Page 32 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

Oops. I hit the curb when I pulled into the lot. Boo hoo. I guess I’m going to have “ punishment .”

The red neon glow of Boots & Bourbon flickers against the puddles on the asphalt as I push through the heavy doors, stepping straight into the hum of conversation and laughter. Heartless by Diplo featuring Morgan Wallen vibrates through the speakers, the bass thumping under my sparkly boots.

I weave through the growing crowd, making my way toward the clock-in monitor.

Tapping my fingers against the scratched-up screen, I punch in my employee ID, clocking in for another long night. As I head toward the bar, I push past sweaty patrons and drunk idiots shouting over each other, and the stench of body odor assaults my nose.

It’s called deodorant, dirty ass.

God, I don’t want to work here forever. I want something for myself.

But what? I don’t even know what the hell I’m passionate about.

What have I even done with my twenty-three years on this earth?

Oh, that’s right—got shit-faced drunk, partied away every emotion I didn’t want to feel, and spent my daddy’s money like it could buy me a fucking soul.

Sighing, I lean my elbows on the bar for a second, pulling my phone from my back pocket while no one is looking. My thumb hovers over Carter’s name. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t. But my chest is tight, and I hate how empty it feels without him. Without thinking it through, I quickly type.

Catalina

I miss you, like a lot.

I bite the inside of my cheek after I hit send, cringing.

God, I probably sound so fucking clingy.

I shove my phone back into my apron, grabbing a few empty beer glasses from a nearby table, trying to distract myself, pretending like my heart isn’t hammering in my ears.

The buzz comes quicker than I expect. I wipe my hands on a towel, sneaking a glance down at the screen.

Carter

You miss me, huh? Good, because I can’t stop thinking about you, baby.

I shake my head, smiling to myself as I make my way behind the bar where Reed is already waiting, arms crossed like he’s been counting down the seconds.

“You’re closing tonight,” he says without preamble.

I groan dramatically. “Ugh, fine. I think I’ll survive.”

“Good. Take over serving. I’ve got paperwork.” He gives me a playful shove before disappearing toward his office, leaving me to the wolves.

The bar is fucking chaos tonight. Cowboys in dusty boots two-stepping to the twang of country music, groups of girls in tiny denim skirts, rhinestone-studded crop tops shrieking and climbing onto the mechanical bull, desperate for a scrap of attention.

I’m halfway through pouring a rum and Coke for some crusty old man when I feel it, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I glance up from the glass in my hand, my heart skipping a beat. And sure enough, my eyes lock onto a man I definitely would have remembered if he were a regular.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a dark, gruff along his jawline and a smirk that says he knows exactly the kind of trouble he’s stirring up.

His burgundy flannel clings to thick, muscled arms, the sleeves stretched tight across his biceps, and those dark-wash jeans? Not doing him any disservice either.

“Well, well,” he drawls, voice smooth like Tennessee whiskey. “I think I just found my new favorite bar. I’m Jake, Jake Steele.”

I don’t care who the fuck you are, Jake from state farm.

I raise a brow, fighting back a laugh at how fucking cringe this is. God, if Carter were here, I’d have so much fun pissing him off with this. I sigh inwardly and put on my best unimpressed face.

“Is that right?” I say coolly, setting the rum and Coke down. “And why’s that?”

His lips curve into a cocky smile as he gives me a slow once-over like he’s deciding whether he wants to worship me or ruin me.

Yuck.

“I didn’t know an angel was working here.”

I stifle a laugh, shaking my head. Poor bastard. He has no idea what he just stepped into.

“I’m actually Satan reincarnated,” I say sweetly. “Now, are you going to tell me what the fuck you want to drink, or are you just here to waste my time?”

His laugh is a little strained now, the confidence slipping. “Old-fashioned, please. ”

I turn without another word, grabbing the bourbon and pouring it over ice, adding a splash of bitters and a hint of honey, stirring it slowly. I slide the glass across the bar to him, leaning forward just enough to meet his gaze dead-on.

“Here’s your old-fashioned,” I purr, voice dripping with false sweetness. “As old as your fucking pick-up lines.”

His face flushes deep red. Without saying another word, he throws a crumpled twenty on the bar and slinks off into the crowd.

Good. Serves him right, that line was absolutely atrocious.

Buzz.Buzz.Buzz.

I wipe my hands on a bar towel, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, the bright screen blinding me as I check the notifications lighting up.

Carter

Who the fuck was that?

He’s fucking bluffing. I glance around the bar, scanning the crowd for the familiar sight of Carter’s broad frame, but come up empty. Liar.

I chuckle under my breath and start typing, fully intending to piss him off.

Catalina

That was Jake, he’s new in town. He said I was an angel and asked me out.

I barely have time to set my phone down before it buzzes again.

Carter

Catalina..

Carter

I wanted to rip his fucking eyeballs out of his skull for even looking at you.

A sharp, breathless laugh escapes me.

Catalina

Dramatic, are we?

I type back, shaking my head. Another message comes in before I can blink.

Carter

I don’t share what’s mine.

The words hit me harder than I expect, slamming into my chest like a fucking freight train.

Catalina

Are you jealous?

Carter

Watch yourself, darlin’.

I stare at my phone with my jaw practically on the floor, my heart hammering way too hard for my own good. I’m still calling bullshit. He’s supposed to be busy today, out on the ranch with Maverick shoveling hay and wrangling those new heifers for breeding season. No way he’s here.

Still, a slow heat curls low in my belly, my fingers twitch like they want to text something reckless back. But, I slam my phone face down on the bar instead. I have shit to do.

The last call had come and gone, the final few stragglers stumbling out of the door with slurred goodbyes and half-hearted promises to “see ya next weekend.”

The bar was finally empty, the lively hum of voices and clinking glasses now replaced by the low flicker of the neon sign buzzing above the door and the distant sound of crickets singing in the dark.

I sighed, stretching my arms high above my head, feeling the dull ache settle deep into my bones. My fucking feet throb, my lower back is screaming, and all I want is a long, hot bubble bath with a glass of champagne big enough to drown myself in. But first, I had to finish closing this damn bar.

I move thoroughly through the empty bar, wiping down sticky tables, the stubborn scent of whiskey and fried food still hanging thick in the air. I gather empty beer bottles, tossing them into the trash, muttering curses under my breath at people who can’t seem to clean up after themselves.

Dragging my tired legs toward the register, I grab the money pouch, stuffing the night’s earnings inside to lock away in Reed’s office. I exhale heavily as I step into the office, snatching up my purse and jacket, already picturing myself curled up in bed under a mountain of blankets.

Finally, finally , I beeline toward the front door, desperate to get the hell out—When the sharp scrape of a chair dragging across the floor stops me dead in my tracks. My heart leaps into my throat .

Someone was still here.

I spin around, pulse hammering as I scan the dimly lit room. Every shadow looks too big, too close. My eyes dart side to side, dry and burning from how hard I’m searching. Panic prickles along the back of my neck until a low, familiar chuckle cuts through the silence.

I whip my head around, ready to throw my keys at whoever it was, only to lock eyes with him .

Carter, sitting there like he owns the damn place, his long legs stretched out casually, arms folded over his broad chest, as a cocky smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“What the actual fuck, Carter?” I snap, storming toward him. “Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack?”

He shrugs lazily, his blue eyes glinting under the low light. “Maybe if you paid more attention, princess, you wouldn’t be so jumpy.”

I narrow my eyes at him, my voice sharp, “What are you even doing here?”

He only tilts his head, that maddening smirk still playing at the edges of his mouth.

I plant a hand on my hip, pointing an accusatory finger toward the door. “And how the hell did you even get here? I have your fucking truck.”

Still, he said nothing as he just stared at me, that heated, unreadable look sinking into the pit of my stomach like a live grenade ready to blow. I scoff, spinning on my heel and stomping back toward the bar.

“Oh, let me guess—you’re pissed someone was flirting with me tonight?” I mutter loud enough for him to hear as I grab a bottle of whiskey. “Get the fuck over it.”

I could feel his eyes tracking every move I made, his silence louder than any argument he could have thrown at me .

“Pour me a shot, princess.”

I let out a sharp laugh under my breath.

Oh, I’ll pour him a shot, alright.

Vas a ver, pendejo.

Grabbing a shot glass, I fill it to the brim, the golden liquid sloshing slightly as I carry it over to him.

He leans back in his chair, arms sprawled wide, legs spread even wider, like he was inviting me to come closer.

The corner of his mouth tilts up again when I stop in front of him, but I lift my chin higher.