The Sheriff's Secret Wife

“Are you serious? You haven’t done one in months after that last guy—e www! That was not fun to watch.”

“I swore that one was going to be my last, but something’s come up—anyway, my tip jar is getting low.” Racy slipped a folded bill into Maggie’s hand. “Here, give this to your brother-in-law and explain how it works, okay? I don’t want to take his money.”

“Why do I get the feeling this has to do with Gage?”

“Because you’re too smart for your own good.” Racy grinned. “Go on, your family’s waiting. And be nice to your waitress. She’s new.”

Maggie eyed the young girl at their table. “She looks familiar.”

“That’s Gina Steele.” Racy grabbed the microphone from behind the bar.

“Gage’s sister? The whiz kid?”

“That’s her.”

“First his sister—” Maggie waved at the bar “—and now this? I thought you said Gage hasn’t been inhere in a while.”

“I said I haven’t seen him here.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I’m going to ply you with margaritas at my bachelorette party to get the whole scoop on this,” Maggie whispered, then turned and headed for her fiancé.

Yeah, like she was going to spill how too much booze and an old dream had caused her to make the biggest mistake of her life.

Racy locked down any Vegas memories before they could surface. A trick she was getting pretty good at lately.

She brushed a hand against the trophy, a physical reminder of what really mattered. A quick yank on a few well-placed bobby pins, and her hair fell past her shoulders. She whispered her plans to her fellow bartender and, thanks to a step stool and the vertical cooler, stood on the L-shaped bar.

A piercing whistle got everyone’s attention. She rarely got up here anymore, preferring to stick to choreographing the Belles’ dance routines.

Tonight was different. With her back to the balcony, she couldn’t see the man who technically had been her husband for the last five months, but her skin tingled.

He was watching.

“Welcome to The Blue Creek!” She addressed the crowd and they cheered. “It might be cold and snowy outside, but it’s hot in here. And while the band is taking a well-earned break, I think it’s time we raise the heat!”

Ignoring the surprised looks from her waitresses, Racy waved to the girls who made up the dance team. The cheers from the crowd grew when they joined her on the bar. “It’s time for a down-home boot stomping!”

The music started and Racy fell into the familiar steps. She dipped and stomped and grabbed Willie’s tattered straw cowboy hat, plopping it right on her head.

Exaggerating the curve of her hips, she turned to face the shadowed balcony, the hat low over her eyes to conceal the direction of her stare. The short end of the bar was hers alone and she made good use of the space.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pictured Gage’s blue eyes turning a stormy indigo like they did when he got angry. Or turned on. It was part of the ever-growing collection of memories that continued to haunt her.

One of her favorites was the two of them on the dance floor. Their bodies so close she felt the outline of every hard muscle. His hands clenched her hips as she moved against him, never breaking eye contact. Song after song, until he pulled her off the dance floor and into a dark alcove. The width of his shoulders blocked the outside world, the wide brim of his Stetson created a private canopy as he pressed her against the wall with a kiss that stole her breath.

The music ended and the bar erupted in thunderous applause. Racy bowed, and blamed the wild beating of her heart on the dancing as she handed Willie back his hat.

“Let’s hear it for the Blue Creek Belles!” She huffed into the microphone, pushing the words past her dry throat.

One down. One to go.

“Ya’ll enjoy that?” She was rewarded with cheers while her girls got down from the bar. “I bet ya’ll have worked up a mighty thirst. I know I did.”

She motioned to Jackie, who recognized the hand signal. Seconds later, a shot glass filled with a golden liquid was handed to her. To the crowd it was tequila. To Racy it was ice-cold apple juice and not nearly enough to quench her thirst.

She tossed it back, took a deep breath and, for a moment, questioned if she was doing the right thing.

But she couldn’t back out now.

Gage knew what was coming.

Hell, he was still trying to recover from her dancing. Every bump and grind of her hips brought back to life the hours he’d spent with her. The same red waves he’d buried his face in flew over her shoulders and skimmed across her naked back. The dark blue fringe of her top brushed against the toned stomach he’d covered in a trail of wet kisses.

It had been years since she’d danced with the girls, but she still had the moves. Moves he was intimately familiar with. It wasn’t until the music stopped that he managed to get his breathing under control. Now she was going to—

Racy held up the empty glass. “Anyone else want one?”

She laughed when the crowd shouted in agreement and surged forward. Gage immediately sought out his sister. Relief filled his chest when he found her against the back wall with another waitress and one of the bouncers.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Racy’s singsong voice called out over the crowd, pulling Gage’s attention back to her. “Seeing how my tip jar is getting low, I think we need a special….”

The regulars in the crowd knew what was coming and roared their approval.

Damn, it was getting warm in here. Gage yanked down the zipper of his bomber jacket, desire tightening his chest.

“Now, what I need is a very thirsty cowboy, but not just any cowboy.” I need someone with all the right moves … who is willing to part with his money!” Racy held aloft the empty shot glass. “The going rate for a Racy Special is one hundred dollars. Do I have any takers?”

Despite the absurd price, there were plenty of men willing to part with their cash. When word spread just what a Racy Special included, even more hands shot into the air.

He couldn’t believe she was still pulling this stunt.

“So many choices.” Racy dropped her voice to a throaty rumble. “The tall, dark and handsome stranger in the back.” She waved at a man who moved through the crowd toward the bar. Gage zeroed in on him, noting he was everything Racy said. “You got the cash, honey?”

The man smiled and held up a hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Gage caught something familiar in his face. Did he know this guy?

“What’s your name, sugar?” Racy asked, taking the money and making a show of tucking it into the deep V of her top.

“Chase.” The man’s deep voice carried over the microphone.

“You’re not one of our locals, Chase,” Racy said. “Don’t tell me you’re a University of Wyoming Cowboy?”

Racy’s question brought more cheers as the band broke into “Ragtime Cowboy Joe,” the university fight song. The University of Wyoming in Laramie was less than an hour’s drive south, and The Blue Creek was a favorite among the college crowd.

“It’s a few years since my college days,” the man said when Racy stuck the microphone under his nose again. “I’m from Texas.”