the hinges creaked. He’d done it this time. Kissed the boss’s daughter. Ellis Clayton should fire him. It wasn’t Angel’s fault. He’d be sure and tell Ellis that. He was to blame. What had started out months ago as a bit of lighthearted flirting had grown into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, other than it had to stop—before he sullied her reputation.
The saloon door opened again, and Rowdy glanced over his shoulder. Frank Sanders walked in, the spurs on his boots jingling a lopsided tune. “Hey, Rowdy,” he called, making his way to the bar along the back wall. “You ready to leave the Clayton spread and come work for me?”
“Naw, I’ll stay where I’m at,” Rowdy responded. It was the same exchange they had every time their paths crossed, and lately, he’d been thinking that if he had a lick of sense, he should seriously consider the man’s offer.
“Well, you let me know when you are.”
“I’ll do that.” Rowdy turned back to the glass in his hand, the one he’d been spinning around in circles since arriving at the Whistle Stop. He should’ve gone back to the ranch, got Angel’s list.
The dress she wore today was a formfitting creation of yellow, the same shade of sunshine as her massive curls. It made her big brown eyes look as if they were flecked with gold.
Even here in the saloon, where stale cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey hung in to the air, he could smell her lemony scent. His body tensed, grew hard and edgy. The woman was going to be the death of him. All it took was a simple glimpse of her and his loins burst to life, throbbing and aching.
Liza Spencer pulled out the chair next to him and sat. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.” She rested her chin on one fist. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, taking a pensive sip of the whiskey.
“You, Rowdy McGuire, make a poor liar.”
He emptied the rest of the prairie dew in his glass, gritting his teeth as it hit the back of his throat like a ball of fire.
“When are you gonna face the inevitable?”
Rowdy shook his head. “There is no inevitable.”
She laughed. “The rolling stone has set down roots.”
He shot her a menacing stare—probably because her words stuck like a cocklebur under a saddle. He’d been roaming for ten years, since he was sixteen and buried both his ma and pa on the Oregon Trail, but the moment he’d met Angel Clayton his wanderlust had dried up.
He’d tried to use Liza once—to drown Angel from his mind—but after he’d followed Liza up the stairs, he’d stopped. Another woman wouldn’t erase Angel. He was in too deep for that. Which made no sense. He liked his wandering life. Not being responsible for anyone but himself. Why did one woman matter so much?
When Angel had heard about him following Liza up the stairs, the hurt he saw in her big brown eyes had all but gutted him. He’d thought about telling her he and Liza hadn’t been pirooting, but ultimately concluded it was a moot point. She was Angel Clayton—the most sought after woman in the Territory. She couldn’t take up with the likes of him—a drifting cowpoke.
He knew his station in life, and Angel deserved more than he could offer. She deserved a man of means who knew about the finer things in life. One who would escort her around the world and cover her with silk gowns and jewels. Someone like Timothy Milner, whose family owned the Double B. It was no secret Milner expected Angel to marry him. Their union would create the largest ranch in the western hemisphere.
Liza pointed to his glass. “You want another shot of whiskey?”
Rowdy shook his head. Whiskey wasn’t going to help the feelings eating at him today.
“Buck up, cowboy.” Liza playfully punched his arm.
Rowdy wasn’t one to take to feeling sorry for himself. He’d been on his own too long for that, and in most things he’d done just fine. He had several hundred head of cattle running with Clayton’s herds, and a fair amount of money sitting in the Cottonwood bank. However, when it came to figuring out what to do about Angel Clayton he was a complete failure.
He let out a deep sigh. “Leave me alone, Liza.”
She whacked the back of his head hard enough to send his hat askew. “You’re about the most ignorant creature I’ve ever met.”
Had she been a man he’d have knocked her off her seat, but since it was Liza, he straightened his hat and glared at her.
She shook her head. “Maybe you need to head south. Find a herd of longhorns to look after. You’re about as stubborn as they are.”
Rowdy pushed away from the table before the steam in his ears made him say something he’d regret.
She grabbed his elbow. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He wrenched his arm away and stood. After slapping the money for his drink on the bar, he turned around, and came eye to eye with Ellis Clayton.
If he were a lesser man, he might have shrunk to the floor from the heavy weight of dread pouring over him, but Rowdy planted his heels and met the man’s stare. “Ellis,” he said with a nod.
“Just the man I was looking for.” The rancher’s brown eyes, full of the same grit and determination as his daughter’s, went to Liza. “Afternoon, Liza.”
“Afternoon, Ellis,” she replied, rising from her chair. “Can I get you men a drink?”
“Please,” Ellis agreed. “I need to talk to Rowdy.”
“I’ll bring the bottle,” she said, flipping around.
Ellis slapped Rowdy’s shoulder. “Have a seat.”
Against his better judgment, Rowdy sat, guts churning and sweat popping out on the back of his neck. Not with fear of being fired, but at the thought of disappointing Ellis Clayton. He was a good man, and Rowdy didn’t like letting anyone down.
“I owe you an apology, Rowdy,” Ellis started.
Rowdy removed his hat to scratch his head. Part in confusion, part because Liza was back, setting two glasses and a full bottle of good whiskey, not the prairie dew the establishment sold to the everyday crowd, on the table.
Once she moved away Rowdy looked the man in the eye. “Excuse me?”
Ellis poured them each a glass. “I owe you an apology for the way Angel’s behaving lately. The way she’s treating you.”
Rowdy picked up his glass and took a swallow before the glob in his throat made it impossible. Angel was not only beautiful, she was smart and compassionate, and the thought of anyone—even her father—slighting her was enough to make Rowdy see red.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl,” Ellis continued, lifting his glass. “She’s always been headstrong, but lately…” His words trailed off as he took a drink.
Rowdy clutched the glass. “Angel’s a good woman, Ellis. You have reason to be right proud of your daughter.”
