Page 64 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
DRUNK AS A SKUNK
“You can have any drawers and closet space you want. Take your pick, darlin’.”
Ryder tugs open the top drawer of the dresser and starts emptying his clothing before I can say otherwise. “Ry, I basically live in leggings and your t-shirts. I don’t need much room.”
“I want this to feel as much your space as it does mine. Please, Lols. Split half of everything with me, yeah?” he asks, his eyes crinkled at the corners with an earnest expression, silently pleading with me to give in.
And of course, I do. “Sure, Ry, whatever you want,” I say with a chuckle, sidling up to him and bumping him out of my way with my hip. My fingers curl around the intricate brass handles of the antique wooden chest of drawers, yanking the second drawer from the top open.
My heart stops in my chest for a beat before galloping wildly at the contents of the drawer. I can’t pull my eyes away to meet his eyes. “Ry,” I breathe out, shock rippling through me as I reach inside to pick one up.
“I used to keep them on the mantle, but when I knew you were moving in, I thought it’d be best if I hid them until you’d gotten used to the idea of how in love I’ve always been with you.
” I finally drag my eyes away from the delicate paper petals littering the drawer to peer up at my husband’s chiseled face, his bright eyes swirling with adoration.
“After all these years, you kept them? All of them?” I ask, my voice strained as I hold back the tears threatening to fall. The origami flowers I’d made him for his birthday each year, and most recently, this April, are all here, each one in near-pristine condition.
He’s been holding on to hope for a future together for longer than even he might've realized.
“Mind if I put these on the mantle where they belong, now that I’ve spilled the beans?” he asks with a lighthearted chuckle.
“Of course, Ry. Let’s get these in some water,” I joke, plucking them gently from the drawer and carrying them to the mantle, Ryder’s hands full of the ones I couldn’t carry.
It doesn’t take long before we’ve got our room filled with my things, and then we’re in his truck for a drive.
The music is so loud I wouldn’t be able to hear my own thoughts if I wanted to. And right now, I don’t. My mind keeps dredging up reminders of all the hard work I’d put into that barn, my studio, just to see it burning down around me last night.
The damage wasn’t completely damning, but it’ll still take time to fix. Luckily, Ryder had the building insured, but the claims adjuster isn’t working until Monday, so there’s no use dwelling on it until then.
After Ryder helped me shuffle our things around, we each got a text that had me crawling out of my skin.
Text messages are one thing, but photos of us together inside our home?
That’s something I’ve grown tired of already, and instead of lighting a fire under my ass to put a stop to it, I want to run away for the night. We can figure the rest out tomorrow .
Ryder has the windows rolled down enough that the wind blows through the truck, but not enough that my hair is a complete mess.
He’s got Callum Scott playing, and he’s been singing the entire car ride down this long highway. We have no plans for where we’re going; we’re driving until we find somewhere to stop or turn around.
The sun is starting to set, the sky itself a baby blue, but the thick clouds overhead are a bright-bubblegum pink, and if not for the low hum of anxiety simmering in my chest and the way my gut feels a little twisty, I’d be completely at peace right now.
Every minute we drive out of Hidden Valley, my nerves settle a little more.
Fields of crops flank us, barbed wire fences holding livestock every few acres flying by as we drive.
The rumble of motorcycles grows louder until they’re passing in front of us, waving as they go. It’s hard not to recognize the guys, with their tie-dye leather jackets.
Ryder rolls up the windows and turns the music down.
We continue, neither of us saying anything as we settle into the safety of our own little bubble.
Another ten minutes pass, and we’re still behind the guys from the biker book club. They turn their signals on, slowing to pull up a driveway into the only standing structure for miles.
“Can we go there?” I ask, nodding toward the small, rundown bar with a lit-up sign that reads “The Rusty Spur”, except the y isn’t lit.
“Anywhere you want, darlin’.”
He follows behind the guys, parking in an available spot on the side of the bar beside a dumpster before turning off the engine and coming around my side to unbuckle me. He takes my hand, steering me toward the doors.
Peanut shells litter the ground, and the smell of stale beer permeates the air as we make our way to the bar.
“I’ve always wondered how people with a peanut allergy navigate something like this. Obviously, they don’t go to places with peanuts all over the floor, but is there a good way to know about this sort of thing?” Ryder muses, his boots crunching on the shells.
“That’s a good question, and unfortunately, one I don’t know the answer to,” I tell him, chuckling lightly.
The bikers are all seated at the far end of the bar, chatting with the bartender.
Her hair is all jagged, sharp lines of various shades of blonde, and she’s wearing a tight, cropped tank with denim shorts that show off her tattooed abdomen.
It makes me think about the tattoo I’ve newly discovered on Ryder and how unnervingly sexy it is.
It’s reassuring to know that, as wild as the last few months have been, Ryder will remain a steady constant in my life. I’ll get to be up close and personal with the ink on his thigh as often as I want .
I drag Ryder up to the bar, taking a seat beside Wyatt on a wooden stool, leaning over the bar to wave at them. “Hey, guys,” I say with a small wave.
“Evenin’, Miss Lola,” Levi says from the opposite end, his long gray beard hanging to what I’d imagine is where his nipples might’ve sat in the early two-thousands. Each of the men greet us, and the bartender returns to take our order a moment later.
“Howdy. I’m Raylin.” The bartender introduces herself, tipping her hat at me with a wink. “What can I get y’all to drink?”
“A rum and Coke for me, please.”
I look over to Ryder, and he smiles at her.
I bask in the difference between the polite smiles he gives everyone else and the ones I receive.
Each one contains multitudes, with a different level of hidden emotions, ranging from lust and desire to admiration, contentment, and my favorite, endless devotion.
“Just a water for me, ma’am,” he tells her, unintentionally yanking me from my thoughts as I give him a look.
“Don’t think you’ve gotta hold back on my account, darlin’.
I’ll keep you safe,” he assures me when Raylin sets the drinks in front of us.
I let the cool, sweet liquid burn as it runs down my throat, warmth settling in my chest.
I turn in my seat, looking around the small room to get my bearings. There’s a three-person band seated in the corner closest to the front doors, playing all the quintessential country songs I expect from a place like this.
Tall wooden tables are scattered around the room, but the center is clear of anything besides people and scuffed-up wood floorboards, presumably from years of line dancing. A few couples are dancing, and there’s a table near us with a bunch of rowdy guys talking shop.
The twangy opening notes of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” fill the air, the crowd whooping as boots hit the center of the room, people flooding the dancefloor. Strings of fairy lights hang low across the rafters, casting a warm glow over the room.
I reach up, grabbing Ryder’s hat from his head and settling it on mine, grinning up at him. “Come on, cowboy. Impress me.”
I toss back the rest of my drink, taking his hand and dragging him out to dance.
Couples and groups are already in formation, their boots tapping in time with the music. Ryder slides a hand to the small of my back, guiding me into position as if we hadn’t spent the entirety of our adolescent years line dancing together.
The music picks up, the crowd moving as one, shuffling left then right, boots stomping in unison. I throw myself into the rhythm despite the way my joints scream at me to stop. I refuse to have another thing taken from me at the hands of something out of my control.
My hips sway, and laughter bubbles out of me with every step and spin.
Ryder matches me move for move, his pretty blue eyes twinkling under the lights and his grin widening each time our gazes meet.
“Unlike this bar, I see that you , Ryder Lockhart, are not as rusty as I’d thought,” I call over the music, my breathless excitement giving me away.
He chuckles, spinning me and catching my hand as I swing around. “And you thought I was all for show, didn’t ya, darlin’?”
“You’re certainly nice to look at,” I admit, moving up on my tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
The song comes to an end, and I’m flushed. I’m sure my cheeks are glowing beneath the shadow of Ryder’s hat.
We weave through the crowd, and the bartender makes eye contact with me, giving me a small smile and pouring me another drink. I gulp it down.
“Slow down there. You’re gonna be drunk as a skunk any minute, darlin’.”
“Maybe that’s the point, Ry,” I say, tossing him a wink and turning to head out. He snatches my hand, dragging me into his warm body.
Ryder cups my cheeks, kissing my forehead and lowering his voice. “Just promise you won’t puke on me because you know that makes me squeamish.”
The alcohol is already hitting me, tingling through my limbs as I gaze up at him. “No promises, Ry.”
He shakes his head, laughing as he twirls me, the contents of my stomach already swirling with the alcohol. I move past it, determined to have a good time tonight.