Page 12 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

T he Soused Cow is packed wall to wall and vibrating with energy.

The place smells like beer, sweat, and sawdust, and that’s before you factor in the women who’ve bathed in perfume and the men who’ve marinated in aftershave.

The air’s thick and loud with the whine of a guitar being tuned onstage and the low hum of drunken flirtation, peals of laughter, and barstool confessions that won’t be remembered tomorrow.

I’m leaning against the main bar—made from what looks like reclaimed barnwood with aged splits still visible in places—nursing a longneck beer and watching the crowd spill and sway on and off the dance floor with each song from the ancient jukebox tucked in the corner that’s providing the music until the band takes the stage.

Every inch of space is claimed—pool tables in the back, the dance floor up front by the stage with tables clustered around it.

There’s a pair of rowdy cowboys arguing over darts in the corner, and a group of women in fringe and halter tops are screaming their cheers over a shared tray of fruity shots.

It’s Wyoming’s version of a nightclub. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kind of like it.

I notice the moment the energy shifts. It’s subtle at first, a stir near the entrance, a ripple that moves like wind through grass. Heads turn. Mine included.

And that’s when I see her.

Matty.

She walks in with her sisters and cousin, Cabe, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

She’s wearing a vintage black lace dress—sleeveless, plunging neckline, fitted, hugging her curves like it was sewn just for her.

The hem hitting the top of her knees. A dark brown leather belt cinches her waist, matching the boots on her feet and the cowgirl hat tilted low over her eyes.

Gold and turquoise jewelry glints at her neck and ears.

Her long braid hangs over her left shoulder like a blonde rope, and her skin glows beneath the bar lights.

She’s got on subtle makeup—just enough shimmer to catch the light, enough color to make her pouty mouth stand out like a damn sin.

She doesn’t look like she’s trying too hard or like she wants to impress anyone. And maybe that’s why she’s doing a hell of a job of impressing me.

It’s a sucker punch to the gut. No warning it’s coming and no chance to brace for it.

I’ve seen her fresh from the pasture—worn jeans, buttoned-up shirt, hair messy, wearing work gloves and dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes—and she was gorgeous then. But this? This is something else entirely.

Matty Storm looks like the kind of trouble I’d thank God for letting me walk into.

She doesn’t see me. Not yet. The four of them—Matty, Charli, Shelby, and Cabe—move toward a table near the front of the dance floor. One of the high-tops with a clear view of the stage and plenty of room to toss back drinks. They claim it like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

Charli splits off and heads straight for the bar.

And I know she’s coming my way before she even lifts her head.

She sidles up beside me, orders a round—three bourbons, two beers—and doesn’t even look at me when she slides a cocktail napkin in my direction.

“For the drool,” she says.

I blink. Then laugh, shaking my head.

“You don’t miss a damn thing, do you?”

Charli grins, still not looking at me. “Not when it comes to my sister.”

“She always look like that when she goes out?”

“Only when she’s not trying,” she says, tapping her nails against the bar. “That dress has been in the back of her closet forever. Shelby and I had to physically move her from the barn and into a shower just to get her here.”

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat and folding the napkin neatly, “mission accomplished.”

She finally turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “You planning on coming over to say hello? Or are you just gonna watch her like a creep from across the room? ”

“I haven’t decided just yet,” I admit.

“You should ask her to dance.”

I glance at the dance floor. A couple is already spinning, fast and reckless, under the amber lights. I look back at Matty. She’s laughing at something Shelby said, her chin tilted, her braid swaying with the motion. And I want to see that laugh up close.

“I might.”

But I have a feeling she would decline.

Charli eyes me. “You know, I kinda hope you do.”

That surprises me.

“I figured you’d want me to stay in my lane.”

“I probably would,” she says, handing the bartender her credit card, “if I thought you were just sniffing around for sport. Besides, she could use a man to take her mind off the ranch for a night.”

I hold her gaze. “You think that should be me?”

She smirks. “It could be. Or it could be some other lucky bastard in here tonight. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

I chuckle. “I guess we will.”

She accepts a tray from the bartender and tells him to start a tab for her. As she turns to walk back to the table, her eyes meet mine. “Well, come on then and sit with us. Better than lurking,” she says.

I nod, about to reply, when the front door swings open, and a cold gust cuts through the heat.

My smile fades as Carl walks in like he owns the damn place—button-down rolled at the sleeves, jeans clean, boots polished to a shine.

His gaze scans the bar, pausing when he sees Matty, and a slow grin crawls across his face. Something tight coils in my chest.

He clocks Charli and heads toward us.

Her body stiffens, and she clutches the tray with both hands.

“You coming, Caison?” she asks loud enough for Carl to hear as he nears.

“Yeah,” I say, catching on. “Absolutely.”

Carl stops a foot from us, and his eyes bounce between us as I stand with my beer.

“Charli,” he says with a practiced smile.

“Carl.” Her voice is as cold as ice. “Bar’s that way.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Just spins on her heel and heads back toward their table. I give him a tight smile, feeling his stare on the back of my neck like a weight as I follow.

Matty’s face shifts when she looks up and sees me coming. It’s not quite welcoming, not annoyance exactly. It’s more like curiosity mixed with caution.

“Look who I found sitting all alone at the bar,” Charli says as Shelby stands and scoots her chair over to make room.

I take the empty stool between her and Matty and nod politely. “Good evening.”

“Evening,” she replies.

Charli sets the tray down and starts distributing drinks. She places one of the bourbons in front of me and one in front of Matty, keeps one for herself, and hands the beers to Cabe and Shelby.

“Cheers,” Shelby says, raising hers.

“To surviving another damn week,” Cabe mutters.

We all clink and drink, and I feel the slow burn of the bourbon sliding down my throat and warming my chest behind my ribs.

Matty hasn’t said much. She sips her bourbon slowly and keeps her eyes on the stage, her shoulders squared, like she’s bracing for something.

I lean a little closer, keeping my voice low. “Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this, Miss Storm.”

She cuts her eyes to me. “You spying on me, Mr. Galloway?”

“No spying, but it’s hard not to notice you walking in when the whole damn bar turns to look.”

She scoffs, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind it. “Whatever,” she mutters like she doesn’t believe me.

“You come here often?” I ask.

“Not anymore. I only came tonight to get my sisters off my back.”

I glance down at the black lace covering her hip.

“They strong-arm you into that dress too?”

Her gaze sharpens. “You got something to say about the way I’m dressed?”

“Only that I might owe them a thank-you.”

That earns me the barest twitch of her lips.

“You’re smooth. Do the ladies usually fall for that charm?” she asks as she swirls the dark liquid in her glass .

“No,” I say, then add, “Sometimes.”

She takes another sip, eyes scanning the crowd, avoiding mine. “What are you really doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I came for the music?”

“Nope.”

I nod, accepting that. “Then let’s just say, I’m curious.”

“About what exactly?”

“You.”

That finally pulls her gaze back to me, calm and steady.

“Curiosity,” she says, “kills the cat.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No?” She smirks. “Maybe you should be.”

“You mean afraid of you, I’m guessing.”

She doesn’t answer, but the look on her face says I’m not wrong.

Onstage, Wildhaven Junction strikes their first chord, and the crowd roars their encouragement. The floor starts filling with boots and denim.

Charli and Shelby jump up immediately and drag Cabe with them, leaving me alone with Matty. The moment stretches between us.

“You dance, Galloway?” she asks, not looking at me.

“I can.”

“Can or do?”

I finish the last sip of my bourbon and set the glass down. Then I stand and offer her my hand. “Let’s find out.”