting for a good excuse to wear a pretty dress, and put on some lipstick.”

I smooth out the skirt on my ice-blue mini-dress. Not to be cocky, but it looks phenomenal against my tanned summer skin, with its short length, tie straps, and cut-out back. And I’m wearing a push-up bra for the first time since arriving here, giving the girls a perky boost. Compliments from the boys are nice, but all I can think about is whether Austin would think I look pretty.

Considering how small Wells Canyon is, the bar’s surprisingly busy. A number of people are milling about outside, smoking and hanging out in the warm night air, and they all congratulate Jacky as we pass by. Apparently, I’m the one person in town who wasn’t aware he won something. And clearly, Denny wasn’t exaggerating about it being a big deal.

So big, in fact, that the bartender gives us a free round of tequila shots when we walk in. The golden liquid goes down like wildfire, and lingers in my burning stomach until I chase it with a Long Island Iced Tea.

“Filly, this is our trusty bartender, Dave.” Denny introduces me to the handsome, jacked, fifty-something man behind the bar. “And this is Cass.”

The cute blonde waitress sidles up next to us. “No way you landed yourself a girl this pretty, Denver Wells. She must not know you too well yet.”

“You know, Cassidy Bowman, if you wanna ride, you could just ask instead of trying to scare other girls off me.” Denny takes a swig of his pint. “This is Cecily, she’s working at the ranch. I don’t think you’re coming home with me tonight, are ya, Filly?”

I roll my eyes. “Not in this lifetime, Denny.”

“See, Cass? My heart belongs only to you.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She lightly smacks him on the back of the head before leaning in toward me. “Nice to meet you, Cecily. I imagine you have these boys under control but, if not, wave me down.”

“Another round, please.” Denny bats his eyes at her, to which she responds with a middle finger. “Love you, Cass!”

“So, you two?” I nudge Denny, walking between him and Red to a table filled with the rest of Wells Ranch’s cowboys.

“Oh, no. No, we grew up together. Nothing more than friends, but I love to razz her.”

Red snorts. “Also, Dave is her dad, so touching her is just asking to not be allowed back in this town’s only bar.”

Cassidy pops up at our table a few minutes later with more shots, which I regret as soon as the liquid hits my lips. Aside from the odd beer with Austin, I haven’t had anything to drink in months. My tongue tingles with TV static and my head feels fuller—sloshier—than normal.

“Wanna dance, Filly?” Colt grabs my hand, dragging me onto the dance floor.Holy shit, I’m drunk.Being on my feet makes it all the more obvious.

One classic country song plays after the other as Colt spins us across the wooden floorboards, until I’m dizzy, sweaty, and incredibly thirsty. Arm-in-arm, we stride toward the bar, and my next Long Island goes down like water. Red’s leaning against the wooden bartop and I playfully snatch the worn, black cowboy hat from his mess of red hair.

“No way, Filly.” He grabs the brim, tugging it out of my drunken grasp. “If you put on my hat, everybody in this place is going to think you’re coming home with me tonight. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

“Shit. Okay… well, sorry, but no thanks.”

“Thought so.” He grabs his beer and heads back to our corner table. And Colt drags me back onto the dance floor.

I drink, I shake my ass to country songs, and I flirt with random guys from around town by letting them teach me how to two-step. All of it helps numb the sting of rejection, but nothing is enough to fully remove Austin from my mind. Accepting drinks from very polite,sweetcowboys only serves as a reminder that, apparently, I’m not into nice cowboys. I’m into brooding, grumpy,notcowboys. One in particular.

When I step into the quiet, poorly lit bathroom, I’m overwhelmed with a familiar, drunk-girl urge.

Text him.

21

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