Page 4 of Wrangling Wade

I glance down the bar, looking for an escape. Unfortunately, there isn't one. The few men lined up on stools are engrossed in their own conversations or looking for clarity at the bottom of their beers. They aren't paying me a single bit of attention.

When I need a rescue, I'm on my own. But when I can handle it myself, someone is always ready to swoop in. It's frustratingly ironic. And par for the course.

Bartending at a cowboy bar is not for the weak. If I didn't need the job, I'd have quit already. But bills don't pay themselves, and while starving artist is a whole vibe, I could really do without the starving part of the equation. Unfortunately, my art hasn't takenoff yet, and the loans to cover my mom's medical care won't pay themselves. So…here I am.

I finish pouring Danny's beer and reluctantly turn back to him, mentally preparing the "I don't date men I meet at work" speech. Except, I never even get to say the first line. As soon as I open my mouth, a giant steps up beside his stool, his soft brown eyes locking with mine.

"Hey, beautiful," he rumbles, his lips tipped into a smile that's all trouble. "I missed you."

"I…" I gape at him, pretty sure he has the wrong person. Believe me, I'd remember if I met Tall, Dark, and Sexy before. I haven't. But he's looking at me like he's trying to tell me something, and I'm not sure what it is.

Is he drunk? Mentally unstable? Confused? Just plain weird? No clue. He is beautiful, though. Unlike most of the cowboys here, there's a gentleness in his eyes that's surprising. Most cowboys are hard. They're built from the mud on their boots, the pain they endure, and the sweat they spill. They're rough and tumble and full of this swagger you can recognize a mile away.

This one is…different, like what he does isn't who he is. Oh, he's all cowboy. It's in the way he stands—hands on his hips, feet planted, wearing that hat like he was born to do it. But you could put him in a suit or a military uniform or scrubs, and he'd fit there too.

That's new.

Whoever he is, Danny seems to know him. As soon as the man speaks, Danny's entire demeanor sours, his lips pursing, his broad shoulders tensing. He turns slowly, scowling up at the man.

"Jessup," he growls. It's not really a greeting.

"Palmer," the man—Jessup, I guess—says without even looking at him. "I see you've met my girlfriend, Harlow."

Girlfriend?What the—?

Danny recoils visibly. "You're dating?"

"Yes." The word spills out before I can even consider it. I don't know why I say it. Perhaps because the tension between these two is obvious, and out of the two, this man, this Jessup, seems like the safer bet. Or maybe it's because I'm just curious enough about him to want to know what he thinks he's doing.

Danny mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like an insult. Whatever it is, Jessup doesn't seem to appreciate it.

His whole body tenses, his grin slipping. "Unless you want the same problem you had last time we crossed paths, you'd best be watching your mouth, Palmer," he says, a dark warning in his voice.

Danny bristles, his eyes narrowing on Jessup. "How about you fuck off back to your bunk and watch how you speak to me, ranchhand?"

Jessup's gaze flicks from him to me. "You mind taking a step back for me, beautiful?"

"I…what?"

"Take a step back," he murmurs.

I frown, stepping away from the speed rail toward the back bar, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"Appreciate that," Jessup says with a wink that makes my stomach flutter.

It immediately sinks into my shoes when he clamps his hand down on Danny's arm, yanking him up from the stool hard enough to send it toppling.

Danny whirls with a grunt, already swinging.

The entire bar goes silent before erupting into a chorus of shouts and cheers, like this is an elementary schoolyard.

I gape in shock as a full-on brawl between them erupts in two seconds flat. Danny is stockier, but Jessup is faster. I can't evenprocess the way they throw their weight around, but there's no mistaking the sound of fists landing.

Several cowboys wade in to break them up, but they don't seem very interested in stopping. They're all muscle and aggression, fueled by alcohol, though I never saw Jessup drink a drop.

It's so loud, I can't even hear myself think.

So I do the only thing I can think to do, instead.