“Nine years is a big gap to a twenty-one-year-old woman,” Chance agreed.
“Eight. I’m not thirty yet. And you’re just jealous you didn’t see them first.” He tipped his head toward them. “Tell you what, I’ll let you have one of them, while I dance with the other.”
“Assuming they say yes.” Chance stood. “You can have both. I prefer my women a little more seasoned.”
Rider rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder, his lips twisting. “That’s right, you’re in the over-thirty age group now. You like them a little slower so that you can catch them.”
Chance punched Rider in the arm. “Keep it up, little brother. You’re turning thirty in a couple of months.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be secure in the knowledge that you will always be older.” Rubbing his shoulder, he made a beeline for the Banks twins, Hayley and Alexis.
Nash shook his head. He and Rider used to tease each other endlessly when they were teens. One year apart in age, they’d had the same friends in school and went to the same places. Since Nash had joined the army, he’d lost some of the ease of familiarity they’d shared as kids. Realizing he and Rider weren’t as close as they once were made him sad. The war had changed Nash. Joking around like he had before deploying to the Middle East and Afghanistan wasn’t as easy. He’d seen too much death. At times, he wished he could be that kid again, without a care, his mind still innocent of the atrocities humans suffered at the hands of terrorists.
“Sorry I took so long,” a soft voice said.
A beer appeared on the table in front of him. While he’d been watching Rider and Chance spar verbally, Kinsey had dragged Beckett to the dance floor. Nash sat alone but for the redheaded waitress leaning over him. He inhaled, expecting the scent of honeysuckle, only it wasn’t honeysuckle, instead she smelled kind of citrusy. Nash almost opened his mouth and said he wished she still smelled of honeysuckle.
Phoebe laid her tray on the table and slipped into the chair beside him, her bare knee touching his jean-clad leg.
In that moment, Nash wished his leg was as bare and touching hers, skin to skin.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you for helping me today. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You were like a knight in shining armor, swooping me out of the mess I’d gotten myself into. Now, I have clothes, shoes, a place to stay and a job. All in less than twenty-four hours.” Her smile widened, and she pulled a wad of cash out of her pocket. “And the bar patrons tipped me enough to pay for a tire.”
He curled his fingers around hers and the cash. “You need to call the rental car company and have them pay for the repairs.” The woman who hadn’t had a cent to her name, probably didn’t have food in her pantry, yet she was more concerned about fixing a tire to a vehicle that didn’t belong to her. “They probably have insurance to cover tires and fender benders. You should keep your cash and buy a loaf of bread.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. “But I want to pay your brother first. I’d like to have it back as soon as possible.” She pulled her hand away and toyed with the edge of the drink tray. “Umm, the rental is paid through next week. I hope I can figure out some kind of transportation by then. I’ll get the rental car company to reimburse me later.” Phoebe jumped to her feet and grabbed the tray. “I’d better get back to work. There are so many thirsty men in this place.” She rushed away, glancing back with a worried expression, her bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth.
For some reason, she seemed to be running scared about something.
Something didn’t ring true with Phoebe Smith. As chatty as the woman was, she was holding back. Nash couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was she wasn’t telling him, but he was determined find out. Which, unfortunately, meant spending more time with the woman.
A dangerous prospect based on the way his arm tingled where she’d touched it and his leg ached to be naked against hers. Yeah, spending time with her could only be a mistake. But his curiosity was piqued and, like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t let go. Not yet.
6
Phoebe hurried away from Nash, rubbing her arm. When she’d touched Nash, an electrical current had tingled in her fingers and run up her arm. It spread through her chest and downward, pooling at the base of her belly. Why? He was a stranger. She’d never felt that way about her fiancé. The hot, aching, needy tension swelled inside her.
Why this man?
As the band ended its set, a loud crash jerked Phoebe out of her sensual stupor. She rushed forward, eager to help clean up whatever mess resulted from the accident.
Audrey yelped and hopped up to sit on the bar.
The patrons of the saloon grew silent, all gazes turned toward Audrey.
Phoebe hurried around the corner of the bar to find a trail of broken glass and spilled whiskey. Worse, Audrey bled from a large gash in her knee. “Oh, Audrey, you’re bleeding.” Phoebe grabbed a bar towel from a drawer and applied pressure to the cut. She eased it away and examined the wound. It looked ugly, but didn’t scare Phoebe. Her love of horses had given her a healthy respect for keeping her cool around scratches, cuts and bruises. “Looks pretty deep. You might need stitches.”
“Well, damn.” Audrey stared down at her leg. “I don’t have time for stitches.” She waved a hand toward the swarms of cowboys crowding the bar to capacity. “We can’t afford to lose another waitress tonight.”
Jackson appeared from the storeroom, carrying a case of whiskey. “What happened?” He nearly tossed the case on the ground and hurried forward, picking his way across the glass-strewn floor.
“I broke a whiskey bottle, slipped in the whiskey and landed on my knee.” Audrey sighed. “Do you think you can put a bandage on it so I can finish out the night?”
Nash leaned over the bar. “Bring her over to the table and let Chance have a look. He’s the trained EMT.”
Alerted to the problem, Chance pushed his way through the crowded room.
Jackson carried Audrey over to set her on a nearby table.
Chance examined the wound.
Audrey’s assistant manager, Charli Sutton, emerged from the storeroom, carrying the first aid kit, and laid it on the table beside Audrey.
Phoebe stepped out of the way and helped Libby clean up the broken glass and whiskey.
Chance applied a pressure bandage to the gash on Audrey’s leg, and then glanced at Jackson. “She’s bleeding through the bandage. She really needs to see a doctor and have it stitched. I can call for an ambulance, or you can take her to the emergency room yourself.”
“Oh, please, I’m not going to die. Jackson can take me to the ER.” Audrey nodded to Libby. “Do you mind closing the saloon tonight?”
Charli shook her head. “The woman’s bleeding, and she still can’t let go of this place.” The bartender waved her hand. “Get out of here before you bleed to death. We’ve got this covered, don’t we, Phoebe?”
Phoebe straightened with a dustpan full of glass shards. “Please. Go to the doctor. Your health is more important. Like Charli said, we can handle it.”
“But we’ve got so many customers,” Audrey protested.
Charli climbed up on the bar and motioned for Lacey, one of the other waitresses working that night, to pull the plug on the jukebox.
As the room grew quiet and all heads turned toward Charli, she tossed her curly blond hair over her shoulder and then stood with her fists on her hips. “Do y’all promise to behave while Audrey goes to the hospital?”
“Hell yeah!” rose a shout from every man and woman in the saloon.
Charli turned to Audrey, “There you have it. Now go. I’ll open tomorrow, so don’t you worry.”
“Come on.” Jackson scooped Audrey into his arms. “Can’t have the mother of my baby girl bleeding out in a bar.” He winked and carried her through the back room to the rear exit.
Phoebe watched until they disappeared and then turned to Libby. “Okay. What now?”
Charli grinned. “Get to work covering her tables. Between me, Libby, you and Lacey, we can handle it. Thanks for showing up when you did.”
While Libby filled her order, Phoebe ran to another table, returned with their order, slapped it on the bar and took the full tray to distribute the drinks. For the next two hours, she repeated the process, doing her best to keep the thirsty cowboys satisfied.
Throughout the evening, Nash sat at a table with his brothers until, one by one, they left to go home. Each time another Grayson rose, Phoebe’s gaze shifted to Nash, and she wondered if he would leave with them. But he hadn’t.
The crowd swelled near midnight and stayed full and rowdy until after one-thirty when the men finally clamped their hats on their heads and left to rest up for another day at the rodeo.
Her back and feet aching, Phoebe worked on, cleaning up the empty bottles, mugs and shot glasses. After the last cowboy left, Phoebe helped Charli and Lacey stack the chairs on the tables. Mops in hand, they cleaned up the spilled beer, whiskey and sodas from the floor.
Tired to the bone, she rinsed out her mop and hung it to dry outside off the back porch. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t help but feel better about her situation. Her pockets were full of bills from all the tips she’d earned.