Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
"Oh, because you owe me a favor, and I want to call it in." She beams at me. "It's the price for banishing me from poker night."
Fuck my life. It's been almost a year, and she hasn't once mentioned the favors we agreed to do for her. I was kind of hoping she'd forgotten. Clearly, my luck has turned.
"Goddamn nine of diamonds," I mutter.
"What?" Her brows furrow.
"Nothing." I wave her off. "What's the favor?"
"Oh, nothing major," she says sweetly. "I just need you to help keep an eye on someone for me."
There's bullshit…and then there's whatever Morgan is selling.
"Who?" I growl, my eyes narrowed on her too-innocent face.
"Just the new bartender at the Spur," she says dismissively. "It's not a big deal."
"The new bartender at the Spur?" I repeat.
"Yeah, Harlow Spencer. She just started two days ago."
Oh, fuck my life.
I stare at her for a long moment. "So…that's what this is."
"What?" She blinks at me, far too goddamn innocently.
"You're trying to set me up with the bartender."
"Who, me? Never. Who you date is your business."
"I've met serial killers more believable than you," I mutter, shaking my head.
"You have… Wait. Really? You've met serial killers?"
"That's not the point."
"Uh, kinda seems like the point to me," she mutters, her eyes wide. "How do you know serial killers?"
I just shake my head, grinning. "Why am I keeping an eye on the new bartender if you aren't trying to set me up?"
"Because you owe me?"
I twirl my finger for her to get on with it. We both know she's hedging.
"Okay, fine," she grumbles. "Maybe because I like her, and she said this guy won't leave her alone. I thought maybe if he thought you were dating, he'd go away." She eyes me critically. "You look mean enough. I mean, Bishop looks meaner, but he's doing me another favor."
What the fuck favor is Bishop doing for her? And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?
"What guy?" I ask, focusing on the important issue.
"Donnie? Danny?" She shrugs. "I don't remember his name. But I guess he owns a ranch close to Midnight Falls."
I arch a brow, my stomach clenching. "Danny Palmer?"
"Maybe?"
Son of a bitch. If Danny Palmer is hanging around the new bartender, she absolutely needs backup. I know exactly who he is, and he's a shady prick who thinks the world is his for the taking. Last time I saw him, I put my fist in his face.
He deserved it. Mostly.
I mean, I probably could have let the sheriff handle him, but punching him in the face was more fun for me. Instant gratification and all that.
I yank my hat off my head, scrubbing a hand through my overly long hair. "I'll handle it," I mutter.
"You will?" Morgan seems shocked. "Really?"
"Yes, really," I sigh. "Send me her schedule."
"Oh, that's easy." Morgan beams at me. "She works tonight."
My gaze flickers to the poker table, then back to Morgan. Guess poker night is off, then. Awesome.
Chapter Two
Harlow
"Hey, doll," a drunk cowboy in muddy boots and a beat-up hat slurs, leaning halfway over the scarred bar to leer at me. "How's about putting yourself in that there glass and lettin' me have a sip?"
Why are men? That's it. That's the whole thought. Just…why?
"Sure thing," I chirp, batting my lashes at him. "Let me just squeeze into it for you. You want the swamp ass and tit sweat special? I'll have to charge you extra for it, but we aim to please around here."
"Uh…no?" He blinks bleary eyes at me, like he isn't quite sure what's happening. Of course he isn't. They never seem to know exactly what to do when you serve their bullshit right back to them, do they?
"I didn't think so." I grab another glass, placing it under the spout to pour Johnny Grisholm's beer before sliding it down the bar to him. "Unfortunately for you, Cowboy, that's the only thing on the menu tonight since I haven't stopped moving since I got here. So unless you want to drink the sweat from between my cheeks, you're out of luck."
"I'd like to drink somethin' from between your—"
I slam a glass down right next to his pinky, startling him. He reels backward on his stool, damn near toppling off backward.
"Hank, fuck off and leave her alone," a familiar voice drawls before I can tell him where he can stick his unwanted comments. I don't make a habit of sleeping with men I serve at the bar, and I definitely won't be making a habit of sleeping with the ones who think being gross is a compliment. I'd rather my vagina shrivel and die, thank you very much.
I glance up, right into Danny Palmer's steely blue eyes. My stomach clenches, and not in a good way. I'd rather deal with the drunk cowboy than…whoever or whatever he is. Not good news, I know that much.