Page 3 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Three

Storm’s Brewing

Rhett

J oe’s Feed & Supply always smelled like hay, old barn wood, and diesel—all the scents of my childhood wrapped up in one creaky-floored building that hadn’t changed a damn thing in thirty years.

Even the “Free Coffee for Veterans” sign still hung crooked above the register.

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and stepped around a pallet of salt blocks, half-lost in the echo of my last stop.

I’d barely left Frontier Market, but Callie was still stuck in my head—buttoned up, biting her tongue, pretending everything in her world was picture perfect.

I suspected Matt was gone, again, off doing God knows what, and she was playing manager, cashier, and girlfriend like it was all business as usual. Sooner or later, something was going to crack. I just didn’t know if she’d let it or keep patching over the truth with that sharp little smile of hers.

When I walked past the dog food display, I noticed Sawyer was already parked at the back counter, elbows spread wide and a stack of specialty brochures fanned out like he was prepping for a SEAL op. Which, knowing him, wasn’t far from the truth.

“Find us a sniper cam yet?” I called out.

He didn’t even look up. “I’m narrowing it down. We need 1080p at minimum, motion-activated, and preferably one with night vision. Cellular upload’s a must. If I’m gonna freeze my ass off in the woods checking batteries, I at least want the footage synced to my phone.”

I grinned and pulled up a stool. “You realize we’re tracking deer, not insurgents.”

“You never know,” he said, deadpan. “I once watched a raccoon unzip a tent. Smart little bastards.”

Joe emerged from the back room, holding a stained coffee cup—same one he’d had for years. “Ready to order the trail cams, huh? Every fall, the hunting trips are the same—too much testosterone and not enough elk.”

“Hey,” I said, pointing to the catalog, “we’re helping the ecosystem. Population tracking for the wildlife service.”

“Right,” Joe snorted. “And I suppose the jerky in your glove box is just coincidence?”

Sawyer finally looked up. “We’re going with the Stealth Pro HDs. Cellular sync, solar panel backup, and they got infrared tags for night footage.”

Joe gave a low whistle. “Damn. You boys planning to catch Bigfoot or somethin’?”

“Ghosts or women,” I muttered under my breath, flipping through a nearby flyer.

Sawyer didn’t miss a beat. “Same thing sometimes.”

That earned a chuckle from Joe, who shook his head and reached for his order pad. “Alright, I’ll get two of those and pass my discount on to you. Might take a couple of days to get them from the warehouse.”

I nodded and leaned back, watching as Joe scribbled down the info. “No need for the discount. We’re good.”

Joe winked. “Thanks, boys.”

The heater clanked to life above us, fighting a losing battle against the chill sneaking in from under the door.

But it wasn’t the cold that had me off-kilter.

I kept thinking about Callie—how crisp she looked behind the counter today, hair pulled back, voice all business. She hadn’t smiled when I teased her, not really. But something flickered. A shadow of what used to be. Before Matt. Before I opened my dumb mouth and called the guy a loser.

Not that I was wrong. Just… poorly timed.

“You good?” Sawyer asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Just thinking about the snow rolling in.”

Sawyer raised a brow. “Winter storm’s supposed to hit tonight. Let me guess, you don’t have a date, and your cat ran away. So, you’ve got no one to keep you warm.”

Joe chuckled. “Bachelor life soundin’ real glamorous over there, Rhett.”

"It has its perks," I said, forcing a grin. "Like not having to explain spending a thousand dollars on new boots."

But the truth? Nights like this, with the wind picking up and the sky turning dark early—it got a little quiet. A little too quiet.

“You two should hit the Rusty Nail. Different vibe than Ropers,” Joe said. “Warm food. Live jukebox. Might even be some ladies there to look at your pretty faces.”

I was about to crack a joke, but Sawyer nodded. “Actually, that doesn’t sound bad.”

I stood and adjusted my hat. “Hell, why not. If nothing else, I can drink a whiskey and pretend my new ranch house doesn’t feel like a cave.”

Joe laughed. “Try not to start any fights tonight.”

Sawyer saluted. “Not unless someone makes fun of Rhett’s new Stetson.”

As we walked out, the wind caught the door and slammed it shut behind us.

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t in a rush to head home.

The Rusty Nail leaned more toward a wine bar than a watering hole, all reclaimed wood and soft lighting with a live-edge counter that stretched the length of the room. Edison bulbs glowed amber above the booths, and the quiet hum of a well-tuned jukebox played something bluesy in the background.

Sawyer and I stepped inside, brushing snow from our jackets as the door clicked shut behind us. I was ready for a medium-rare steak, a decent bourbon, and maybe a little quiet to balance out the static still ringing in my head from earlier.

What I wasn’t ready for was her .

Callie sat tucked into a corner booth with Lilly, wine glass in hand and cheeks flushed from laughter. She looked... relaxed. Her ponytail was a little looser, her blouse a little wrinkled, like she’d finally exhaled after holding her breath all day. She hadn’t seen us yet.

Then she did.

And just like that, the stiffness snapped back into her shoulders. One blink and the real Callie—the soft one, the messy one, the girl I used to know—vanished behind that polished mask she wore like armor.

Sawyer nudged me with a grin. “Looks like the scenery just improved.”

Before I could stop him, he strolled over and leaned a forearm on the edge of their booth like it belonged to him. “Ladies,” he said with a slow grin. “Mind if we crash?”

Lilly gave him a once-over, shrugged, and scooted over. “Long as you order something stronger than light beer.”

Sawyer winked. “Darlin’, I don’t even look at light beer.”

I slid into the seat across from Callie, who was busy pretending I wasn’t there. Her wine glass hovered just in front of her lips, her fingers wrapped tight around the stem like it might save her from saying something she’d regret.

I flagged down the waitress and ordered half the menu—steaks, burgers, wings, fried pickles, whatever would keep me from blurting out the million questions I had for her.

When the food arrived, I pushed a plate of fries toward her. “Play like you don’t hate me for five minutes, and I’ll buy you dessert.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “Depends. You gonna talk trash about Matt again?”

I leaned back, one arm slung across the top of the booth. “Only if you say I’m wrong.”

She didn’t answer right away. That pause? It was the loudest thing she’d said all night.

Instead of fighting, she reached for a fry.

Across the table, Sawyer and Lilly were already laughing about something, heads tilted close, shoulders brushing like they’d been doing this dance for years.

Callie watched them out of the corner of her eye. She tried to hide it, but I caught the flicker of longing. Not for Sawyer—but for the ease. The comfort.

Hell, I wanted that too.

But right now, I’d settle for her finishing that wine without stabbing me with a fork.

Progress.

Soon, the fancy jukebox was scratching out the opening notes of an old country slow jam—one of those songs where the words didn’t matter half as much as the ache behind them. The kind that made you remember things best left buried.

Sawyer twirled Lilly across the battered dance floor, her laughter cutting through the low murmur of the bar. They moved like they’d done this before. Maybe not together, but easy.

Comfortable.

Callie sat across from me, working on the last of her wine. Her ponytail was slipping loose, one stubborn strand falling across her cheek. She didn’t bother to tuck it behind her ear.

I stood and held out a hand. “Come on. Just one.”

She blinked up at me, already shaking her head. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

She rolled her eyes but slid out of the booth. “Fine. But just one.”

The floorboards creaked beneath our steps as I pulled her in. Not too close. Not too far. Her hands landed stiffly on my shoulders like she was holding up a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign, but I didn’t mind.

We swayed in silence for a while, the room dimming at the edges until it was just her and me and the sound of a bluegrass band crying through the speakers.

“You look different,” I said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No—I mean… like someone else’s version of you.”

She tensed, like I’d touched a wound. “I’m fine, Rhett.”

I let that hang there, then murmured, “You happy, Cal?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept looking over my shoulder like something important was back there.

“You used to scream like hell at my football games,” I said, softer now. “Used to wear those ripped jeans and dare anyone to underestimate you.”

“That was a long time ago,” she said, her voice tight.

“You’re still that girl,” I told her. “You just forgot.”

Her gaze finally met mine. Not soft, not hard. Just real.

“I don’t hate you, Rhett,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do with you.”

I smiled, slow and sure. “Good. Means you’re still thinking about me.”

She rolled her eyes again, but this time, her lips twitched like they were fighting a grin.

Just then, the lights dimmed, a sign of an impending power outage.

She looked up. “Uh-oh.”

“First winter storm,” I said.

But I wasn’t thinking about the weather.

Not at all.

Soon, the bartender flicked the lights twice—an unspoken cue that fun was over and the grown folks needed to take their flirtin’ and drinkin’ elsewhere.

“Storm’s picking up,” the owner called from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’re shuttin’ it down early. Roads’ll be slick before long.”

Outside the wide front window, snow drifted in lazy spirals under the streetlights. What had started as a few scattered flakes was now a quiet, steady fall, building in corners and coating the windshields like powdered sugar.

Sawyer and Lilly were already bundling up near the door, laughing about something I couldn’t hear as they stepped outside.

I watched out the window as Lilly reached up and brushed snow off his shoulder, and he leaned in with that cocky glint he always got when a woman gave him the time of day.

Hell, maybe he’d found his next mission.

Callie slid out of her seat. “Gonna hit the restroom before I head out. Long drive.”

She paused at the table, drained the last of her wine without meeting my eyes. “Matt’s out of town,” she said suddenly, like she’d ripped off a bandage.

I didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” I said. “Figured.”

Her shoulders sagged like I’d taken something off her, or maybe just confirmed that she already knew I’d seem more than she wanted me to.

“He’ll be back in a couple days.”

“Sure he will,” I murmured, letting the words sit between us.

She finally looked at me. “Don’t start.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I nodded and waved off her wallet when she reached for it. “Already got the tab.”

She hesitated for half a second, then gave me a short nod and disappeared down the hallway toward the restroom.

I watched as the bar emptied fast after that—boots scuffing, jackets zipping, folks muttering about tire chains and salting the roads.

I wandered toward the window, arms crossed. Outside, the parking lot was turning slick, and snow was beginning to accumulate on hoods and wipers.

And I couldn’t stop picturing Matt in his business-casual getup, tucked away somewhere warm and safe, probably sipping hotel coffee and thinking about payroll numbers while Callie geared up to drive thirty minutes through this crap in a rental car with bald tires and no heated seats.

My jaw ticked.

Typical.

Real stand-up kind of guy, leaving her alone to fend for herself with the snow season creeping up on Montana.

I turned when I heard the restroom door creak open.

Time to see if she'd let me do what he wouldn’t—get her home safe.