Down Home Cowboy. Maisey Yates

      “For me,” Cain said, “this is progress. Drinking in public instead of drinking alone.”

      “Well,” Liam said, “you might look like you enjoy it more.”

      “Like you?”

      Liam lifted a shoulder. “Women like this.”

      “It’s true,” Alex chimed in, “they do. I go with ‘wounded war hero smiling bravely through my pain,’ and Liam...well, hell if I know why, but something about looking angry at the world seems to draw them in. You could work that angle, Cain.”

      “I don’t want an angle to work,” he said, taking another drink, looking across the room to try to find the redhead again. She had sat down at a table with a couple of other women, and they were eating, laughing. Definitely having more fun than he was.

      She laughed at something that must’ve been particularly funny, throwing her head back and making all that hair shimmer again.

      He had to wonder if what he had just said to his brother was true.

      “Planning on being alone forever?” Alex asked.

      “I’m not alone. I have a daughter. You two don’t know anything about that kind of responsibility. I’m not going to bring women in and out of her life just because I want to get laid. It’s not responsible.”

      “Plenty of people have kids and relationships,” Alex pointed out.

      “Yeah, well, those people aren’t parenting Violet. She’s not happy with the move, you know that.”

      “She seems happier since she got her job,” Liam said.

      “It’s hard to tell with her.” His stomach tightened slightly as he thought about his daughter and all of the things he seemed to get wrong with her.

      “We’ve all got shit to handle,” Alex said, taking a drink. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun too.”

      “You don’t know from having shit to handle,” Cain growled. Then felt like a dick because for all that Alex played it down, he was a war hero, and given the fact he never talked about his years of service in a substantial way, Cain had a feeling Alex was pretty deeply affected by them.

      It was the Donnelly way. The more it hurt, the more you laughed it off.

      He forced his gaze resolutely away from the redhead. Because there was no point in fostering any fantasies. He had too much on his plate.

      “So,” Alex said, “are you just going to sit here all night?”

      “I was planning on it.”

      “Okay. As long as we’re clear that it’s your choice, and we’re not abandoning you.” He stood up, clapping Cain on the back. “We’re going to go be social.” Alex picked his cowboy hat up from the table and placed it firmly on his head, then he and Liam headed over to that group of women they had pointed out earlier.

      Cain shook his head, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed. He wasn’t envious of them. In his opinion, they really didn’t understand what was important in life yet. They didn’t have anything bigger to live for. Not like him. He had Violet.

      And, even when she was challenging, she was the reason he got up every morning. No, he didn’t envy his brothers. Or their so-called freedom. It was empty as far as he was concerned.

      He took one more look back at the redhead, ignoring the tightening in his gut, in his groin. Yeah, he didn’t envy them at all. But while he saw their freedom as empty, his bed was empty too. And right now, he was just damn sick of that.

      * * *

      “HE’S CHECKING YOU OUT.”

      Alison glanced up from her dinner, keeping her expression purposefully bland as she looked across the table at her friend Cassie Caldwell. “Who?” She knew who. She had felt his gaze on her while she’d been standing at the bar. She’d sneaked a covert glance when he had been talking to the guys he was with, and her heart had done some weird fluttering thing that had made her want to punch her own face.

      “The really hot guy over there,” Cassie supplied helpfully. “Well, the hot guy in the plaid shirt who was sitting next to the two other hot guys.”

      The guy wasn’t just hot. He defied such a paltry descriptor. He was broad-shouldered, with the kind of muscles that came from serious labor. He had dark hair, mostly covered by a black cowboy hat, and a square jawline that was visible even with the beard he was sporting.

      He was gesturing broadly with very, very large hands that made her feel jittery sensations in parts of her body she preferred to ignore.

      He was new, and in a town this size that was noticeable. But there was something familiar about him too.

      He shifted in his seat and looked in her direction. Quickly. But she still caught it.

      She averted her gaze.

      “I seriously doubt he was checking me out.” Except she knew he had been, and she was processing the strange, giddy feeling that had come on as a result.

      She hadn’t felt that in... Well, it had been long enough that she really couldn’t remember. Probably sometime back in high school when boys had felt new and exciting, and sneaking off with them had felt like exhilarating rebellion.

      Before she had realized just how bad a turn that sort of rebellion could take.

      “Well,” Cassie said with obnoxious authority, “he was.”

      Alison shot her friend Rebecca a look, hoping that the other woman would back her up. Rebecca just shrugged. “Sorry,” she said, “but I think he was.”

      “And?”

      “Maybe you should go talk to him,” Rebecca said, flicking some dark hair behind her ear, her engagement ring glittering in the low bar light.

      This was the problem. All of her friends were in relationships. Not just relationships, but the relationship. The real thing, the be-all and end-all, soul mates and all of that. Consequently, they had all turned on her. Even Lane, who had stayed home tonight rather than going out because she was spending the evening in with her best-friend-turned-boyfriend, Finn.

      Before the great Sexual Finn Awakening, Lane had been the one who had understood Alison’s aversion to romantic relationships. But now that Lane had dealt with her own past trauma and moved on, she most definitely seemed to think that Alison needed to do the same. Though, she was a little more gentle than Rebecca and Cassie.

      Barracudas were more gentle than Rebecca and Cassie.

      “I’m not going to talk to him,” she said, taking a sip of her Diet Coke.

      “Why not?” Rebecca asked. “Talking doesn’t mean anything else. It might be good practice.”

      “For what? My future as everyone’s favorite spinster? I don’t need to talk to him for that, Rebecca,” she said drily.

      “Suit yourself,” Rebecca said. “But he was looking at you. And that’s a nice ego boost if nothing else.”

      Alison nodded begrudgingly and took hold of her straw, nudging a piece of ice up to the top of the glass and crunching it between her teeth. There, he probably wasn’t checking her out now. Who wanted to watch somebody noisily crunch ice?

      Much to her chagrin, she looked back over to where he was—and, also much to her chagrin, felt a stab of disappointment when he wasn’t looking back at her. There was no reason to feel disappointed.

      But the feeling only increased when he stood and made his way over to the bar, speaking to Ace for a moment before tipping his hat and heading toward the door.

      Then he was gone. And she might never have a chance to talk to him. She didn’t know who he was. So he probably wasn’t local. Since she owned a bakery, and before that, had worked at Rona’s