rel="nofollow" href="#u482ac5fa-deb4-5c38-a359-10163dbfd347">Chapter 1
“If one of those cowboys from the Humes’s ranch strokes my butt one more time, I’m going to toss a drink over somebody’s head,” Janis Little exclaimed to fellow Watering Hole waitress, Annie Holbrook, as they both reached the polished bar that stretched almost wall-to-wall along the side of the popular nightspot.
Annie grinned at her. “I double-dog dare you,” she said, her dark eyes snapping with mischief. “Stroking butts is the only way those men can convince themselves they have any kind of a romantic relationship with a woman. I triple-dog dare you.”
Janis laughed as the bartender, Tanner Woodson, approached them. “Ladies, talk to me,” he said.
“Three draft beers,” Annie said.
Janis gave him the orders for her tables and he stepped away to prepare the drinks.
“He is so hot,” Annie whispered to Janis.
Tanner was not only new to the town of Bitterroot, Oklahoma, but tonight was only his third night on the job.
So far, as manager of the bar, Janis was impressed with him. He was friendly with the patrons but not overly so. He was quick and efficient, and when he had a moment to rest, he didn’t. Instead he wiped down the bar, cleaned glasses and restocked the lemons and limes and olives that topped the drinks.
“Janis, did you hear what I said?” Annie poked Janis in the rib with her elbow.
“Yeah, he’s okay,” she replied.
“Okay? He’s got the dreamiest blue eyes and that beautiful dark hair, and enough chest muscles to make a girl feel safe if she was in his arms.”
“You’re practically on the verge of drooling,” Janis said dryly.
“You’d drool, too, if you weren’t already hung up on that sexy Holiday Ranch cowboy who can’t hold his drinks.”
“I’m not hung up on anyone,” Janis replied even as she felt her cheeks warm with a blush.
Thankfully, at that moment, Tanner returned with their drinks. The Watering Hole was the place for singles and dating couples to hang out and this evening it was hopping with the usual Saturday night crowd.
There was definitely one of the Holiday Ranch cowboys who made Janis’s heart lift just a little bit whenever she saw him, but those men had yet to arrive for their ritual Saturday night of drinking and blowing off steam.
Right now she was stuck serving the Humes’s ranch men, who seemed to live for the chance to make everyone else’s life miserable. “Here we are,” she said as she reached their table. She’d never met a group of more odious men.
“About time,” Zeke Osmond said and then offered up a smarmy smile. “But I’ll forgive you for taking so long if you give me a little kiss.”
“Sorry, Zeke, I’m not allowed to kiss the customers.”
It took her only a minute to serve the beers to Shep Harmon and Ace Sanders. Lloyd Green, the oldest of them all, got a Scotch on the rocks. As she bent over to place the drink in front of him, Zeke grabbed her butt.
She whirled around to face him, grabbed his beer from her tray and, with a pretend trip, poured every single drop into his lap.
“What the hell!” he shouted and jumped up out of his chair.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied.
Lloyd guffawed. “Looks like you done peed your pants, Zeke.” The rest of the men at the table hooted with laughter.
“You did that on purpose.” Zeke’s dark eyes glittered with anger.
“It was an accident,” she replied. “I’ll go get you a bar towel so you can clean yourself up. I’ll be right back.”
As she headed to the bar, she shot a quick glance across the room. Annie grinned at her and flashed a quick thumbs-up sign.
It had been a highly unprofessional thing to do, but she wasn’t sorry. She would do it again in a minute. She was tired of the Humes’s men, and Zeke Osmond in particular, acting like it was their right to touch her body intimately.
“Tanner, can I get a clean towel?” she asked the bartender.
He reached down to a shelf under the bar and handed one to her. “Was that an accidentally-on-purpose move?” His blue eyes twinkled knowingly.
“I plead the fifth,” she replied with a laugh.
She returned to the table and handed Zeke the towel. He was still standing, cursing and raving about her spilling the drink on purpose.
“Sit down and shut up already,” Lloyd growled at him. “You’re starting to give me a damned headache.”
Zeke obeyed, settling back into his chair with the towel in his lap and a glare at Janis. She ignored him and moved on to check on her other patrons.
At seven thirty the band began to play and people hit the wooden dance floor. The Croakin’ Frogs, a local band, played every Saturday night. The rest of the nights the jukebox kept peoples’ toes tapping.
It was just before eight when the men from the Holiday Ranch arrived. Although about a dozen worked on the ranch, only six came in the door, and one in particular made Janis’s heart beat just a little bit faster.
Sawyer Quincy. He had ginger-colored hair and copper-hued eyes. His shoulders were broad enough to carry a woman into happily-ever-after and his jeans rode a little low on his slim hips. She’d had a silly crush on him for years.
The men greeted people as they wove their way through the crowded bar and settled in at one of the large booths in her section. As usual, Sawyer took the position in the corner of the booth where, before the night was over, he would slump down in a beer-induced unconsciousness. That man definitely shouldn’t be drinking.
She approached the booth with her usual smile and her order pad ready.
“Ah, if it isn’t our favorite waitress,” Sawyer said. Although his smile made her feel like they shared something special, that was just the warmth he offered everyone with his gorgeous grins.
“And if it isn’t my favorite group of men to wait on,” she replied.
The Watering Hole served the usual bar fare like deep-fried pickles and mozzarella sticks, but the menu also offered up a variety of burgers and sandwiches. Within minutes, Janis had their drink and food orders and was headed to the kitchen to turn in her ticket.
She then served their drinks and returned to the kitchen to pick up their food.
“Busy night,” Charlie Williams, the head cook, said to her.
“Saturday nights are always busy,” she replied. “Maybe it would cut down on traffic if you didn’t serve your famous pulled pork every Saturday.”
“But then I wouldn’t be worshipped as the barbecue king of Bitterroot,”
