Page 62 of Don't Burn Bridges
“You better, if you want to keep your job.”
Dean gave her a mock salute without missing a beat as he reached for another pint glass, a grin spreading across his face.
Shylo couldn't help laughing. Beside her, Giselle snorted into her beer while Ryder shook his head as though this routine had played out a hundred times before.
Apparently satisfied he'd caused enough trouble for one night, Lane finished the last swallow of his beer and set the empty bottle down. He pulled a few bills from his wallet, left them beneath the bottle, and then knocked on the bar with a grin. “As always, Lou, it's been fun. But I've got an early shift. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Lou didn't bother looking up. “Only because it's a small town.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the customers within earshot as Lane chuckled to himself and headed for the door.
Shylo didn’t know what had gone wrong between them back in high school, but now, she suspected Lou protested a little too much.
Her gaze drifted across the crowded room.
Seth sat at a cluster of pushed-together tables with Jamie and several of the ranch hands. The empty chair beside him left little doubt that he'd saved it for her. When he caught her eye, he smiled and lifted a hand in invitation.
She smiled back, held up one finger, then pointed toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.
When he nodded, Shylo handed her wineglass to Giselle. “Watch this for me?”
She didn't want to leave the drink unattended in a crowded bar or bring it into the ladies' room.
“You got it.” Giselle took the glass, set it on the bar, then laid a cocktail napkin over the rim.
“Be right back.”
After relieving herself, she washed her hands, splashed cool water on her face, and studied her reflection in the spotted mirror. A few damp fingers smoothed the loose strands that had escaped her ponytail before she pinched a little color back into her cheeks.
She looked exhausted.
But at least she didn't look like someone whose asshole brother was in a motel room across town or like someone carrying a secret capable of destroying the future she'd started to imagine.
She looked like a waitress at the end of a long Saturday shift who wanted nothing more than to relax with friends—and with the man who had somehow become the best part of her day.
That was the problem with pretending. It worked right until reality reminded her that it existed.
When she stepped back into the bar, Giselle handed her wineglass back with a wink before Shylo made her way across the room.
Jamie spotted her first. “There she is. Thought Lou put you back to work.”
“Don't give her ideas.”
Seth stood and pulled out the chair beside him as she reached the table. “You survived.”
“Barely. Saturdays are always the busiest.” She eased into the seat with a relieved sigh. “I may never feel my feet again.”
Jamie tipped his beer toward Seth. “Good thing we’ve got a porch swing. You can sit there and let him massage your feet.”
She laughed. “Is that your official medical advice?”
“Absolutely. If I wasn’t a cowboy, I could’ve gone to medical school.”
“He once wrapped duct tape around a fractured wrist and called it treatment,” Seth said.
His coworker looked offended. “It held long enough to get through chores.”
“For about six minutes.”
