Come Closer, Cowboy. Debbi Rawlins

drink with the best of them, only twice had she seen him truly drunk.

      Mallory slipped past him to get to the tap, and thankfully, Elaine returned at the same time. Questions burned in Gunner’s eyes, but no way would Mallory deal with them now. Or ever, if she had her say.

      “You didn’t take Mike his beer,” Elaine said, and then briefly eyed Gunner as if she’d just realized he might be the reason. “Never mind. I’ll go.”

      Mallory watched her pick up the mug. She should’ve just taken it to Mike and thanked him for coming to the opening. But she couldn’t do it in front of Gunner. It was stupid. But somehow she knew she’d fumble.

      She felt those stormy gray eyes on her again. She turned and met them full-on. “What?”

      He gave a slight shrug before looking to see if Elaine had left a ticket. She hadn’t. It was the first lull of the night. He picked up a dry bar rag and wiped his hands.

      “You need a haircut.”

      “I was too busy leaving voice mails.”

      Drawing in a deep breath, she avoided his gaze by checking the bowl of lime wedges. They still had a lot. She looked up and saw Mike lifting a hand. She smiled back at him.

      Two tables to his left, she noticed a young woman who’d applied for the waitress job. Mallory couldn’t recall her name, but Elaine would know. If the woman was willing, Mallory would hire her on the spot.

      Either way, there was no need for Gunner to stay.

      She was about to tell him so when she felt pressure around her waist.

      It was Gunner.

      Behind her. His hands sliding down to cup her hips.

      “Excuse me, sweetheart,” he said, trying, though not very hard, to move her to the right. “I need to get more glasses.”

      Without making a fuss, she managed to push his hands away. “Touch me again and I’ll—” Okay, that might’ve been too loud. She clamped her lips together.

      “What? Hmm, Mallory?” he whispered with a half smile. “What are you going to do? Move to Alaska?”

       3

      GUNNER KNEW HE shouldn’t have come tonight. It was a dick move. Yeah, he was still pissed at Mallory. But he didn’t want to screw things up for her. She probably already had first-night jitters.

      “Excuse me,” she said through gritted teeth and forced him back a step at the risk of losing his toes.

      Those were some heels on her black boots. They looked new. And kind of sexy. Normally she wore a low-heeled tan pair that were pretty beat-up. And the clingy red top and tight black jeans? He’d never seen them before. At the Renegade she’d worn nothing but T-shirts and faded denim. And sometimes a flannel shirt in the winter.

      The guys sitting at the bar all watched her walk to the other end, their gazes lingering on her ass before taking in her long legs. It annoyed the shit out of him.

      On second thought, why should he worry about making her nervous? She’d done this to herself. All she’d had to do was return just one damn call. They could’ve talked, got everything out in the open. Not that he thought there was anything to hash out. The world hadn’t ended just because they’d had sex.

      And he sure as hell didn’t remember holding a gun to her head. Mallory hadn’t held back. Sure, the booze played a part, but they hadn’t drank that much. He’d done a lot of thinking on the drive to Montana. Mallory had downed three quick shots in a row, but the tequila hadn’t had time to kick in before they’d started kissing.

      Okay, maybe she’d needed the liquid courage. If so, it sure had worked. She’d moaned so loud when she came he was surprised she hadn’t set off the neighborhood dogs.

      Gunner watched her lean over the bar and gesture to something in the back. With her bent at that angle, the guys were more interested in looking down her V-neck top than what she was pointing at.

      He had to turn away. His insides were churning and he didn’t trust himself to stay cool. If he caused a commotion, she’d never forgive him.

      With more elbow grease than was necessary, he finished cleaning up his mess and let the sink fill with hot sudsy water while he poured himself a beer. Damn, he wanted something stronger. That would have to wait. After she closed, maybe they could sit down like two adults and figure this thing out.

      “We have a dishwasher,” Elaine said, setting down her tray and watching him lower glasses into the steaming sink.

      “It’s too small for this crowd. It’ll be okay for normal nights.”

      “Obviously you’re a friend of Mallory’s,” the petite brunette said. “I’m guessing you’re from LA, but you’re not a bartender.”

      “You got customers complaining about the drinks?”

      “I should’ve said you don’t look like one.” Her gaze roamed his shoulders, his chest, then down to his boots. “With that tan, you must spend a lot of time outdoors. And you sure didn’t get those arms from pouring whiskey. You could be a cowboy, I suppose, but I don’t think so.” She met his eyes and laughed. “Honey, I’ve got a husband and two teenagers. I took this job to get away from them, but I still love all three of ’em to death. So don’t you worry, I’m just nosy.”

      Gunner dried his hands and took another pull of his beer. “There’s a tanning salon at the gym where I work out.”

      Elaine’s frown eased to a grin. “You’re just piling it on, aren’t you?”

      He glanced over to see what was keeping Mallory. “Now, why would I do that?”

      “Wait. You came in with Ben, so I’ll bet you’re a stuntman out there in California.”

      “That’s one possibility.”

      “Although...” Elaine squinted at him as if the right guess came with a thousand-dollar prize. “It sounds like you got a trace of Texas in your voice.”

      Bullshit.

      Gunner plunged his hands into the sudsy water—the very hot sudsy water—and bit back a curse. Hell, he’d left home at fifteen and wanted nothing to do with Texas. The dirty stinking town where he grew up was only half the size of Blackfoot Falls. So if your mom was the town tramp, everybody knew it.

      A customer called for Elaine and she picked up her tray. “You’d better be nice to me,” she said, grinning. “I’m the only person standing between you and your fan club over there.”

      He didn’t have to look to know which table she meant. The three women were from San Diego and staying at the Sundance Ranch. They’d been driving him nuts. He didn’t go for the hair-twirling, lip-licking crap.

      That was one great thing about Mallory. She didn’t play games or work at being sexy. Of course with those big green eyes, generous mouth and killer body she didn’t have to do anything.

      So why the new clothes? She had no business looking hot as hell. Was this her turning over a new leaf? Making a fresh start? Had she been trying to get away from him? All she’d had to do was tell him to get lost.

      One of the Sundance women had a thing for Blake Shelton, and had “Honey Bee” on repeat. Once he got the glasses washed he was gonna unplug that damn jukebox.

      “It seems we’ve died down a bit.” Mallory’s voice startled him. “There’s no reason for you to stick around. Go be with Ben and Grace.”

      He drained his beer and looked at her. She was close. A couple feet away, her eyes full of uncertainty. “You look nice.”

      “Thanks.” Her gaze flickered and lowered. “So do you.”

      “We have to talk.”