Cowboy Up (Coming Home #3)

I glance up at my reflection in the rearview as I pull into the lot and park, and fight off a cringe. I look sad, and that sadness makes me look much older than my nearly thirty years. My brown eyes don’t shine with the mirth most women my age have dancing in theirs. Those are the carefree women who still believe they’ll find a life partner to ride off into the sunset with. Just the thought makes me snort.

Where I always found my ordinary features and dull brown hair to be boring, I know the one thing I actually do have going for me is my figure. I’ve got the body of a dancer—thin and petite. It’s my greatest attribute. I might not have all the curves most men seem to love, but I’ve been blessed with a body that requires minimum work to keep trim and firm.

There isn’t anything about me that particularly screams, Hey, look at me! but I’ve been told men like my shape because it makes them feel like they were made to protect me—or so my good friend Luke always says.

“Speak of the devil,” I mumble with a smile, seeing Luke standing under the awning outside of Hazel’s front door, blowing a long stream of smoke from his mouth. The burning tip of his cigarette stands out in the darkness around him.

Luke Hazel, half of my best-friend duo, and twin brother to Lucy, is a dog, but at least he’s an honest dog. Loyal to those he loves. Protective to the max. With his harmless flirting, he’s also helped to give me back some of the confidence I lost over the years.

“Carrie,” he drawls when I step out of my car and pull my cross-body purse over my head. I roll my eyes and cringe at the nickname he knows I hate.

“Lukie Dukie,” I jest, tossing out the nickname that I know he hates, placing my hands on my hips and arching a brow at him.

Not even fazed, he kicks off the wall he’d been leaning against and walks my way. No, he struts. Because a simple walk wouldn’t be good enough for this guy. He thinks he’s God’s gift to the females of the world. I laugh softly and fall into his arms for a hug when he reaches me.

“Not a good night to be here, sweetheart.”

I push my hands against his abs and look up at him. “And what makes tonight different from all the other nights you say the same thing?”

“Rowdy, babe. Got some out-of-towners ridin’ through lookin’ for a good time. Not sure how they’ll act when I pull the shotgun out if they try to get in your shorts.”

I feel my nose twitch as I frown at him. “No one’s gonna worry about me, Luke.”

He shakes his head. “Not sure how many times I have to drill it in your head, babe, but every man in there is ‘gonna worry about you.’ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Luke. Even if you’re right and I get some attention tonight, I’ve dealt with worse than some drunken bikers and you know it. And who says I wouldn’t enjoy a little of their attention anyway?”

He frowns. “Yeah, Carrie, but that doesn’t mean I want to put you through some bullshit just because I know you can handle it.” His frown deepens, and I know the exact moment the rest of what I said registers. He doesn’t call me on it, but he knows better than to ask if I’m ready for that kind of thing. “Told you, just like I tell Luce, this ain’t a place to find a bedfellow.”

I smile at the mention of Lucy. “You and I both know you’re going to act like my babysitter the second I walk in there, so how about you stop acting like my big brother now and let me get a drink and forget about things for a while, hmm?”

His eyes narrow. “What you got to forget about, sweetheart?”

Too late, I realize my mistake. I haven’t even talked to Lucy about the calls I’ve been getting, but with my emotions at the boiling point, my mind just slipped. Luke, the big macho protector that he’s always been, isn’t going to be happy without hearing what got me driving over to Hazel’s on a Tuesday night either.

I sigh. “I promise, I’ll fill you in later, but please, Luke, let me just forget about it all for a little while?”

He nods, but I can tell he isn’t happy about giving in. One big, thickly muscled arm waves toward the door in a sweeping gesture for me to proceed. And even though he seems to be caving, I know a long talk will be coming. I just need to make sure I’ve had enough to drink so that I’m too intoxicated to deal with that chat tonight.

The heavy wall of smoke slams into me as we enter the bar. I always thought it was funny that Luke would go outside to have a cigarette when walking into Hazel’s is probably the equivalent of smoking an entire pack of cigarettes in just one go. Most nonsmokers find the scent repugnant, but not me. I’ve always loved the smell of smoke—any kind of smoke—even if that is weird as hell.

An old Alan Jackson song booms through the air as we walk through the crowded bar. I feel the earlier tension slide off my body with each step and I know I made the right call in coming here. Luke grabs my arms, stopping me before I almost walk into a big, burly man, and pulls me to his side, securing me in place with an arm over my shoulders. I look up at him, smiling when I see his handsome face scowling down at me.

“What?” I mouth up at him, my smile growing.

He just shakes his head, continuing to guide me through the crowded room until we’re at the very end of the U-shaped bar, closest to his office. He taps the shoulder of a man sitting down and, without a word, waves his hand in some sort of code that must say, Get the hell up, because the young cowboy doesn’t even pause, sliding off the stool and disappearing into a darkened corner.

“You, sit.” Luke pushes me toward the empty stool and crosses his arms with a glare at the men closest to the seat he demanded I take.

“You could say please, you know,” I mumble under my breath, but I still follow his order.

“Could, but I won’t.”

“No surprise there, Lukie.”

He bends down until his nose is touching mine. “Watch the ‘Lukies’ in here, Carrie.”

“Whatever. How about a drink, Mr. Bartender?”

“Not joking, sweetheart. Don’t want the men in here to think you’re fair game.”

“Look around, Luke. No one is worried about me.” I don’t know if that’s actually true, but seeing as I’ve never been the type to turn a bar full of men’s attention my way, I’m fairly confident in my assessment.

“Blind as a damn bat,” he mutters loud enough for me to hear clearly over the noise, not backing away.

I open my mouth to give him a smart-ass retort but stop when I hear a deep, rumbling laugh to my side. I look over, not seeing much apart from the dark cowboy hat next to me. Its owner’s face is concealed by shadows as he looks down at the golden-colored liquor in his glass. I can see a stubbled, very strong jaw though—the deliciously strong kind that’s angled in such a way you could swear on a stack of Bibles on Sunday morning that someone carved it straight out of stone.

“Just please, stay here and out of trouble. You need to use the little girls’ room, do it in my office. I can’t run this place if I’m constantly worried about you.”

“Got her, Luke,” the stranger next to me mumbles loud enough to be heard over the music, still not looking up from his glass.

Luke flicks his gaze in my neighbor’s direction, and even though there’s no way he can see the man’s face, he nods before pulling his attention away and back on me. “Be good, sweetheart.”