swore. He didn’t know if she had a car out there, or if she was intent on driving herself. But she was way too skunked to drive.
“Watch the place, Jenna,” he said to one of the waitresses, who nodded and assumed a rather important-looking position with her hands flat on the bar and a rag in her hand, as though she were ready to wipe crumbs away with serious authority.
He rounded the counter and followed the same path Sierra had just taken out into the parking lot. He looked around for a moment and didn’t see her. Then he looked down and there she was, sitting on the edge of the curb. “Everything okay?”
That was a stupid question, since he already knew the answer.
She lifted her head. “No.”
He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The problem was, he’d followed her out here. If he had just let her walk out the door, then nothing but the pine trees and the seagulls would have been responsible for her. But no, he’d had to follow. He’d been concerned about her driving. And now, he would have to follow through on that concern.
“You don’t have a ride?”
She shook her head, looking miserable. “Everyone left me. Because they aren’t nice. You’re right. I do need better friends.”
“Yes,” he said, “you do. And let me go ahead and tell you right now, I won’t be one of them. But as long as you don’t live somewhere ridiculous like Portland, I can give you a ride home.”
And this, right here, was the curse of owning a bar. Whether he should or not, he felt responsible in these situations. She was compromised, it was late, cabs were scarce in a town the size of Copper Ridge and she was alone. He could not let her meander her way back home. Not when he could easily see that she got there safely.
“A ride?” She frowned, her delicate features lit dramatically by the security light hanging on the front of the bar.
“I know your daddy probably told you not to take rides from strangers, but trust me, I’m the safest bet around. Unless you want to call someone.” He checked his watch. “It’s inching close to last call. I’m betting not very many people are going to come out right now.”
She shook her head slowly. “Probably not.”
He sighed heavily, reaching into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around his keys. “All right, come on. Get in the truck.”
* * *
SIERRA LOOKED UP at her unlikely, bearded, plaid-clad savior. She knew who it was, of course. Ace Thompson was the owner of the bar, and she bought beer from him at least twice a month when she came out with her friends. They’d exchanged money and drinks across the counter more times than she could recall, but this was more words than she’d ever exchanged with him in her life.
She was angry at herself. For getting drunk. For going out with the biggest jerks in the local rodeo club. For getting on the back of a mechanical bull and opening herself up to their derision—because honestly, when you sat your drunk ass on a fake, bucking animal, you pretty much deserved it. And most of all, for sitting down in the parking lot acting like she was going to cry just because she had been ditched by said jerky friends.
Oh, and being caught at what was most definitely an epic low made it all even worse. Ace had almost certainly seen her inglorious dismount of the mechanical bull, then witnessed everyone leaving without her.
She’d been so sure today couldn’t get any worse.
Tequila had proven her wrong.
“I’m fine,” she said, and she could have bitten off her own tongue, because she wasn’t fine. As much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t need his help, she kind of did. Granted, she could call Madison or Colton. But if her sister had to drive all the way down to town from the family ranch she would probably kill Sierra. And if she called Colton’s house his fiancée would probably kill Sierra.
Either way, that made for a dead Sierra.
She couldn’t exactly call her father, since she wasn’t speaking to him. Which, really, was the root of the evil that was today.
“Sure you are. Most girls who end up sitting on their ass at 1:00 a.m. in a parking lot are just fine.”
She blinked, trying to bring his face into focus. He refused to be anything but a fuzzy blur. “I am.”
For some reason, her stubbornness was on full display, and most definitely outweighing her common sense. That was probably related to the alcohol. And the fact that all of her restraint had been torn down hours ago. Sometime early this morning when she had screamed at her father and told him she never wanted to see him again, because she’d found out he was a liar. A cheater.
Right, so that was probably why she was feeling rebellious. Angry in general. But she probably shouldn’t direct it at the person who was offering to give her a ride.
In spite of the fact that her brain had rationalized this course of action, her ass was still firmly planted on the ground.
“Don’t make me ask you twice, Sierra. It’s going to make me get real grumpy, and I don’t think you’ll like that.” Ace shifted his stance, crossing his arms over his broad chest—she was pretty sure it was broad, either that or she was seeing double—and looked down at her.
She got to her wobbly feet, pitching slightly to the side before steadying herself. Her head was spinning, her stomach churning, and she was just mad. Because she felt like crap. Because she knew better than to drink like this, at least when she wasn’t in the privacy of her own home.
“Which truck?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.
He jerked his head to the left. “This way.”
He turned, not waiting for her, and began to walk across the parking lot. She followed as quickly as she could. Fortunately, the lot was mostly empty so she didn’t have to watch much but the back of Ace as they made their way to the vehicle. It wasn’t a new, flashy truck. It was old, but it was in good condition. Better than most she’d seen at such an advanced age. But then, as far as she knew Ace wasn’t a rancher. He owned a bar, so it wasn’t like his truck saw all that much action.
She stood in front of the passenger-side door for a long moment before realizing he was not coming around to open it for her. Her face heated as she jerked open the door for herself and climbed inside.
It had a bench seat. And she found herself clinging to the door, doing her best to keep the expansive seat between them as wide as possible. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was a very large man. Tall, broad, muscular. She’d known that, somewhere in the back of her mind she’d known that. But the way he filled up the cab of a truck containing just the two of them was much more significant than the way he filled the space in a vast and crowded bar.
He started the engine, saying nothing as he put the truck in Reverse and began to pull out of the lot. She looked straight ahead, clinging to the door handle, desperate to find something to say. The silence was oppressive, heavy around them. It made her feel twitchy, nervous. She always knew what to say. She was in command of every social situation she ever stepped into. People found her charming, and if they didn’t, they never said otherwise. Because she was Sierra West, and her family name carried with it the burden of mandatory respect
