CHAPTER 14
Cash
WORST WAY
FUCK me if Mollie ain’t fine as hell.
She’s tan from a day spent outside.
She’s drinking Shiner Bock at my favorite bar in the world.
She’s wearing a tiny skirt and crop top. Legs for days. Bare arms, bare shoulders. Big smile.
She’s singing the words to my favorite George Strait song.
Maybe that’s why I let her lead me to the stage. The music is loud enough that I feel the beat reverberate inside my breastbone. Patsy’s really going for it on the drums. Don’t blame her. Looking after us all, she’s got a lot of tension to work out.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Wyatt watching Mollie and me. He tilts
his head the tiniest bit.
Don’t be a dick.
Tallulah also sends a look my way, a knowing smile on her face as she fills a frosty glass at the tap.
I haven’t taken someone home in a while. With everything that happened first with Garrett and then with Mollie, I’ve been too tied up—too beat up— to make the effort.
Probably why I feel so keyed up with Mollie on my arm. She smells good, the perfume she’s wearing somehow sweet and sexy. Hint of vanilla.
Another hint of something floral and pretty.
This was a bad idea.
Coming to The Rattler and having a beer with Mollie was a really bad
fucking idea.
I need to leave. Immediately.
But then the song ends, and Mollie throws up her arms. She lets out a loud holler that puts a big old smile on Sally’s face.
It also captures the attention of every guy in a twenty-foot vicinity.
Several shamelessly stare at Mollie, a few of the bolder ones even moving closer. I see the Wallace boys in the mix. Wonder if anything ever happened between Beck and Sally. And where the hell is their sister, Billie? She’s good at keeping them in line.
My grip on my beer tightens. This is why I’m here. Last thing I felt like doing after a long day on the ranch was getting dressed and going out. But I didn’t like the idea of Mollie getting hit on left and right by local drunks who get a little too handsy after a couple of drinks.
Wyatt is too distracted by, well, everyone to watch over Mollie. Sawyer’s back home, putting Ella to bed. And Duke and Ryder, they’re too busy trying to get laid to keep tabs on our new owner.
As usual, it’s up to me to keep everyone safe.
“Thank y’all,” Patsy says into the mic. “Always fun to cover the king
himself.”
“You’re a rock star!” Mollie says.
John B holds up his hand. “Ain’t she, though?”
“I’m already a fan for life.” Mollie gives him a high five. “Your girls are
so talented.”
He beams. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“This next one is for Cash Rivers.” Sally glances at me before taking a swig of her margarita. “Since we haven’t seen him for a minute here at The Rattler, figure we’ll welcome him with one of his favorites. Y’all enjoy.”
My chest stirs as the opening notes of “Neon Moon” fill the bar.
Mollie glances at me, her smile in her eyes now. “This is one of my favorite Brooks & Dunn songs too.”
Seems too simple for a girl like her—the pleasure of a great song being played by a great band in a bar as old as we are. I would’ve thought only a trip on a private jet or a Rolex for her birthday would light her up like this.
But here we are. My heart thumps as people pair off around us. Watching couples move across the dance floor, her gaze flickers.
Mollie don’t have a ring on her finger. I imagine if she had a boyfriend,
he’d be here right now. No way I’d let my girl walk into this bar alone. Much less walk onto the ranch she just inherited by herself.
She’s single, then.
Or maybe I just hope she’s single. Which is plain stupid. Mollie Luck is gorgeous, sure. She’s got more grit than I gave her credit for. But I can’t get involved.
I don’t want to get involved, my thumping pulse notwithstanding.
But then Roddy Oldman, a cowboy from one of the smaller ranches across town with a crooked smile and wandering hands, holds out his arm to Mollie. “Can I have this dance?”
Turning away from me, Mollie grins. “Aren’t you a gentleman? I’d love —”
“Nope.” Aw shit, now I’m curling an arm around Mollie’s waist.
Now I’m pulling her against me, my body lighting up like a firecracker at the contact. My hand finds her side, and I hold her there, my grip firm.
I don’t miss the way her tits rise on a sharp inhale.
I tell myself I’m just looking out for her.
I’m just keeping her safe. If I’m here, there’s no chance Roddy will put his dirty paws on her.
“Wait, wait.” Mollie looks up at me, eyebrows pinched together. “Are
you —”
“Dancing? Yes.”
She blinks. “I’m confused.”
“It’s simple. The band plays a song, and we dance to it.”
“Together?”
“That’s how the two-step works, yeah.”
She blinks again, cheeks flushing pink, and nods at Roddy. “I’d like to dance with him.”
Keeping my arm around her waist, I set my beer down on the edge of the
stage. “You’re dancing with me.”
“What the hell, Cash?” Roddy says.
I offer him a tight smile. “Over my dead body, Roddy.”
“You’re rude,” Mollie says.
“Yep.” Grabbing Mollie’s beer, I set it down beside mine. “Watch the boots. I just cleaned them.”
She glances down at my feet. “Do you ever take Dad’s boots off?”
“Not if I can help it.” I grab her hand. Put my other hand on the small of
her back, my pinkie meeting with bare skin thanks to her crop top. My pulse blares. The heat of her skin seeps into my own.
I can’t two-step with this girl and not lose my goddamn mind.
I also can’t leave her to the likes of Roddy Oldman.
Leaning in, I manage, “I’m doing you a favor. Once he starts drinking, he won’t stop pawing at you.”
She looks up at me, an uncertain—but not unhappy—gleam in her eyes.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess?”
I really do almost lose my mind when Mollie puts her hand on my shoulder. I imagine that hand gliding up to my neck. She’d play with the hair at my nape, pulling me close. Her mouth an inch from mine, soft and hot and — Hell no. No-no-no. That fantasy isn’t going any further.
Tearing my gaze from Mollie’s lush mouth, I step forward at the same time she does, our bodies colliding. The heaviness gathering in my core pulses, a searing shock of heat ripping through me at the feel of her tits pressed against my chest.
“What are you doing?” She looks up at me.
I look down, clenching my teeth. Her skin glows in the red and yellow
stage lights. “I’m leading. Let me.”
“No one leads a dance anymore —”
“I do.” I search her eyes. “Let me.”
“Or what?”
“Or we’re gonna miss the rest of this song.”
She blinks. A funny expression comes over her face, like she wants to smile, but won’t let it happen. “Oh. Good point. Okay.”
I step forward again. This time, Mollie steps back. She’s half a beat too late on that step and the next one, but at least she’s letting me guide her, her gaze locked on our feet.
She steps on my toe and recoils, the hand she’s got on my shoulder fisting in my shirt. “Shit, sorry.”
“You’re all right. Follow my lead. It’s quick, quick”—I make the steps, firming my hold on her back so that she’s pressed against me—“slow, slow.
There you go. Simple two-step.”
I wait for Mollie to pull back. Create some space between us.
She doesn’t.
Trouble.
“I feel like I’m Happy, the baby horse.” Mollie glances up at me, my heart skipping at the playful gleam in her eyes. “I don’t know how to use my
legs yet, so you have to help me out.”
“You know how to use your legs.”
She finally does smile, this time a closed-mouth thing that makes me think she’s holding back laughter. “That sounded wrong.”
“Only because you’re a pervert.”
“You’re the one who said the pervy thing.”
“You’re the one who pointed it out!”
I don’t realize I’m smiling until Mollie says, “Aha. Maybe you are still fun.”
You don’t know how fun I can be, sweetheart. You want me to teach you how to use those legs? Let me get between ’em, and I’ll show you exactly how
it’s done.
“You okay?”
I blink at the sound of Mollie’s voice. “What? Yeah. Why?”
“You just got this look on your face. Like you wanted to punch
someone.”
Fuck someone, more like it.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Roddy staring us down. The second I let this girl go, he’s gonna make his move. We don’t get many visitors here in Hartsville, so you gotta act fast if you want to stake your claim on someone new.
Ain’t happening tonight for Roddy. Or ever.
The chorus rises. I try to focus on anything but the beautiful woman in my arms, the one who’s picked up the two-step in less than a minute. Fast
learner, I guess. Good for her.
Bad for me.
I think about all the times I listened to this song in my truck with Garrett.
“Neon Moon” is a classic country song, the kind where the guy loses the girl and goes to a bar to drown his regret in whiskey.
Listening to it, Garrett would get quiet, rolling down the window to let his arm hang out the side of the truck. Sometimes, he’d sing the lyrics. Other times, he’d just stare out the window, lost in his thoughts.
I know he was thinking about Aubrey, his ex-wife. I’m sure he was thinking about Mollie too. I’m surprised she believes her dad didn’t think or talk about her.
Then again, Garrett rarely left the ranch. Yeah, he was busy looking after my brothers and me. But we could’ve held our own if he went to see his
daughter back in Dallas.
I called him out on this, of course.
But Garrett would just wave me away. “It’s complicated. Mollie needed to live with her mama. They don’t want me around.”
“A kid always wants her parents around,” I replied. “Trust me on that.”
But Garrett and I agreed to disagree on that point. You can lead a horse to water, but you sure as hell can’t make him drink.
Looking down at Mollie, I wonder why she didn’t push Garrett more.
Maybe she did. I only know one side of this story. And maybe, after putting in so much effort without any reward, she just stopped trying.
She’s comfortable enough with the steps that she’s singing now, lost in the song.
She’s also swaying her hips, getting a little saucy on the turns as I lead us across the dance floor. I hadn’t realized there’d been a permanent divot between her eyebrows until now, when the skin there is smooth.
Relaxed.
It’s like she’s finally let loose. Her lips are curled into a smile, the long waves of her hair moving over her shoulders as she turns her head in time to the beat.
She catches me watching her. Instead of calling me out, she smiles harder, bigger, the kind of smile that touches her eyes.
There’s a sudden, sharp drop in my chest. Goddamn, the joy I see in her face—it’s infectious.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m lifting my arm and twirling her around. She laughs, the sound loud and real, so I twirl her again, and again.
On the third twirl, she slows the pace, spinning slowly while she pops her cute little ass in time to the beat. Someone hollers. I look up and see it’s Patsy, smiling down at us from the stage as she pounds on the drums.
Mollie holds up a hand, wiggling her fingers at Patsy. Then she lets me pull her back into my arms. The way we move now, it’s easier, more fluid.
Mollie doesn’t look at our feet and instead looks up at me, sinking her teeth
into her bottom lip.
I wanna bite that lip.
The song ends. Everyone goes wild, like they usually do. But unlike usual —Sally loves to talk to the crowd between songs—Frisky Whiskey dives
right into another song.
Another slow song.
It’s like they know I’m about to pop a woody dancing with my new boss, and they wanna push me right over the fucking edge.
Roddy drinks his beer in a far corner, waiting for his chance to pounce.
I look down at Mollie and see she’s still looking up at me. My heart dips at the question I see in her eyes. She really wanna dance with me again?
Hell yeah, she does. Apparently, I still got it, despite not having danced for, wow, how long has it been now?
I step forward, starting the dance all over again, and this time Mollie moves right into the two-step without hesitating.
Don’t know why this makes me smile, but it does.
Maybe because she’s at ease with me? She’s singing her heart out now, making the dance her own while somehow letting me lead at the same time.
She’s a fucking knockout.
When the chorus hits, she presses against me, going up on her toes to say in my ear, “Your turn.”
Despite almost blacking out at having her plastered against me, I ask, “My turn?”
“To spin. Give the ladies what they want.” She pulls back, lifting our
joined hands.
“What’s that?”
“A show.” Her other hand curls around the ball of my shoulder. Then she
pulls.
I pull back. “I don’t spin.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. That’s how concussions happen.”
“C’mon. You gotta show me how legs work, remember?”
I let out a bark of laughter. Hard, genuinely surprised laughter that hits me in the sides and makes me feel light on my feet.
“Do it!” Ryder shouts above the music.
I didn’t realize he was so close; he’s just to our right, dancing with Billie Wallace. Thank God that girl showed.
I arch a brow at Mollie. “You gonna be the one to take me to the hospital if I fall?”
“You’re not going to fall.” She parrots my line back to me with such precise, steady wickedness, I laugh again. “You twirl. I’ll take care of the
rest.”
“You have some fucking memory.”
“You have some fucking nerve, not giving your dance partner what she wants. C’mon, cowboy.”
“Do it! Do it!” Ryder and Duke are chanting it now.
Glancing at the bar, I see Wyatt with a shot of whiskey in his hand and a
big, stupid smile on his face.
Save me, I mouth to him.
He just holds up the whiskey and then downs it.
I am going to kill him later.
Turning back to Mollie, I sigh. Then I lift up our arms as high as they’ll go. I still have to duck, but I manage to twirl, my boots sliding a little too easily on the floor. Had ’em resoled recently, so I have to be extra careful.
Then I’m facing Mollie again, her smile bright. Genuine. Around us, scattered applause breaks out.
She laughs, a sound that sends a rush up the back of my throat. “See how
much they loved it?”
Did you?
Apparently so, because when the band plays the chorus again a minute later, Mollie is holding up her arm. This time, all she has to do is bite that bottom lip again to get me to twirl.
She hollers. Because I have a death wish, I find myself egged on by her attention, rolling my hips to the beat.
I fucking love to dance. Makes me forget how tired I am. How overwhelmed. All the shit I have to do, the never-ending list of tasks that floats around in my head day and night, evaporates as I move.
Only I must roll my hips a little too hard, because suddenly my left foot slips out from under me. My stomach lurches as I stumble and lose my balance. Shit, not again — But I’m yanked upright by a hand wrapped around my arm.
Mollie’s hand.
I immediately grab on to her, the two of us hanging on to the other’s forearm like we’re doing some kind of secret handshake.
She looks at me with wide eyes. “You okay?”
“I am.” My pulse pounds in my temples. “Thanks.”
That smile. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”
“I shouldn’t be out here in the first place.” I nod at the floor. “Dancing.”
“Yeah, you should.” She gestures at the bar, which is getting more crowded by the minute. Everyone’s watching us, smiles on their faces. “Told you they wanted a show.”
The song ends. Again, the crowd hoots and hollers and claps. But I just stare at Mollie, trying—failing—to ignore the weird, buzzy feeling that rises inside my chest.
First the lemonade. Then the shower break and sandwich. Now the dance-
floor rescue.
Mollie’s looking out for me, isn’t she?
The spoiled, self-centered trust-fund brat is paying attention to me in a
way no one else has in…a while.
Maybe she’s not such a brat.
Or maybe she’s got an ulterior motive. Really, why would she look out for me, if not to trick me into trusting her?
Only my gut tells me otherwise.
My knees wobble. Mollie keeps her hand on my arm, grip firm. I got several inches and a hundred pounds on her, but she’s stronger than she
looks.
Who the fuck is this girl?
And why do I want to suddenly commit unspeakably violent acts against every guy who so much as glances at her?
I gotta get gone. Now. Climb in my truck and peel out of here like the building’s on fire. That’d be the smart thing to do.
But Mollie’s the smart one, isn’t she? And I don’t see her going anywhere.
Curling an arm around her waist, I pull her against me. “Then let’s give ’em a show.”
