Page 49 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

“That was amazing,” I tell Willow when she finishes her set on Saturday night at the Lock Bar. It’s not a fancy place to work, but then again, neither was stone-picking in the mud. So, technically, this is a dream job.

“Thank you.” My redheaded friend does a little bow for me and takes an empty seat at my bar. “I’ll take that margarita now.”

“You gonna tip me?” I tease.

She slaps a pack of cigarettes on the bar. “Some joker put that in my jar. You believe that?”

“The nerve,” I agree. Then shrug and swipe it from the counter.

“Hey,” she shrieks.

“What? I’m entitled to breaks.”

“You don’t smoke.”

I pop the lid, inspecting it. “Look at that, it’s a fresh pack, too.”

“Throw it out this instant.”

“All right, all right.” I toss it behind the counter and start mixing her drink. “You know you don’t have to wait for me. My shift isn’t over for another two hours.”

“I know. But I’ve missed you. And what am I going to do at home? Pack more boxes so I can move into our new place alone ?”

I wince. “I’m sorry. But hey, you’re not married to the city either. Come to South Carolina with me. You’d love Charleston.” I set the watermelon margarita in front of her.

She takes a sip. “So, did you keep the photos? You only showed me the one. I want to see all of them.”

I swat my rag at her with a coy smile. “No, pervert.”

She takes a few more sips, watching me. Her expression saddens. “You OK?”

I spread my arms wide like it’s obvious how well I am doing.

“Hey, Billy kept his word and put me back on the closing shift so there’s that.

My school records are in the mail, and based on what I looked up at the school in Charleston, I can start my Masters by next spring and begin supervised practice hours within a year. ”

She holds up her glass. “You lost me at school records.”

I laugh, then scan her outfit. Willow’s got a typical city-girl style about her, but with comfort. So, jeans—not the skinny kind—an off-shoulder lightweight sweater, and low heels.

But when she’s playing, she dresses the part. Today, it’s a low-cut sleeveless top that hugs her body, and a pair of embroidered leggings. I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “Put something on before I turn into your jealous ex-boyfriend and throw my jacket over you.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind it. Someone knocked into me when I got here and spilled beer over my sweater.”

“Jerks. Here.” I pull out the hoodie Dallas gave me the other day and hand it to her across the bar.

“Someone leave this behind?”

“No. It belongs to a friend.”

She buries her nose in it. “Mmm .?.?. smells nice. Woodsy.” She smiles as she slides the oversized black hoodie over her head. “Thanks.”

“Keep it. It looks good on you.” And it’s better that she does. Even though Dallas isn’t the one I’m hurting over, I don’t need any reminders of Blue River.

She passes her empty glass to me. “Take an Uber tonight, OK?”

“Will do,” I lie. “Love you.”

I wave goodbye and get back to the few customers I’ve got at the bar. It’s slow tonight—or became slow after Willow finished her set.

“Refill?” I ask the two guys at the far end finishing their beer. I hope they say yes. I don’t like this place when it’s too quiet. Too empty. Especially when I’m closing.

“Yes, ma’am. This round’s on me,” one of them says, handing me his card.

I smile. “Be right with you.” I fill up their drafts to the brim and place the glasses carefully in front of them. “The next one’s on me, boys.”

They lift their glasses with a grateful nod, and there’s a sudden shift in the air. A pull in my chest. It’s raw and sends a toe-curling chill through me.

I turn to look at the door, but there’s no one there. It’s like I’m seeing things—or feeling things that aren’t real.

Like I did for a brief moment back at the airport because of Willow’s dumb cliché movie reference.

I shake it off and move to another customer with a glass half full, leaning on my elbows. “Too strong for ya?”

“You tryin’ to get me drunk?”

I smile. “Is it working?”

The old man with kind eyes laughs with a blush. “I’ll let ya know.” He takes another sip, returning to his newspaper.

I wave to the high-top waiter closing with me, letting him know I’m stepping outside for a minute. Then I swipe up the carton of cigarettes and a lighter from behind the bar and step out.

It takes a few tries, but I finally light the damn thing. Placing it between my lips, I inhale slowly.

And there’s that ghost of a feeling again that someone’s watching me.

My skin tingles as I turn and lock eyes with him.

Stepping toward me in dark jeans, a white shirt, and silver buckle. The man who asked for a day and left me waiting.

Wilder.

He lifts the cigarette from between my fingers and brings it to his mouth. After one drag, he flicks it aside.

Playfully, I take out another one. A challenge in my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t let me light it before pulling it from my lips. “What does it look like?” he asks, holding up the unlit cigarette with a perked brow. “Sensed trouble and came running.”

My heart flips, but I force it steady. He’s come for me before. And he’s left before, too.

I smirk with a nod. “Well then”—I press the pack against his warm chest—“crisis averted. You can go home.”

I release, and he catches the pack just as I turn and walk back into the bar.

Wilder follows, taking an empty seat at the end, his eyes on me like I’m the only one in the room as I check on my few customers.

I fill a glass of ice water and set it in front of him. “You’re on the wrong side of the country, cowboy.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be. Thanks for the water.” I meet his eyes again for a moment. That deep blue steady, like he was memorizing me. Like I might disappear if he blinks.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice soft despite wanting to stay strong.

“Because I haven’t been able to breathe all week,” he says roughly.

My pulse flutters, but I frown because maybe he doesn’t realize that I haven’t either. “That sounds terrible.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I know. It’s not fair. But if you give me a chance to explain—”

“Hey, sweetheart, next one’s on you, right?” It’s the two guys from the opposite side of the bar.

I wink back at them. Then turn back to Wilder. “I’m working.”

He relaxes in his chair with his ice water as if to show he’s not going anywhere.

Two hours later, I’m locking up for the night. It took me longer than usual after closing since my hands were shaky and my mind in shambles.

Wilder is outside, leaning against a meter, watching the busy downtown street. I turn and start down the sidewalk for my long walk home.

Here, I walk like I belong, matching the city’s pace. Not like six weeks ago, when I was struggling to keep up with Wilder’s long strides as he showed me around town.

He catches up with me, now sprinting like I’m too quick. “We headin’ home?”

“ I’m heading home.”

He doesn’t say anything but follows behind me, pulling me to a stop when I reach a cross street. A taxi zooms past two feet in front of me. “Rose.”

“What, I saw him coming.”

“Christ,” he mutters, but releases me.

Wordlessly, he follows me for another two blocks until my patience starts to boil.

I spin around abruptly—nearly colliding with him. But we don’t.

His sure and steady arms come around me, catching me. “Saw that coming a mile away,” he says with that knowing grin.

It still takes my breath away. Still makes my heart race. I swallow hard and pull away. “Why don’t you just say what you came here to say,” I whisper, my voice giving away that I’m ready to break.

He moves me out of the way of a couple walking along the sidewalk, then hails a cab like an expert.

The ride back to my apartment is quick, and he hasn’t said a word in response to my asking why he’s here.

“Can I come in?” he asks when we reach my door.

I pull my keys out and look up at him. He looks so sincere. And tired. “It’s late, Wilder.”

He looks over my shoulder. “I know. I didn’t exactly think this through when I booked the first flight out today.” He brushes my hair back. “I just knew I had to get here.”

I look back at my door but don’t make a move to go inside.

“Can we please talk soon then? I can wait,” he asks gruffly, like he hears the irony and knows my response.

I should say it. I need a day.

The scorned girl in me wants to. But the sharp, level- headed woman in me who just wants to move on doesn’t.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say softly. “You have a ranch to run. A friendship to protect. And a heart to shield.” I repeat the reasons I used to convince myself it wasn’t me for the past week.

I touch his cheek. “I never want to hurt you. So please don’t wait,” I tell him in all sincerity. Then I unlock my door and step inside, shutting it softly.

My eyes burn as I close them, listening for his departing footsteps.

They don’t come.

And I don’t wait for him to leave before turning in for the night.