Page 4 of Will (The Cowboys of Calamity, Texas #3)

“I’m the bartender,” Will said, “in case that’s not obvious.”

Honey tensed. The two men did not like each other even though they’d just met.

She’d known Steed since preschool, when he’d been more nerdy than nefarious.

Joining a motorcycle gang and eventually becoming their leader had given him a lot more bravado—on the outside, anyway.

He was still a softie on the inside, though.

He’d allowed her to do an in-depth interview with him about biker life.

“Will works here,” she said. “He used to ride bulls on the high school rodeo circuit, just like Theo. He was better at it, though.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Will gave a rueful smile.

Steed jumped to his feet, knocking over his barstool. “Are you calling my Honey a liar?”

Will rounded the bar and faced him. “Maybe you should go back out in the rain and cool off. And quit calling her honey! Show the woman enough respect to use her name.”

“Honey is her name.” He took a step closer to Will and squared up. “But you need to keep it out of your mouth.”

Honey didn’t understand what was happening. Both men were overdosing on testosterone, which was more annoying than anything.

She stood up and stepped between them. “Okay, boys, let’s take it down a notch. We’ve got free chips and salsa here. And if you behave yourselves, I even see a game of pool in our future.”

* * *

Will took a step back and turned to Honey, his body tense. He was acting like an idiot.

It was bad enough that he’d completely forgotten her name, although he did remember her now. He could picture her sitting in the rodeo stands, with her blond hair and bright smile, cheering on her older brother.

She’d grown up since then. In a very appealing way.

Steed glanced at his buddies, all three looking like professional bodybuilders. “What do think, boys?”

“Honey’s right.” Will relaxed. Was Steed this jerk’s given name or a moniker he’d chosen for himself.

But before he could ask him, Steed quickly rounded on him with a quick left hook and punched Will right in the jaw.

Stunned and staggering backward several feet, Will’s knees buckled, but somehow he stayed upright.

“Steed!” Honey grabbed Steed’s arm and holding him back from advancing on Will. “I can’t believe you hit him! What are you doing?”

Steed was still focused on Will. He shook off Honey, then moved another step closer to Will and growled, “I told you to keep her name out of your mouth.”

Will sucked in a deep, steadying breath, grazing one hand over his sore jaw. Steed was a jerk, but he did pack a punch. He glanced over at Honey and saw worry clouding her soft brown eyes.

His gaze moved to Joyce, who was still sitting at the back table with Mr. Whiskey Sour. Their eyes met, and Joyce gave him an almost imperceptible nod of her head. A clear signal to Will that he needed to get the hell out of there. And he knew the quickest way to make that happen.

Slowly straightening to his full height, Will walked directly toward Steed until they stood almost nose-to-nose, staring each other down.

Then Will smiled at Steed and said, “Honey. Honey. Honey.”

* * *

Three hours later, Will lay flat on his back with his eyes half-closed and his long legs bent at the knee and hitched up almost to his chest. The soles of his cowboy boots pressed against something hard and unyielding.

Where the hell was he?

The only thing he could hear, besides the sound of thunder rumbling overhead, was the song “Two Tickets to Paradise” filling the small, dark space around him .

Was he stuck in a nightmare or a hallucination? Still groggy, he forced himself to focus on the song lyrics and, slowly, that nudged him into full consciousness.

It was as if he was stuck in a strange dream and couldn’t escape it. His body felt heavy and achy.

There was a stabbing pain in his jaw and the inside of his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He took a deep breath, then cringed at the sudden pain in his ribs.

Keep calm . Assess the situation .

He focused on his breathing first, keeping it slow and even. Then he noticed his surroundings. He was in a car, that was obvious from his cramped body position, the familiar motion of a moving vehicle and the song emanating from speakers.

Somehow, his six-three frame had been wedged onto the bench seat in the vehicle's rear.

And although he was still very groggy, Will realized something covered his face. With almost Herculean effort, he raised his right arm just far enough to feel the object. It was his black felt cowboy hat.

He lifted it off his face and let it drop to the floorboard. The interior of the car was still dim, except for the soft glow of lights emanating from the dashboard.

He turned his head slightly to the right, still grimacing with every bump and lurch of the vehicle.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were driving across a rough, empty riverbed. Then again, maybe that was exactly what was happening.

Will turned his head to the left and saw long honey-blond strands of hair hanging over the back of the driver’s seat in front of him. He winced at the sharp ache in his head as bit and pieces of his memory began floating back to him.

“Honey?” His voice sounded low and raspy to his ears, but she must have heard him because she turned down the music.

“I’m here,” she said.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m saving your life. Just go back to sleep.”

Will squeezed his eyelids closed twice, trying to clear his blurry vision and his blurry memory. The temptation to drift back into the cocoon of unconsciousness was almost irresistible. But he forced himself to stay awake until he figured out exactly what was happening.

“There was a… fight.” Random images started flashing in his mind. A bowl of tortilla chips. Honey’s smile. A black leather jacket. A grapefruit. A bottle of whiskey.

“Go back to sleep,” she murmured.

“You’re saving my life?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” she said, “that you’re a jerk who started a bar fight for no good reason. And you’re obviously bad at math because it was three against one!”

He had a flashback of Steed’s fist hitting his face, and then Steed’s friends joined in the pummeling.

His boxing coach wouldn’t be impressed by his performance, but why did Honey sound more upset with him than Steed?

He was the one suffering and stuffed into the back seat of what he assumed was her car.

“My memory’s pretty fuzzy right now,” he said, “but the way I remember it, Steed threw the first punch.”

“Only because you egged him on by saying my name. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted him to start that brawl.”

She sounded exasperated, and Will couldn’t blame her. “Who won?”

Honey shook her head. “They did, obviously. You’re lucky your jaw didn’t need to be wired shut. Are you always this reckless?” She paused. “Has anything similar happened to you as a Texas Ranger? I bet you have some remarkable stories.”

He groaned. “My head hurts too much to think right now. I feel like I’ve been drugged.”

“The doctor at the ER did give you another pain pill right before you were dismissed. It’s probably starting to kick in.”

That explained why Will could barely keep his eyes open. At least his memory was coming back. After Joyce signaled to Will that it was time for him to leave, he’d wanted to create a distraction and escape without Mr. Whiskey Sour following him. But it sure hadn’t worked out as he’d planned.

“Any other questions before you pass out?” she asked him.

He thought about Joyce, although that feisty lady had always been able to take care of herself. “Was anybody else hurt during the fight?”

“Nope, just you. But the doctor said you don’t have a concussion and…”

“Doctor?” Will half sat up in surprise, then gasped aloud as the pain from his sudden movement radiated in waves throughout his body. He carefully lowered himself down on the seat again. “When did I see a doctor?”

“I just told you we stopped by the ER after we left the bar,” Honey explained. “Don’t you remember?”

“I can’t say I remember much,” Will admitted. “Except somebody had a great uppercut.”

She sighed again. “That was Steed. At least the fight ended quickly with that punch. You went down hard. It was like seeing a tree fall over.”

He watched her long hair sway as she shook her head, making him feel an almost irresistible impulse to reach out and run his fingers through those soft, silky waves. Then her car hit another bump in the road, causing sharp pain to radiate from his aching head all the way to his battered rib cage.

“Where are we?” he asked, exasperated. “Are you driving over tree trunks?

“Joyce wanted me to go off-road,” she explained, “so we weren’t followed.”

“Joyce?” he echoed, surprised an experienced security specialist would involve Honey in this mess. “You talked to Joyce Gibson?”

“Yes. She and her husband, Dave, helped us all load you into my back seat. Steed was nice enough to help too.”

Will tried to roll his eyes at that, but it hurt too much.

“Then Joyce told us to get out of there before the police arrived.”

As the pain pill began to take effect, Will struggled to put the all the pieces together. Had Joyce called the police on Mr. Whiskey Sour? Or simply used it as a ruse to scare the man away?

Unless Mr. Whiskey Sour was tailing Honey’s car at this very moment.

“Why don’t you drop me off here,” he said, unwilling to put her in danger too. “I can find my way back.”

“That’s not happening, so you can just go back to sleep,” Honey said. “Because you’re not making a lick of sense.”

Will wanted to argue with her but a brain fog was descending, and before he could warn her she might in terrible danger, everything went black.