To Kiss A Cowgirl

“Look up old friends,” Mike said.

Old friends. He’d been gone for a long time—more than a decade—and the majority of the people he’d gone to school with had moved on to careers in other areas of the state. And, frankly, he didn’t feel like connecting with anyone from his past—not until he figured out his present and his future.

“Join my poker game next week,” Mike suggested. “We need a few more players.”

“You guys would fleece me,” Dylan said. He was only half kidding. Mike and his friends pretended to play for pennies, but they were actually out for blood.

“Yeah, maybe,” Mike allowed with a half smile.

“Maybe I’ll head down to McElroy’s Tavern, catch up with Jim and Mac.” Everything in him wanted to stay holed up, to continue licking his wounds and avoiding company, but in the long run that wasn’t going to work. He had to get out, start building a new life.

“Jim you can catch up with,” Mike said. “Mac’s working across the state at the oil patch. He only makes it home every few weeks.”

“I guess I do have some catching up to do.” He considered for a moment then said, “You want to come with me?”

“You want to go out with your grandfather?”

“Yep.”

Mike scowled at him, as he had when Dylan had been younger and tried to get off work at the store early.

“Come on,” Dylan said with a smile.

“I’ll go for one beer.”

“Agreed.”

“Let me change my shirt,” Mike said, pushing himself to his feet. “Although I don’t think going out with your grandfather is the best way to get your social life up and running.”

“It’s a start,” Dylan said. And about all he felt like dealing with at the moment.

They arrived early in the evening, but there was already a decent-size crowd filling the place. The bar area was crowded, so Dylan jerked his head toward one of the few empty tables near the door.

“Hold the table,” Dylan said. “I’ll get the round.”

Mike pulled out a chair and Dylan started toward the bar, edging up as a space opened. Jim was busy filling orders and it was pretty obvious that Dylan wouldn’t be doing much more than saying hello.

He scanned the crowd as he waited, recognized a few faces but not that many. Apparently most of the people his age were home doing family things. Once upon a time he’d been at home doing family things—when he hadn’t been on shift.

He finally reached the bar, moving over as a server squeezed past him to slip behind the bar and set down a tray. He watched as she bent over in front of him, pulling bottles out of the cooler, took in a long, reddish ponytail and a nicely curved ass that seemed oddly familiar. Then she stood, met his eyes in the mirror behind the bar and he realized whose ass he’d been admiring.

“Let me know when you’ve seen enough,” Jolie said without bothering to turn around.

How the hell did a guy respond to that?

Dylan’s mouth tightened and she seemed to take that as an acknowledgment of her touché, turning toward him and meeting his eyes in an unsmiling way before bending to take clean glassware out of the rack beneath the bar.

“I didn’t realize you worked here,” he said.

“I do,” she said, loading dirty glasses into the rack. She worked quickly, her movements precise, well practiced.

“Jolie,” Jim called without turning his head, “get the limes going when you have a second.”

“Sure thing.” She finished the loading and then turned to pull some limes out of the small fridge.

“What can I get you?” she asked, looking up at Dylan once again, her expression all business—very much the way he’d like to see it at the store.

“Two Buds.”

“Draft?”

“Whatever’s easiest.”

She pulled a couple of long-necks out of the cooler, set them on the bar, popped the tops and pushed them forward. “Tab?”

Dylan shook his head and slapped down a ten. “Keep the change.”

He thought she was going to argue, but she took the bill and turned to the register. Dylan grabbed the bottles and headed back to his grandfather.

“Is that Jolie Brody?” Mike asked as he took the bottle.

Dylan sat with his back to the wall, telling himself to keep his eyes off Jolie although they kept drifting in her direction. “In the flesh.”

Mike twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “Doesn’t she work for us?”

“She does. Must be moonlighting.”

“No law against that,” Mike said. “But I can’t help wondering how much sleep she gets.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she does a decent job for us.”

“Finn liked her.”

“Finn likes all women,” Dylan replied dryly.

“Takes after me,” Mike said with a grin. “But I don’t think he liked her that way. I think he liked her like a friend.”

Dylan tried to imagine he and Jolie being friends...the image wasn’t gelling. And he also didn’t seem to be able to stop watching her. Cop training kicking in, he told himself. He scanned crowds. He noticed things. He watched people. But he was watching Jolie more than was necessary under the circumstances.

And so were several other guys in the room.

Even when he was talking to his grandfather, he was aware of just where she was in the room. Behind the bar, schlepping drinks to a table, disappearing outside for what was probably a brief break from the heat in the room.

“Making sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble?” Mike asked on a wry note.

“Just...” Dylan shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“She’s a good-looking gal,” Mike said gently.