Page 3 of Will (The Cowboys of Calamity, Texas #3)

Chapter Two

Someone was watching him.

Will stood behind the long black granite countertop at the Crossroads Bar, placing clean beer mugs on the shelf below. Every time he looked up, the man seated alone at a table in the back of the bar was staring at him.

Maybe he was just paranoid. He’d been on the lookout for suspicious strangers for the past two weeks—ever since that letter had arrived in the mail.

His superiors at the Texas Rangers Division in Austin had taken the unsigned letter as a deadly threat.

Although, he could hardly call it a letter since it had only held four typewritten words.

Will Pierce is in danger.

He shook his head, still amazed that just four words could screw up his life so easily. Both the letter and the envelope had been checked for fingerprints and DNA, but the tests came back inconclusive.

Will assumed the culprit was one of the criminals he’d put in prison. He’d spent his early years with the Texas Rangers, working undercover, and had made dangerous enemies.

Now someone wanted to make him pay.

On the same day the letter had arrived, his chief had called him into his office. Will closed his eyes, remembering every word of their brief conversation.

“Will, we’re placing you on paid leave while we investigate,” Chief Dillon said. “We think it’s a credible threat and we’re not risking you in the field.”

“Let me investigate it,” Will said. “Or at least let me be a part of the team.”

Chief Dillon shook his head. “Absolutely not. You know how this works. You lie low and keep out of it. Otherwise, you could endanger not only yourself, but your fellow rangers.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Will knew the chief was right.

“In fact,” the chief continued, “it would be better if you didn’t stay at your apartment, or even in Austin. Do you have someplace else you can go?”

“Yeah, I have someplace in mind,” Will said. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

“Good.” The chief rose to his feet, signaling that their meeting was over. “Watch your back.”

And that’s what Will had been doing since he’d arrived at the bar owned by Dave and Joyce Gibson, two former security specialists with the Texas State Police. They’d retired five years ago and bought this bar, along with a small motel where they lived and rented out rooms.

They’d chosen this spot for the beautiful fishing lakes nearby and the peaceful woodlands surrounding it. The motel quickly became an unofficial safe house for any Texas law enforcement officer who needed a place to stay or some time off from the field..

It was the perfect hideaway for someone who didn’t want to be found. At the intersection of two rural highways, the bar and motel were thirty miles from the nearest town, which made it a popular pit stop for people traveling through central Texas.

The Gibsons were happy to have Will there, especially since he offered to tend bar while Dave was recovering from knee replacement surgery. It was better than sitting in a motel room with nothing to do.

He began slicing grapefruit wedges for their most popular cocktail, the Paloma. It was an iced drink made with Patron Silver tequila, lime juice, grapefruit juice, club soda, and sugar.

The crowd was light, but Will knew the place would start filling up once the sun went down. Through the large front window, Will saw a bank of gray storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

Just another Thursday night in Nowhere, Texas.

He glanced up from his prep work to see the man’s gaze still fixed on him.

Will had clocked him the moment the guy had walked through the door of the Crossroads Bar and ordered a whiskey sour.

He looked about forty and wore a wrinkled gray suit and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

Except for his clear obsession with Will, he looked similar to all the other businessmen who passed through here.

And yet, there was just something about this guy that was…

different. Or maybe Will was just paranoid.

After all, he’d been cooped up here for two weeks with no end in sight and was getting a little stir-crazy.

In truth, he half hoped this guy was the one after him.

Because Will wanted nothing more than to end this limbo so he could head home to Austin and get back to work.

But before he could confront the guy, Joyce appeared from the kitchen carrying a large tray filled with baskets of warm tortilla chips and homemade salsa.

She’d been a highly decorated officer, and even in retirement Joyce excelled at whatever she set her mind to.

At sixty-five, she had boundless energy and was the main reason the bar and motel were such a success.

Dave did his part too, but given his knee problems, he spent most of his time at the motel, seated behind the front desk.

“Looks like there’s a storm coming,” Joyce said, setting the tray on the counter. The bar served up free chips and salsa to the customers every night, which helped keep the drinks flowing.

“It sure does.”

“That means the motel will probably be full tonight. Some folks don’t like to drive in a storm at night.” Then she looked around the bar. “Is everything okay out here?”

“I’m not sure.” Will took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. “Mr. Whiskey Sour at the back table can’t seem to stop staring at me.”

Joyce nodded, but her sunny expression didn’t change. “Well, I don’t think you’re his type, but I don’t like this, Will. I don’t like it at all.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I think I’ll go have a friendly chat with him.” She picked up a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa. “You just take care of the customers, Will. I’ll keep an eye on him and see what I can find out.”

He nodded, trusting Joyce to have his back, then returned to the bar to finish his prep work.

Thunder rumbled outside, and he looked over at the front window. That’s when he saw the tall blonde walk through the door and head straight for the bar. Her honey-blond hair hung in silky waves halfway down her back and her mesmerizing brown eyes were fixed on him as she moved closer.

There was something about her. Something familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

She slid onto a barstool in one easy motion. Then her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Hello, Will. You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”

* * *

Her words floated in the uncomfortable silence between them.

Will’s gaze search her face. His brow wrinkling in confusion.

Her throat tightened. He didn’t remember her.

All those nights she’d dreamed about him as a teenager—despite what she’d told Maria—and he was just oblivious. He was also bigger, taller, and much sexier than she remembered.

Honey glanced down at his broad hands, tanned from the sun. He held a paring knife in one hand and half a grapefruit in the other, the juice still glistening on his fingers.

Not only had this cowboy not recognized her, but he’d shown no reaction when she called him by name.

That didn’t bode well.

Neither did the fact that every interview question she’d been mentally practicing on the drive from Calamity suddenly evaporated from her brain. Maybe she needed something stronger than coffee.

“I’d like a drink.”

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his mouth curving into a smile.

The man was gorgeous. But he probably knew it and was trying to throw her off-balance. No doubt women threw themselves at him daily.

But she wasn’t about to let herself fall into that trap. She was here for one reason and one reason only—to learn everything there was to know about Will Pierce—whether he liked it or not.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “I’ll take a whiskey, neat.”

His gray eyes widened. “Are you sure about that? I’d be happy to make you a Paloma or a strawberry margarita.”

“Just the whiskey, thanks.”

He gave a small nod. “Coming right up.”

She watched in silence while he poured her drink and set the tumbler in front of her. She wrapped her hand around the glass.

He reached for a basket of chips and placed it on the bar counter between them, along with a bowl of salsa. Honey’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten in hours. She suddenly felt famished—and a little dizzy.

But that reaction might have more to do with the man standing behind the bar than low blood sugar.

She leaned forward, looking for the perfect tortilla chip, and used it to scoop up some salsa before popping the whole thing in her mouth.

“How do you know me?” Will stood with both hands braced against the bar.

Honey held up one finger, still chewing. She swallowed and said, “Do you remember Theo Hallgren?”

“Theo?” His eyes brightened. “Wow, that’s a blast from the past! He was a damn good bull rider and a great guy all around. How do you know him?”

She could feel her cheeks heat and took another sip of her whiskey. She’d been thinking about Will for the past fifteen years, but it was clear, even after referencing her brother, that this man had no clue who she was.

That sad fact was humbling, but it would be that much easier for her to draft a no-holds-barred story about him.

“I’m his sister.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s where I know you from!”

“You do not remember me at all.”

“That’s not true. When you walked in here, I knew you looked familiar.”

She placed one hand over heart. “Please, stop. You’re making me blush.”

“No, I do remember you. Your name is… um…”

She heard heavy footsteps behind her, then a deep voice boomed, “Honey B. Hallgren! And the B is for Bodacious!”

Startled, she whirled around to see a big bear of a man lumbering toward her. He wore black pants and a black leather jacket adorned with a colorful three-piece patch. He was also dripping wet.

“Steed? What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting out of the damn rain.” Steed chuckled, then took a seat on the barstool beside her. “The boys and I got caught in the storm, so we parked our bikes under some shelter and came in here to dry off and drink up.”

“What’ll you have?” Will asked him.

Steed scowled. “Who the hell are you?”