Wound Tight: A Rough Riders/Blacktop Cowboys Crossover, Page 2

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t say one word in return.

  Yell at me, call me names because you know how to get to me.

  Talk about sending himself mixed messages. He couldn’t stay, but he didn’t want to go.

  Fear won out over hope. It always did for him.

  His boots barely touched the floor as he ran out.

  Chapter One

  Three days earlier…

  “Have you seen the new ranch hand?” Callie gushed to her coworker Svetlana.

  Svetlana—aka Lana—took a break from mopping and looked at Callie. “I cannot keep up with all of the new hires,” she said with a sniff.

  “Oh, come on. How could you have missed him? I swear his hotness even made Mrs. Gradsky blush—and she’s been surrounded by good-lookin’ cowboys her whole life.”

  “Did our boss lady catch you drooling over this man?”

  “God no. I was literally hiding in the bushes outside the office as I picked up trash.” Callie sighed. “I had to stay still even when I wanted to break the damn branches to get a better look at that killer ass of his.”

  “You were checking out his…?”

  Her mind supplied “package” but virgin Lana would blush ten shades of crimson if Callie admitted that. Instead she said, “Behind? Of course. Such a hardship, watching that perfect cowboy butt sauntering away from me. But he did me a solid before he disappeared inside the office. He turned around and his frontside was just as delicious as his backside.” She whistled. “The man has it going on. Dark blond hair, vivid green eyes, great smile.” Amazing smile. Even from thirty feet away the man oozed charisma.

  “You are what my mama used to call boy crazy,” Lana said.

  “I’m not interested in boys. I’m interested in men.” Not that a man like him would take interest in her, especially not when she was covered in dust after a full day of doing grunt work.

  “You are certain this new ranch hand is not married?” Lana asked.

  “I assume not since he’s living in the bunkhouse with the rest of the hired hands.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Because curiosity had gotten the better of her. Despite Lana’s claims there were too many new hires, there actually weren’t. The Gradskys paid their employees very well, so employee turnover at the rodeo school or the ranch associated with the school was nearly nonexistent. When a new school session started there was an influx of students and parents, but the local staff only increased by two or three. And in the year she’d worked there, none of the hires had looked like him.

  “Cal-lee,” Lana accused, stretching out her name. “You followed him.”

  “I noticed him and another guy hauling some stuff from the parking lot into the bunkhouse.” She frowned. “He didn’t have much, now that I think about it.”

  “Probably because he got kicked out of wherever he was living before. If he’s that good looking the guy’s probably a major player.” Her eyes took on a mean glint. “I hope if he cheated on his wife she took him for everything and he has to start over with nothing.”

  Lana assumed the worst about everyone—men especially. Which made zero sense since she’d never had a boyfriend.

  “You know Annie will set her sights on him, so get ready for some competition.”

  “If Miss Wantscock hopes to try her luck with him, she’d better do it fast because I’m calling dibs, right here and now.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “One day you’ll slip up and call her Wantscock to her face instead of her actual last name.”

  “If my last name was Hadcock I’d have a great sense of humor about it,” she retorted.

  “Then you should be laughing when Dickie calls you ‘the Morgan fair child.’”

  “I laughed the first fifty times. Then he forgot my first name is Callie and my last name is Morgan. For about two weeks I had to ask people to stop calling me by my last name.”

  “Is there anything else I need to do before I head into town for my bartending shift?”

  Lana pointed to the two bags of trash by the door. “Drop those in the dumpster on your way to your camper.”

  “No problem. Are we scheduled together tomorrow?” As much as she liked working with Lana, she wasn’t crazy about janitorial jobs. She’d much rather be outside.

  “I don’t know. Mrs. G will give us our assignments after the staff meeting tomorrow morning, so don’t forget about that.”

  “I won’t. Thanks. See ya.”

  Callie exited the classroom building and crossed the parking lot to dump the garbage. Then she took the path that zigzagged through the massive Grade A Rodeo Academy compound until she reached the employees’ campground.

  There was room for ten RVs, but only two spots were currently filled. Since the rodeo school rotated different teachers into the curriculum, many of them opted to live in a motor home for the nine-week course. Callie had chosen the spot closest to the road so she wouldn’t disturb the others when she pulled in from her bartending job at three o’clock in the morning.

  Although she was just a temporary resident, she’d arranged pots of flowers around her camp spot to create a homier appearance and added a chair and a small table under the pop-out awning. She stopped and fussed with pots of petunias that looked droopy. Hopefully she’d get free time to fertilize her plants and wash the exterior this weekend.

  Callie unlocked the door, cleared the steps, and breathed a happy sigh. Her home was her haven and she rarely invited anyone into it. Bill, the maintenance guy, was the only person she worked with at Grade A who’d been inside her domain, and that was only because she’d asked him to check out why her air conditioner wasn’t working. None of her fellow “Foxes”—the nickname given to The Sly Fox Saloon bar staff—had been issued an invite. After living in, and frequently being evicted from rental trailers growing up, she wanted her own place…a place no one could take away from her.

  She’d purchased the older model fifth wheel at an auction for two thousand bucks, which had emptied her piggy bank of nineteen years’ worth of savings. There weren’t major issues with any of the camper’s electrical, mechanical, or plumbing systems, but the interior had been destroyed. She’d salvaged what she could and spent every free moment of the next year making it livable—painting the cabinetry, installing new flooring, reupholstering the cushions. Then she’d scoured secondhand stores for furniture, rugs, curtains, blinds, and dishes. All items she’d chosen reflected her style in a way she’d never been able to express, and she’d finally felt like an adult. An adult who was more than ready to leave the nest and fly away.

  Callie glanced at her phone to check the time as she unplugged it from the charger. Most days she left her phone at home. Chances were high it’d fall out of her pocket when she was mucking stalls and a horse or a cow would step on it. The Gradskys kept her busy and she didn’t have time to mess around on social media apps during working hours anyway, much to her younger twin sisters’ dismay that she rarely Snapchatted with them.

  She ate a sandwich while she loaded up her gym bag with her outfit for the night. The only stipulation for her “uniform” at the bar was it had to be sexy. After grabbing an apple, she shouldered her bag and locked up. Then she hopped in her truck and headed to town to finish the last eight hours of her sixteen-hour workday.

  * * * *

  On the half-hour drive, Callie called her family. Chelsea was at soccer camp and couldn’t talk. Cameo’s number immediately kicked over to voice mail—who knew what that wild child was up to. She connected with her mom briefly, catching her before she started the second half of her split shift at Lucky’s Tavern.

  Callie had done her time at Lucky’s. And at Big Red’s before that. And the Rail Station before that. The Morgan women—well, at least she and her mom—were pro shift workers in bars. They’d lived hand to mouth even before Callie’s dad died the year she’d turned eight. After that, they’d moved from place to place, barely one step ahead of eviction n
otices, child services visits, and bill collectors.

  But they’d survived.

  Before Callie moved away from home last year, she’d promised her mother that she’d never work as a stripper. Her mom wasn’t a judgmental woman, but that demand had come from out of nowhere. That’s when her mom had told her about her younger cousin, who’d taken a “temporary” job as a stripper, gotten mixed up with a motorcycle club, and literally turned into a crack whore who died at age twenty-one.

  The same age Callie had been when she left home.

  No stripping had been an easy promise to make.

  But Callie recognized the parallels between The Sly Fox Saloon and a strip club. Sixty percent of the clientele were men, and the female waitstaff danced on the bartops for extra tips. Even the employees’ area in the backroom was set up with makeup stations complete with Hollywood lighting and boasted a separate section with a mirrored wall positioned above a wooden floor where the servers could practice their dance routines. The only differences between this bar and a gentleman’s club were the staff served drinks in risqué clothing versus no clothing—they were still using sex to sell booze and entertain. Callie had no problem with that.

  “Omigod, Calamity, I’m so glad you’re here!” Vivi cried out. “Look at my hair! I can’t do anything with it.” She caught Callie’s eye in the mirror and batted her fake eyelashes. “Please help me.”

  “Of course. Lemme get dressed first.”

  Callie dropped her bag on the end of the bench. Off went the flipflops, jeans, T-shirt and bra. She slipped on a tiny pair of cutoff jean shorts, the frayed edges barely covering her ass. The white lace push-up bra amplified her already ample cleavage. Over that she wore a skintight white camisole with a deep V-cut dotted with rhinestones. A sleeveless red and blue plaid western shirt left unbuttoned and red cowgirl boots with two-inch heels finished her ensemble.

  Neenah, the oldest Fox at age thirty-two, gave Callie a shoulder bump as she passed by. “Girl, I hate that you threw on that outfit in under a minute and you look amazing.” Her gaze traveled down the front of Callie’s body. “Take advantage of those long, shapely legs and perky tits while you can, Calamity. Find you a man now, ’cause it all starts to go south after thirty.”

  “Hah! More like it starts going south after twenty-five,” Vivi retorted.

  “Oh, shut it, you two,” Callie said grabbing a wide-toothed comb. “You both are freakin’ gorgeous. And I don’t need a man to take care of me. I do just fine taking care of myself.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a relief to have someone to share the burden with?”

  “What burden?”

  “Life.”

  “If your life is a burden, then you’re living it wrong.” She moved in behind Vivi’s chair. “What look we aiming for tonight?”

  “Jailbait. School girl uniform.” Vivi smirked. “That short of a skirt definitely would’ve gotten me kicked out of St. Mary’s.”

  “Private school? Wow, Vivi, your family must’ve been rich.” Callie had to drop out of school at sixteen when her mom got laid up for three months and couldn’t work.

  “Rich. Right. I’m one of nine kids. School uniforms meant my folks didn’t have to buy us clothes.” She sighed. “Would you have time to jazz up my makeup too?”

  Callie pointed at her own face. “This needs work first since bare-face ain’t an option here like in my other life. If there’s time left over, then I’ll fix…” Callie peered at Vivi’s eye makeup. “Christ, did you use that magenta eye pencil again after I told you not to?”

  “But I love it,” Vivi said with a pout.

  “But Vivi, it doesn’t love you. That hue is not in your color wheel, as I’ve told you half a dozen times. It clashes with your auburn hair and eyebrows.”

  “Listen to her, Vivi,” Mandy said from the chair next to hers. “Our Calamity knows her shit when it comes to beauty. She’s going pro with it, remember?”

  Going pro. Callie looked over her shoulder and said, “Ssh. Not so loud.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a secret,” Mandy said in a low voice.

  “It is…and it isn’t. You know how the Barbarian is about us voicing ambitions beyond shaking our tits and ass for cash. I can’t afford to lose this job when I still have to earn a shit ton between now and registration deadline or I’ll have to sit out another year.”

  Vivi and Mandy mimed zipping their lips.

  Neenah patted her shoulder. “You’re gonna be a superstar and we can all say we knew you when.”

  Callie lowered her head to hide her eyes. She loved these women. They supported her in ways even her family hadn’t. Ever since the first time she’d cut her doll’s hair and pilfered her mom’s makeup, Callie had dreamed of working in a salon. It’d taken her longer to get to this point than she’d planned, but now that goal was finally within reach.

  Loud clapping alerted them to the presence of Barb—aka the Barbarian—the front end manager. “Foxes. Listen up. Men’s night means we’ll be busy early, so I wanna see your asses on the bar dancing every thirty minutes. If your section is slow…you know the drill. Three-minute solo dance. Any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  Barb scrutinized each of the seven servers all dolled up…and then Callie. She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re on in ten minutes, Calamity. Get your makeup finished and your hair did and quit helping everyone else.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She twisted the ponytail holder around Vivi’s thick hair and pulled it tightly, fanning it out. “Done. Now move your ass so I can get ready.”

  Vivi kissed her cheek and whispered “Thanks” as she passed by.

  With no time to do pigtail braids, Callie fluffed up her honey-brown/reddish gold hair—a custom dye she’d formulated herself—with a shit ton of hairspray. She totally rocked the trailer park beauty queen style tonight. She finished her face in seven minutes with time left to dust shimmering powder on her chest, arms, and legs.

  Callie remained behind the bar for the first two hours of her shift since she was a fast pour bartender and happy hour was always crazy.

  During the first lull, something compelled her to glance at the entrance.

  Her heart thundered when she saw the hot new ranch hand she’d spied on at Grade A.

  The man could stop a damn cattle stampede looking like that. Black hat, fitted white western shirt, jeans, boots and the commanding presence that sucked the oxygen from her lungs and probably the air from the entire bar.

  It’d been ages since she’d felt that twist of immediate lust.

  Was he a player? Would he treat every woman to that panty-melting smile? Or would he act cool and aloof? Like he knew he was all that and he could have his pick of anyone in this bar.

  The guy he was with—the other new hired hand—said something and the object of her lust laughed.

  Sexy smile and a deep, unselfconscious laugh?

  Yes, please. She wanted to feel that laughter against her throat. As she rode him to sweaty, loud orgasmic bliss.

  At least four times.

  She continued to watch him as he ambled toward the bar, that sexy-as-fuck cowboy saunter speaking volumes about how well he moved.

  Well, buddy, I’ve got moves of my own.

  He hadn’t noticed her yet and it was high time to change that.

  Callie waved to the DJ. Then she hoisted herself onto the bar and did one slow spin around the pole to the whoops and hollers of the men surrounding her as she waited for the music signaling her solo dance to start.

  Chapter Two

  “I can’t believe you dragged me to a titty bar,” Justin Donohue said under his breath.

  His new coworker Deke smirked and paid the cover charge.

  Justin dug cash out of his front pocket and handed it to the beefy brunette bouncer manning the door. She smiled at him and said, “ID too.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Company policy for anyone under thirty.”

  Was this woman screwing wi
th him? He hadn’t seen “under thirty” in a damn decade. He handed her his Colorado driver’s license.

  Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline when she saw his birthdate. “Wow. Great genes, cowboy.” She gave him a pointed once-over from the tips of his boots to his belt buckle. “You look great in those jeans too. Come find me later. I’ll save you a special dance.”

  I just bet you will.

  He followed Deke into the main part of the bar. They stopped just inside the door.

  “See? This ain’t a titty bar,” Deke said. “They’ve got their clothes on.” His gaze tracked a statuesque blonde wearing a leather corset and white lace skirt, sheer enough to see her red thong. “Mostly.”

  Justin laughed at that. This Deke kid was a character. “Not a titty bar, but damn close. You brought me here the first day we met. I’ll be interested to see how you top that on day two.”

  Deke grinned. “I figure we’ll be too tired tomorrow after the first official day of work to do anything but sleep.”

  “I hear ya. Come on. I promised I’d buy the first round.” Justin headed toward the bar. A few “excuse me’s” and the crowd of mostly men parted.

  That’s when he saw her.

  And they had the “our eyes met across a crowded room” moment that he’d dismissed as pure hogwash when he’d heard it from other guys.

  But it was as real and as breath-stealing as a 1500 pound bull tossing him to the ground.

  His wet dream cowgirl broke eye contact, jumped up on the bartop, and took a couple of spins around the pole. Then she nestled her spine against the metal, propped one booted foot up behind her and bowed her head in a classic cowgirl pose.

  The guys watching her whistled and stomped their feet, waiting for the music to start.

  Still buzzed by their simple eye fuck, Justin racked his brain, trying to guess what song she’d picked to torment him and every other man in the bar.

  “Legs” by ZZ Top?