Come Closer, Cowboy

Elaine was already filling pitchers with beer by the time Mallory got herself stationed by the bowls of garnish. The lemons and limes were cut into wedges. Sadie warned she’d go through the limes quickly. As for the olives and cherries, Mallory stocked only a couple bottles of each.

Although she really hoped she wouldn’t need them. Beer and shots had been the staples at the Renegade. Gin and tonic, rum and Coke, the obvious drinks were no problem. But her knowledge of fancy cocktails was shaky at best.

“Who wants pitchers?” Elaine yelled so loud, Mallory nearly jumped out of her jeans.

Several hands went up.

Mallory had wondered how the waitress had taken orders so fast, not that she minded the casual approach. It was comforting, actually. If she closed her eyes she could’ve been back home. After Elaine loaded her tray, Mallory took over the tap and filled a mug for the guy sitting at the bar.

“Hey, cool name. I love Full Moon Saloon.” A petite blonde walked up and leaned against the bar as she studied the bottles of liquor on the shelves behind Mallory.

She still wasn’t sure about the name. Days after she’d come up with it and tested it on Ben and Sadie, Mallory had recognized the subconscious link to Gunner. To that fateful night. She’d specifically remembered the moon was full because of her desperate attempt to explain her stupid error in judgment. Lots of crazy stuff happened on nights with full moons. Ask any cop.

“Let’s see...” The blonde leaned closer, squinting at the bottles of flavored tequila. “Do you have Jell-O shots?”

Mallory held in a groan.

“Oh, for God’s sake, this is our first night. Give us a break,” Elaine said as she returned to fill more pitchers. “Order a real drink.”

The blonde’s eyes widened.

Mallory had to look away. With her fickle mood, if she started laughing there was no telling when she’d stop. Of course she’d liked the thirtysomething waitress—that’s why she’d hired her. But she liked Elaine twice as much now.

“You must be related to Sadie,” Mallory muttered under her breath while reaching around Elaine for her order ticket.

She grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Yep.”

“Um, excuse me,” the blonde said, and feeling duly ashamed—the woman was a customer, after all—Mallory gave her a smile. “Could you define ‘real drink’?”

Mallory tried not to look at Elaine. She really did. But their eyes met, briefly, and that was all it took. A laugh tickled the bottom of her throat as it forced its way up. For crying out loud, she wasn’t the giddy type. Exhaustion and nerves were to blame.

She had to get a grip. Another dozen or so people had entered the bar. They would never catch up if she didn’t put an end to this foolishness.

“How about a margarita?” Mallory asked the blonde who was looking impatient.

“Frozen?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

Mallory sighed. “Sure,” she said and nodded at the cowboy with the filthy boots, who was motioning for another beer.

For the next two hours, she and Elaine were so slammed they didn’t have time to look at each other, much less speak. Good thing. If Elaine had a moment to think she’d probably quit. And Mallory wouldn’t blame her. Every time the door opened, Mallory cringed. She sure didn’t need any more business tonight. Or any other night until she hired additional help.

Ten minutes and a dozen margaritas later, she took a quick gulp of cold water and straightened her back. She’d been hunched over the blender for most of the evening. Why had she suggested a margarita? Of course it became the popular choice of the night. For the women mostly. Thank God for beer-drinking cowboys.

Using the back of her wrist she pushed the hair off her face. So much for her nice, neat ponytail. She looked up just as the door opened and saw it was Ben and Grace. Awesome. Mallory had no qualms about putting Ben to work until they were caught up. She liked his girlfriend and might’ve hit her up, too, but Grace was the sheriff. Asking her to serve drinks didn’t seem kosher.

Mallory caught their attention and motioned them over. Ben responded with a nod. The smile of relief died on her lips when she saw the dark-haired man directly behind them. Her heart jumped wildly.

Gunner?

Couldn’t be.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. The glass she was holding almost slipped through her trembling fingers before she set it down.

How was this possible? He knew Ben, sure. Probably better than she did. They’d worked together sometimes and occasionally drank at the Renegade. But they were both loners and to call them friends would be a stretch. Or that’s what she’d thought.

Dammit. She didn’t need this, not now. Not ever.

They were making their way through the crowd, lingering here and there, when someone stopped to chat with Ben or Grace. But Gunner, from the second his eyes found hers, hadn’t looked away once. He just kept staring, his mouth curved in a tight smile that lowered her body temperature by ten degrees.

He needed a haircut and he clearly hadn’t shaved in several days. His face looked darker, from weeks in the hot Argentinian sun. Or from anger, maybe.

Goddamn Ben. Why hadn’t he said anything to her?

She pretended to mess with the blender, using it as an excuse to stare down while she struggled for composure.

“Excuse me? May I get some quarters?” It was the same blonde who’d started the run on frozen margaritas. She laid a five on the bar. “For the jukebox.”

Quarters. Mallory dried her unsteady hands. She had a tin of them somewhere. The hell with it. She opened the register and dug out some coins. “Here you go,” she said, stacking them on the five-dollar bill. “Keep your money.”

“Really? Thanks.” The woman scooped them into her palm, then turned and bumped into Gunner. “Oh,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Hello.”

Without a word, he stepped back to give her more room, his gaze remaining locked on Mallory.

“Go ahead. You can have him, too,” Mallory said, as they played the staring game.

The blonde giggled. Gave a breathless sigh. Did the hair toss. Moistened her lips.

Yep, Gunner Ellison was in the house.

Of course Ben had always received his fair share of female attention, as well. But Grace carried a gun so it probably wasn’t much of a problem in Blackfoot Falls.

After an awkward silence, the woman slipped away. Ben and Grace left a couple who’d stopped them and were headed for the bar.

Tension cramped Mallory’s neck and shoulders, but she refused to break eye contact with Gunner.

Jesus, one of them had to say something.

“What a surprise seeing you here,” she said finally, just as Grace slid onto a barstool at the end of the bar.

“I’m sure it is.” His cool assessment didn’t waver. Oh, he was pissed, all right.

“Hey.” Mallory turned to smile at Grace. And then Ben when he came up behind Grace and put his hands on her shoulders. Even though he was a traitor and they’d have words later. No. He couldn’t have known.

“Wow, you’re busy,” Grace said. “Please. Just ignore us.”

“She will.” Gunner leaned an elbow on the bar and gave her a lazy smile. “Mallory’s good at that.”