Page 12 of Huckleberry Hill (Saddles & Spurs #1)

Chapter Eleven

Town

“Hadley?”

Grinning, I sauntered up to the bar. “Hey, Wade.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

He came out from behind the bar to give me a hug. His dark hair fell over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance, but he was anything but. He’d played football in high school, and he’d been tall and muscular even back then. Now, he had a few more years of seasoning to him and he looked good.

“I’m meeting Gracie for a drink,” I explained.

He shook his head. “I mean what are you doing home?”

“Came for a visit,” I lied. “How are you doing? How’s business?”

“Mom finally convinced Dad to enter semi-retirement, and they promoted me.”

“To what? You’ve been bar manager since we graduated high school,” I teased.

“Just a title.” He winked. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protested.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Did Salem come home with you, too?”

I shook my head. “Just me.”

“Is your fiancé joining you later?” His eyes went to my left hand, letting the question linger.

“No,” I stated. “I don’t have a fiancé anymore.”

“Glad I’m covering your drinks tonight then. Maybe some shots later, yeah?”

“Sure,” I said with a smile. “Thanks.”

“I got a new cider on tap. You want to try it?”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks, Wade.”

I took the stool at the end of the bar. Wade poured my cider and put the pint in front of me.

“So how long are you in town for?” he asked.

“To be determined,” I said.

“We should grab dinner one night. Catch up.”

My phone vibrated in my jacket pocket. “Oh, sorry. Hold that thought.”

I pulled out my cell and read the text. With a sigh I texted back and set my phone down on the bar.

“Problem?” Wade asked.

“Gracie had to cancel. Bella came down with the flu.”

“That sucks,” he said.

“Yeah.” I looked at my pint. It was no fun to drink alone. “I think I’ll head out.”

“What? You just got here.”

“I know, but I don’t want to just sit here and be a barfly.”

“Stay for one drink. I already poured it. It’ll just go to waste. And you haven’t even tasted it yet.”

I picked up the pint and took a sip. “Oh, wow. That’s really good. What is it?”

“Thimbleberry cider. Dad’s creation.”

“What was that about your dad retiring?” I said with a laugh.

“You’re right. He’s spending even more time brewing now that he’s got me to run the bar. I’m thinking of having an amateur cocktail competition. Get some new bodies into the bar, you know? Not everyone wants beer and cider all the time.”

“That could be fun.”

My gaze wandered toward the front door which had opened. A tall, familiar body in a cowboy hat stepped inside.

Declan looked around the room just as I slid off the stool.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I went to him.

“You told me about this place. I came to check it out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to meet Gracie for a drink, but her daughter got the flu. So I’m flying solo.”

“You want some company?”

My stomach swirled with pleasure.

“Sure.”

We headed back to the bar. Wade’s gaze was steady as he watched Declan approach.

“Wade, this is Declan Brewer. He’s the new wrangler at Elk Ridge.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wade clipped. “Get you something to drink?”

Declan looked at me. “What are you drinking?”

“Thimbleberry cider. Wade’s dad brewed it himself.” I handed him my pint and gave it to him to taste.

He took a sip and nodded. “That’s fucking delicious. I’ll take one of those.”

Wade’s expression cracked and he smiled. “I’ll tell my dad you said so.” He went to pour Declan a pint and then handed it to him. “You want to start a tab?”

“Sure.” Declan reached into his jeans pocket and extracted his wallet.

Wade took Declan’s credit card.

“Table?” Declan asked me as he put his wallet back into his pocket.

“Sure.” I grabbed my pint and cell off the bar. “See ya, Wade.”

Declan followed me to the corner of the bar and we took the vacant booth. I slid in and immediately took off my coat.

“What’s that smell?” Declan asked.

I frowned. “What smell?”

“The bar smell. It’s like grease . . . and something else, but I can’t figure it out.”

“Paprika,” I explained.

“How do you know that?”

“The bar serves barbecue. Paprika is in the butt rub.”

“Look at you—knowing all the things.”

“Wade was my high school boyfriend,” I explained. “I have the inside scoop.”

“Ah that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Explains the death-glare he gave me.”

“He didn’t death-glare you,” I protested.

“ Right ,” he said with a wry smile. He lifted his pint class. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass against his before taking a sip.

“So, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“What? No.”

“Yes,” he said. “Be honest with me.”

“I really haven’t been avoiding you,” I promised. “It’s just worked out that way. I swear.”

“Okay.” He lifted his pint and took a sip. “You don’t have to be a stranger, you know. You’re welcome to enjoy a beer and talk anytime you want.”

My gaze narrowed. “Talk.”

“Yeah, talk. Like what we did the other night when I told you my dad wasn’t my dad.”

“I remember.”

“If anyone should be embarrassed it should be me.”

“Why should you be embarrassed?”

“Because I told you some personal shit and people get weird when you tell them personal shit.”

“I appreciated that you told me about your parents. And I . . .”

“Yes?”

“Realized that I didn’t tell you anything.”

“I didn’t ask. I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d talk about it.” He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Hadley.”

“Have you ever been married?” I blurted out.

He smiled slightly. “No.”

“Serious relationships?”

“None of those either.”

“How is that possible?” I demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you seem emotionally mature and very self-aware. How are you not taken?”

“I became self-aware only about a month ago,” he joked.

“Declan.”

“I don’t know, Hadley. The rodeo circuit didn’t really allow for long-lasting relationships and I wasn’t really looking for one either. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You were engaged, so clearly that was serious. And what about Wade?”

I looked at my high school boyfriend who was currently helping a customer before glancing back at Declan. I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t serious. It was high school.”

“Some high school relationships last.”

“Yeah, but not ours. It was amicable. We were together until graduation, but that summer I left with Salem to move to New York.”

“He still carries a torch for you.”

“I wish he wouldn’t.”

“So you don’t have any unresolved feelings for him?”

I raised my brows. “I was going to marry another man. I do not have any unresolved feelings for my high school boyfriend.”

“Good to know.”

My gaze narrowed.

A customer walked up to the jukebox and pressed a few buttons. When the song didn’t change, he kicked the side of it. With a warble, an old-school country song blasted from the speakers.

“Come on,” Declan said, scooting out of the booth.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to dance.”

“You dance?” I asked in surprise.

“Guess you’ll find out.” He held his hand out to me.

I looked at it for a moment and then took it. He helped me up and led me toward the dance floor.

He pulled me close, one hand splaying across my back, his other hand holding mine. I tripped over my own two feet, but Declan didn’t laugh at me. And soon the nerves disappeared. He twirled and whirled me, keeping a strong, firm grip.

His flannel shirt was soft beneath my fingertips and when he pulled me close, I could smell the saddle soap and hay clinging to his skin.

The song changed to a slower one, but Declan didn’t release me. Instead, his large hand pressed against the small of my back and urged me closer.

Our hips brushed against one another, and quivers of longing sparked in my belly. A startled gasp escaped my lips.

My head whipped back so I could stare at him. He was looking down at me, his blue eyes banked with heat. His head dipped . . .

I shoved away from him, almost colliding with another couple on the floor.

“Air,” I blurted out.

I ran for the front door and yanked it open. After stepping outside, I bent over, placed my hands on my thighs, and gulped like my life depended on it.

The door opened and I turned my head. Declan strode outside, holding my coat.

“Thought you might be cold,” he said.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

He held my jacket up to me, silently offering aid. I shoved my arms into the sleeves. My coat slid on, but Declan didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped behind me, reached down and zipped it up for me.

“Hadley, look at me.”

When I didn’t comply, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to him.

“Declan, don’t,” I begged.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his voice husky, his hands grasping the collar of my jacket.

“Don’t look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you want to kiss me.”

“I do want to kiss you.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not? You want me to kiss you. I can see it.”

“No, I don’t,” I lied.

He smiled.

“ Declan ,” I groaned.

He took a deep breath.

“What?” I demanded.

“Hearing you say my name like that . . . it’s giving me fantasies.”

“Well, stop.”

“Can’t.” The lights from the street and the building made him easy to see.

His gaze was intense, and he hadn’t let go of my coat.

“You work for my father,” I said, trying to reason with him.

He frowned.

“You work for my father,” I said again.

“I’m aware.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is that really the only reason you don’t want me to kiss you?”

“It’s a pretty big reason,” I said. “I don’t want you to get fired.”

“Thanks for thinking of my livelihood,” he drawled. “I like you, Hadley. And I know you like me, too.”

“We said we’d be friends,” I reminded him. “That’s all this can be, Declan. Please don’t make it harder.”

He stared at me for a moment and then released me. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“I drove the truck. I’m parked right there,” I said, pointing to the street spot outside the Copper Mule.

He walked me to the truck and opened the driver’s side door for me.

I wasn’t sure what to say to him. Small talk seemed stupid when my heart was racing and all I wanted to do was close the distance between us.

“Get home safe,” he said.

“You too.”

With a nod, he shut the door and then crossed the street to his motorcycle.

I started the truck as I watched Declan lift his long leg and straddle his bike.

“I’m so screwed,” I muttered, putting the truck into gear. “So damn screwed.”