Page 10 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

“What dress ya wearin’?” Willow asks as I walk down the block, silently reading off signs of storefronts as I pass each one.

“The linen with the blue flowers.”

“The one that has the loose strap on one side that keeps slippin’ off your shoulder?”

I lift said strap, hiking it up by the blue sewed-on rose. “That’s the one.”

“So no sleeves,” my bestie confirms. “Look at you, daredevil.”

Only Willow knows the reason I wear long sleeves, or at least three-quarter long sleeves. Especially around my family. Back in New York, I’m less neurotic about it—mostly.

“It’s night . No one’s going to come close enough to see the faint scars on my arm.”

“You’re going to get eaten alive out there. Wesley’s got every right to worry about you,” she mutters.

“I’m hanging up now. Thanks for your help.”

“Love you. Call me when you get back to your spooky cabin.”

“I’ll text. Night.”

I slip the phone in my purse and look up at the sign on the bar that seems to have the most action. “ This is it?” They really need a New York lesson on what to consider the “it” bar.

It’s a low-slung building with a small neon sign on the window with the bar name. There’s a larger wood-carved one over the storefront, which I like better.

I pull the wooden door handle in the shape of a big bone and step inside like I belong.

I’m hit with the thick air of fried food, beer, and stale smoke.

Strings of dim colored bulbs hang from the ceiling. There’s a soft glow over the bar, which stretches along one wall. A modern country song plays from a jukebox at the entrance.

I take an empty seat on the side of the bar, against the wall. From here, I can see everything, so this seems as good a spot as any to .?.?. people watch, I suppose.

I try to grab the bartender’s attention. He’s a middle- aged, brawny man with light hair. A smirk plays on his lips as he wipes glasses and chats with what I assume is a group of regulars.

The place is half full, which seems about right. Even in New York, this is average for a Tuesday night.

I hear a handful of conversations from where I sit. The one that piques my interest the most is an upcoming rodeo event a threesome of cowboys are discussing.

One catches me staring and lifts his chin. The other two follow his eyes.

“Hey, pretty lady,” the blond one greets me. He’s got an interesting silver and red bolo tie and judging by the way the others don’t engage—including the one who caught me staring—he’s the alpha in the small group.

And I decide .?.?. I don’t like him.

“Hello,” I offer non-committedly and turn back to the bartender.

“Where you come from?” the cowboy asks, shifting toward me.

“New York.”

He chuckles and scans me. “What brings you by?”

I turn a hard glare on him. “If you’re not here to take my order, please go away.”

The other two cowboys look up at the man like I’d just insulted a prime minister.

“Hey, Benny,” he calls. “Get Snow White here a drink on my tab.”

The bartender rolls his eyes, which tells me this cowboy has no authority here, which is a relief.

“I’m good, thanks. I can get my own,” I tell the cowboy, then turn back to the bartender. “I’ll have anything off your specials. Make it colorful and virgin, please.”

“Virgin, huh?” the cowboy beside me comments.

“The drink,” I clarify, getting irritated.

He scratches his beard. “Good to know.”

I tap my foot against the barstool, then shift to face him. “I heard you talking about rodeos. I’ve never been to one, so I was interested. It wasn’t an invitation to buy me a drink.”

He extends his hands as if to say he’s an open book. “What do you want to know?”

I glance at him but don’t answer.

He smirks, perking a brow. “It wasn’t an invitation to one, just offering to feed a curious mind. Call me Rodeo Ricky.”

I release a soft laugh as the bartender hands me a purplish drink with an umbrella. “Thanks.”

“It’s on him.” I expect him to point to Rodeo Ricky, but he points to a man across the bar.

Not sure who I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t .?.?. my boss.

My other boss, Dallas, is sitting at the far opposite end of the bar.

He’d be hard to make out if it wasn’t for those distinct features I noticed yesterday when I met him briefly.

He doesn’t smile when I meet his gaze. He salutes me but doesn’t come over.

Almost to let me know he’s here if I need him.

After I offer him a small, tentative smile—and wonder if I’m going to have to explain why one of his golf carts is parked outside—he turns a hard glare towards the intimidating cowboy.

“Ricky Callahan.” The man stretches out his hand. Something unfriendly and suspicious lingers in the air between us, and I hesitate.

Ricky sets his hand down, then glances back at his friends. “New Yorkers,” he sighs. “A rodeo, sunshine, is a celebration of cowboy traditions. Bull riding, roping, racing. We’re pretty family friendly, with live music, even brisket.” He smiles at that last one. “Unless you’re more into sausages.”

“I don’t eat meat,” I lie.

“You never tried mine,” he probes.

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Rodeo Ricky?”

He cocks his head, and there’s nothing charming about it. “Sounds like you’ve met your match.”

I catch sight of a woman watching us and wonder if she might be his girlfriend .

.?. or wife. But then I really look at her.

To put it simply, she’s beautiful . Wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks.

The kind of woman to turn heads in a place like this.

She’s got a cool blue cowgirl hat on, white boots, and a denim romper.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cowgirl in real life. I’m instantly jealous of how she carries herself.

I like her style, but I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.

As if deciding she’d seen enough, she walks over and slaps his shoulder—hard. “Read the room, Ricky, she’s not interested.”

Whew. Not the wife. Did not feel like getting a black eye tonight . “On the contrary, sis, Snow White wanted to know about the rodeo we got comin’ up.”

“Benny,” she calls, and the bartender nods in her direction, not bothering to get her order before he starts mixing.

“You should come,” she says dryly. “It’s gonna be a wild ride.” She looks across the room, and I don’t follow her eyes. “We got real cowboys on Callahan Ranch.”

Callahan .?.?. where have I heard that name before?

She reaches for the drink Benny hands her and moves down a few seats. One of Ricky’s friends slides off his stool, offering it to her.

Rodeo Ricky turns back to me. “Got an invite from the queen herself. Can’t say no now, sunshine.” He smirks and shifts a little too close for comfort.

With nothing but the wall to my left, I don’t have much to work with as I shift away.

An arm stretches between us. “All right, that’s enough, Ricky,” Dallas slurs.

I jerk back. He reeks of alcohol, his hair tousled, his large frame swaying just slightly.

Ricky grunts. “Thorne, I ain’t on your property and neither is this lovely lady here, so why don’t you take a step back. Try not to hurt yourself.”

“She’s our employee. Go talk to someone else.”

Ricky pauses, eyeing me for a beat like I betrayed him or something. “Still ain’t on your property, so why don’t you just get back to your corner at the end of the bar where you’ve been getting toasted each night and leave us be.”

Ignoring him, Dallas turns to me. But he doesn’t get a word out before Ricky grabs his shoulder.

“I’m only going to ask once,” Ricky warns. “Now leave before you embarrass yourself—and your ranch.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Dallas’s tone is cool and calm as he faces off with Ricky.

My heart rate kicks up, and I twist in my seat, slipping my phone out of my bag and shooting off a text.

Rose: Need help. I’m at Bones.

“Richard, not now,” the blonde interjects.

Dallas’s eyes don’t leave his opponent as he greets her. “Hey there, Dusty.”

Really? The woman Ricky referred to as the queen a minute ago is named Dusty?

“You want to tell your brother to go hit on someone else? Rose is our guest. Surely there’s someone in Blue River he could haunt with those crooked teeth.”

Ricky advances, but Dusty reaches for the large cowboy. “I said back down,” she grits. “He’s in no shape to fight.”

Fight? I was afraid of that.

I realize I’ve yet to say a word, and I feel like I need to.

Real soon.

But how do I break through the intensity between the two men? And a woman who looks like she could take them both with just her sharp eyes and frightening tone.

She turns to me. “Do me a favor and get outside.” My eyes widen. Is she threatening me? “It’s about to get ugly in here,” she mutters.

“I’m not leaving Dallas,” I stammer.

She perks a brow. “Suit yourself.”

“Growin’ a little tired of you pickin’ on girls who never asked .?.?.”

“Give it a rest, Dallas,” Ricky warns. “You’re alone, wasted. And I’m not feelin’ very neighborly.”

I notice the two other cowboys now step behind Ricky.

My stomach churns. I step between them. “That’s enough. Why don’t you boys get back to your rodeo talk, and I’m just going to mind my own business and have my purple drink. All right?”

Ricky smirks at me. But it’s not friendly. He looks almost .?.?. dangerous. “Move, missy.”

“What?”

“He said move.”

Before I realize what’s happening, Dusty lifts me off my feet and tosses me aside like a ragdoll, just as a fist is thrown at Dallas.

Fortunately, the woman’s got skill, because I land on my feet. Unfortunately, someone bumps into me to see the fight, sending me stumbling backward into the wall. My dress snags on something—a nail, maybe—and I hear the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping.

Shit.

I pull myself up to find Dallas and several more men now standing by his side throwing fists at the cowboys.

I’m relieved he has help. And horrified at the same time.

The urge to pull Dallas out of a situation I got him into is strong. But I can’t. At the very least, I’ll get trampled if I try.