Page 16 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

By the time we reach the bar, I still haven’t walked the frustration out of my system. It felt like Gabriel was inching toward mending this rift. And now I’m reminded of all the times I was micromanaged, not by Gabriel, per se, but life in general.

I have an angel on my shoulder who tells me people care about me deeply and a devil that says they think I’m fragile. Incapable.

And right now, the devil is winning.

Freya tries to take my mind off things, chatting away next to me.

We talk about nonsense, but the energy between me and my best friend is off in the way that only happens when someone’s pretending too hard to be fine.

When someone is holding something back, and I’m annoyed even more with G for asking me if Freya could have possibly given Cameron a key.

She felt the same way about him that I do Kevin.

Now what do I do? Tell Freya about Gabriel’s question? Or keep it to myself so she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as I do right now? Both options suck.

Sometimes, it’s better to blow off some steam and start over tomorrow.

We step into the dim warmth of the Wild Cantina with happy hour kicking off.

The place is exactly what I expected from Echo Valley: a worn wood bar, and the smell of tequila, lime, and nachos hits me.

There’s a chalkboard sign with a well-drawn picture of a cocktail that announces today’s two for one is mojitos.

The Killers play in the background, and half the town must be inside.

I recognize a few faces from the bookstore and some of the Monarch Hills workers who were milling about when we left the ranch office yesterday.

We make a beeline for the one open stool at the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, Gabriel slides inside before the door even closes behind us.

He wastes no time striding past me without so much as a glance and crosses his arms, sunglasses shading his intentions, standing against the back wall where he has a solid vantage point. Always the protector.

Unfortunately, said wall isn’t far enough away for me to relax, which was the whole point in coming here.

I don’t know if I ever flare my nostrils, but that’s just about where I’m at.

Raging-bull-level frustration. There’s mayhem in my veins, and I can’t tell which way is up or down.

One moment I’m nostalgic, the next wanting to keep walls up.

Another second, I’m horny as hell for the guy, and the next I feel put in my place like a twelve-year-old.

A guy in a cowboy hat takes a bottle of beer away with him into the depths of the space, vacating the stool next to me.

“Here looks good,” I say quickly.

“Fine by me,” Freya chirps, trying to be cheerful.

Usually, it’s contagious.

But we’re not as far away from Gabriel as I’d like. I wish I could be out of his eyeline. Out of earshot. Just a minute away from that gaze of his that makes confusion settle into what was once a clear path.

Why do I still care what he thinks?

But I do.

We climb onto stools just as the bartender, a sexy guy, sort of a Ryan Gosling type but more rugged, slides down the well of the bar and throws two cardboard coasters down.

“What’s your poison?” His smile is crooked and inviting.

Freya grins. “Shirley Temple.”

“Coming up.” The bartender flashes her a flirty grin. “Sweet thing for a sweet thing.”

Freya lifts her eyebrows and sweeps some curls behind her ear.

“Whiskey sour?” she asks me, with a smile that’s two degrees too bright. “I’m buying.”

The bartender tosses me a glance as if to ask if she’s just ordered for me.

“Yes, thank you,” I mutter, and suddenly think I should be careful not to drink too much. I might get angry and I’ll definitely be off guard. “Heavy on the sour, and before you say it, yes, it’s a sour drink for a sour girl.”

He chuckles, observing that I need the drink more than a compliment.

I stand to turn my stool completely away from Gabriel so he sees nothing but my back, but there’s that low thrum on my neck. The one I want to lean into and not away from, and it pisses me off more that I can feel him, even though his hands aren’t on me.

I need to keep my distance. Get through this stupid investigation or trap or whatever it is that deals with Cameron and get back to the world I own. I have enough problems with maybe needing a new job and no longer having a permanent home.

Freya tries a game to distract me, one we’ve played before. “Okay.” She scans the room. “This is a damn good spot for Rate The Mate.”

I take in the room, and she’s right. There are a decent number of attractive men here, but it only makes it harder not to think of Gabriel again because none of them even come close to him.

Just like nobody has for all these years.

I might have built a wall, but it did nothing to change the feelings behind it.

She shrugs. “It’s a distraction.”

I can’t tell her why I’m frustrated, not yet, maybe ever if I’m to spare her feelings, so I play along.

“You go first,” I insist.

“Okay.” She scans the room with a mischievous gleam. “Tall guy with the cowboy hat and the cocky lean at the jukebox.”

I flick a glance and laugh, digging my finger and thumb into my eye sockets.

Her brows rise. “What?”

Just then, someone familiar slides in next to her hot choice.

“Oh crap. Is that Kat?” She averts her eyes so Kat doesn’t catch her ogling.

“Appears so.” I laugh lightly. “And your pick is Santi. A Mendez.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Jeez, woman. What’s in the water in Starlight Canyon?”

The bartender puts our drinks down, interrupting yet another excursion for my brain to think about Gabriel.

“These have been paid for, ladies. Guess the new girls caught the attention of the new guy in town.” He tips his gaze behind me, apparently indicating the giver of said drinks.

Freya lifts her drink and smiles in a way of a thank you, and I turn, my gaze landing on a guy perched on the stool behind.

He’s a burly, blue-eyed giant with a deep-golden tan and a dark buzz cut. He has that generic, blue-collar guy thing about him, like I’ve seen him a thousand times before. He’s a decent-looking construction worker type that would turn your head for a moment but fade just as fast as footsteps.

I raise my glass. “Thank you.”

The bartender said he’s new in town, like us, and I’m not sure if he wants to make new friends or something more.

Blue Eyes tosses me a quirked eyebrow, and I turn back to Freya again, knowing this is pure trouble since Gabriel would have clocked the drinks. And the flirty smile.

Freya wiggles her eyebrows. “So were you rating Blue Eyes or your bodyguard?”

I roll my eyes playfully.

A hundred Blue Eyes wouldn’t stack up against Gabriel, and though usually harmless flirting cheers me up, I think this situation with Gabriel is beyond even that.

A song starts on the jukebox where Santi and Kat are, something old, bluesy, a little dangerous, and Freya swivels on her stool to face the room.

She hops off the stool with her drink in hand. “I’m going to say hi to Kat and meet this Santi guy. Maybe I can bag a trail ride at some point. Coming?”

“I’m good.”

I slide my fingers around the rim of my glass. I don’t feel much like socializing.

She asks one last time. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I’m sure.”

“K. Be right back.”

As soon as she leaves, a dark voice wafts over my shoulder. “Blue Eyes, eh? I’ve been called worse.”

I spin.

“So how do I stack up?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Rate The Mate?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty archaic for politics today.” I keep myself even, not wanting my body language to invite this guy in too far. “Just having a laugh.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? You like to laugh?”

“Yeah.” I swirl my straw in the ice, wishing the bartender would stop flirting with the girl on the end so I can get a refill and feel the numbness everyone talks about finding at the bottom of a highball.

Blue Eyes leans onto the bar. “You want to hear a dirty joke then?”

I shrug. “Hit me.”

His lips carve into a dangerous smile. “A girl walks into a bar and tells the bartender she only needs one thing—something strong, fast, and guaranteed to make her moan in public.”

I raise a brow.

“So he hands her to me.”

I laugh, trying to sound confident, like I heard something flirty and cute, not something that makes me want to back away. I don’t like him; he’s not my type, but for as long as this guy is here, G is not.

Maybe I should have joined Freya with Kat and Santi after all…

But now, facing Blue Eyes, I have the perfect view of G, who is only about ten feet behind the giant hunk of muscle, daggers somehow blasting right through the dark lenses of his aviators.

Gabriel’s body shifts. His shoulders roll back. A fist tightens at his side.

I tip my head back. Toss an ice cube in my mouth and crunch in defiance.

“Can I get you another?” Blue Eyes asks.

“I shouldn’t,” I say, even though I want one. But I’ll buy it for myself.

Blue Eyes stands, blocking my view of Gabriel. He’s at least six five and towers over my small frame. If I stood, I’d be staring at his belt buckle.

He leans closer. “Then how about another joke? I like your laugh.”

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Because he’s moved closer.

Not Blue Eyes. The other one. The one I’ve been trying to forget since the second I saw him walk in.

“Lara.” Gabriel’s voice cuts through the wall that is Blue Eyes and even the music.

I lean to the left and see him there, standing now just behind Blue Eyes. He’s unreadable but charged, a lit fuse.

“We need to talk.”

I blink. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

Blue Eyes turns and smiles at him, flashing sharpened teeth. “Is this your girl?”

“No,” Gabriel says dismissively. “But she isn’t yours either. And never will be.”

Blue Eyes straightens. “Is that so?”

“Gabriel…” I murmur, already bracing.

“And why wouldn’t she be my girl?” Blue Eyes challenges.