buckle bunnies—young women who flirted and hoped to sleep with a cowboy in possession of a championship belt buckle—over the years, and he was glad that part of his life was behind him. Hopefully with his retirement from rodeo after the finals a couple of months ago, that type of woman would lose interest in him and move on to another cowboy who didn’t care if he became nothing more than a notch on a groupie’s bedpost.
When he didn’t respond to her comment and expectant expression, she shrugged one shoulder. “Well, if you need anything else—anything at all—just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Jaron said, taking a swig of his beer as he watched the waitress move over to another table where three men sat. It was clear one of them was going to get lucky and be invited to join her for a night of fun after she got off work.
After downing his beer, he got several dollars out of his wallet and tossed them on top of the table. There was no sense sitting there paying for more beer when he had a cold twelve-pack in his refrigerator at home.
But just as he started to get up, he noticed a woman walk through the door and up to the bar. He uttered a word under his breath that he reserved for smashed thumbs and card games with his brothers as he settled back down in his chair. What the hell was she doing here?
She was wearing a red dress that fit her body like a glove, and there was very little left to the imagination about the size of her breasts or the curve of her slender hips. He swallowed back another curse as his gaze drifted lower. That little red number she wore ended about midthigh and gave him more than a fair idea of how long and shapely her legs were. But it was the shiny black high heels she had on that caused him to grind his teeth. Those four-inch spikes were the kind a man looked at and knew the woman wearing them was just asking for him to take her home and pleasure her throughout the night.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only guy in the room to notice. As Jaron watched, a seedy-looking cowboy with a Skoal ring on the hip pocket of his jeans and a leering grin walked up beside her. She glanced at the man, shook her head and turned back to speak to the bartender. It was crystal clear she wasn’t buying what the good old boy was selling.
Jaron decided he wasn’t going anywhere. At least not while Mariah Stanton was standing there looking for all the world like every man’s midnight fantasy.
But as he watched the cowboy try to get her to pay attention to him, Jaron could tell from the look on the man’s face that there was going to be trouble. The guy wanted her, and she didn’t want any part of him. Unfortunately, the son of a bitch was either too drunk, too stupid or too determined to take no for an answer.
When the jerk reached out and took hold of her upper arm, Mariah recoiled, and that was when Jaron came up out of his chair to cross the room like a bull out of the bucking chute. Without a moment’s hesitation, he planted his right fist along the man’s jaw and watched the bastard hit the floor in an undignified heap.
“Jaron?” Mariah sounded startled when she looked over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing?”
“Saving your pretty little ass from getting into more trouble than you can handle,” he retorted angrily.
“You knocked out Roy Lee!” one of the man’s friends shouted, taking a step toward Jaron.
“Do we have a problem?” Jaron growled through clenched teeth as he quickly moved Mariah behind him out of harm’s way.
A good six inches shorter than Jaron’s six-foot-two-inch height, the man stared at him a moment then hastily shook his head. “I ain’t got no quarrel with you, dude,” he said, hastily taking a couple of steps in the opposite direction.
“Then, I strongly suggest you pick Roy Lee up off the floor and leave me and the lady alone,” Jaron ordered.
As Roy Lee’s friends hauled him to his feet, Jaron turned and, putting his arm around Mariah’s waist, ushered her out of the place. She tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his arm around her and didn’t stop as he guided her out the exit and toward her car in the parking lot.
“Jaron, have you lost your mind?” she asked as he hurried her along.
“What the hell do you think you were doing walking into a cowboy bar looking for all the world as if you’re advertising for a roll in the hay, Mariah?” he demanded when they reached her compact sedan.
“I don’t look like I’m advertising for any such thing,” she said, jerking away from him. “And what’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? I think I look just fine.”
Jaron folded his arms across his chest and let his gaze slide from the top of her dark brown hair to the soles of her impossibly high heels. That was the problem. She did look fine. Too fine.
He ignored her question and asked one of his own. “What in the name of Sam Hill did you think you were doing stopping by the Broken Spoke alone?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I had a dinner meeting in Fort Worth and on my way back home my car started making an odd noise. I managed to get it into this parking lot just before it died completely, and after I discovered that my cell phone needed recharging, I went inside to call a tow truck.”
He watched her emerald eyes narrow as she glared at him. “And even if I had been there for other reasons, it’s none of your business. I can handle situations like what happened in there all by myself.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that why old Roy Lee put his filthy hands on you?” Jaron asked, doing his best to hold on to his temper. “The minute that bastard grabbed hold of your arm he made it my business.”
When he’d seen the man touch her, Jaron had damned near come unglued. Aside from the fact that he took exception to any man forcing his attention on a woman when it was clear she didn’t want it, the woman in question had been Mariah. As long as he had a single breath left in his body, nobody was going to treat her with anything but complete respect.
“Really? It’s your business? You’ve made it perfectly clear all these years that you have absolutely no interest in anything I do.” She shook her head. “You can’t have it both ways, Jaron. Either you are interested or you aren’t.”
“You’re my sister-in-law’s kid sister,” he said stubbornly. “I’m just watching out for you.”
“Oh, good grief! Get over it, Jaron.” She rested her hands on her sexy hips. “In case you haven’t noticed lately, I’m no longer a naive eighteen-year-old girl. I’ve grown up. I’m twenty-five and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Jaron took a deep breath. Oh, he’d noticed several years ago that Mariah wasn’t the teenager he had met when his foster brother Sam Rafferty had married Bria Stanton. Back then Mariah had had a crush on him, and although he had found her attractive, he knew that a nine-year age difference made him too old for her. But over the years, he would have had to be as blind as a bat not to notice that she had grown into a beautiful, sexy woman. And that was the problem.
Interested didn’t even begin to cover what he felt for Mariah. He wouldn’t call it love. Hell, he’d have to believe in the emotion before he could say that was what it was. But he did find himself thinking about her a lot, and whenever the family got together for birthdays dinners or holidays, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.
“I don’t care how old you are. There’s no sense in putting yourself into a dangerous situation,” he insisted.
