singer belt out “Drink Up and Be Somebody,” which reminded her... She tapped an acrylic fingernail on the bar and a third glass of Bordeaux magically appeared. She sipped the wine and focused on the lead singer who’d introduced himself as Mack Cash. As he moved across the stage, his brown eyes and shaggy brown hair screamed T-R-O-U-B-L-E. The kind of trouble she was looking for tonight.
He wore a tight black T-shirt that showcased his muscular chest, and his jeans rode low on his hips, accentuating a trim waist and a flat belly. And the faded denim was torn, frayed and ripped in all the places that made a woman’s mouth water.
Oh, yeah, she’d found her man.
Before the night was through, she was leaving the bar with Mack.
A group of women moved closer to the stage, their big breasts bobbing and bouncing for the band’s viewing pleasure. Beth’s push-up bra helped her figure, but her girlfriends couldn’t compete with what was on display.
“Care to dance?”
The question came from behind Beth, and she spun on the stool. Average height, pleasant face, receding hairline, brand-new cowboy hat in hand, a bucking-horse belt buckle, freshly pressed jeans and a Western pearl-snap shirt. The weekend cowboy had tried hard to pull off the look, but he didn’t stand a chance in a bar full of real ones.
An invisible string tugged Beth’s head sideways, her gaze colliding with Mack’s. She stopped breathing when he smiled at her. “I’m sorry,” she told weekend cowboy. “I’m with him.” She nodded to the band. Now if only she knew how to execute her plan.
You need a clever pickup line.
How about... Hey, cowboy, wanna share my saddle?
Ugh.
I’ll be your Miss Kitty if you’ll be my Matt Dillon.
Cheesy.
The Cowboy Rebels ended their music set and Mack announced that the band was taking a break. He set aside his guitar, stepped off the stage and headed straight for Beth.
Her pulse sped up as she anticipated a night of revenge sex—even if it did come after her divorce.
Mack stopped next to her and she felt the warmth in his eyes clear down to her toes. The cowboy probably flirted with hundreds of women each weekend, yet he made her believe she had his undivided attention. He leaned against the bar, the movement sending a whiff of musk cologne and warm male past her nose.
Oh, boy. She’d bitten off more than she could chew.
“I haven’t seen you here before. First time?”
She nodded then silently cursed her dry throat. “Yes. And you?” Oh, God. She didn’t just ask that, did she? Get a grip on yourself and stop acting like an idiot.
“My band’s been playing at the bar for a few years.” He nodded to her wineglass. “Mind if I join you for a drink?”
“Please.” The guy next to Beth had vacated his seat without being asked. Mack slid onto the stool, his knees bumping her thigh. The bartender set a beer in front of him. He nodded to her wineglass. “Can I buy you another?”
Three glasses of wine was her limit. “I’m good, thanks.”
His stare grew intense and she resisted squirming. Even when she’d dated hotshot Brad, he hadn’t made her feel this off balanced.
“I’m Mack Cash.”
“Beth.”
“Beth what?”
“Just Beth.”
“An Arizona cowboy walks into a bar and takes a seat next to an attractive woman named Just Beth.” Mack kept a straight face. He’d noticed Beth the moment she’d entered the bar and had been hoping she wouldn’t hook up with another cowboy before he had the chance to speak with her.
“The cowboy gives Just Beth a quick glance then casually looks at his watch.” Mack nodded to his timepiece. “She asks...” He waited to see if she’d help his story along and when she didn’t, he said, “‘Is your date running late?’” Mack shook his head. “‘No’, the cowboy replies. ‘I just got this state-of-the-art watch and I was testing it.’”
Beth’s eyes twinkled and her posture relaxed. The muscle in her thigh was no longer as hard as a rock and she’d quit tapping her fingernail against the wineglass.
“Intrigued, Just Beth says, ‘What’s so special about your state-of-the-art watch?’ The cowboy explains, ‘It uses alpha waves to talk to me telepathically.’”
She laughed.
“So this Just Beth points at the cowboy’s watch and says, ‘What’s it telling you now?’”
Mack leaned closer to Beth and whispered. “‘It says you’re not wearing any panties.’”
She faked a surprised gasp. “How did Just Beth respond to that?”
“She said the cowboy’s watch must be broken ’cause she’s wearing panties.”
“And what did the cowboy say?” Beth asked.
“He points to his watch and says, ‘Damn thing’s an hour fast.’”
Beth’s mouth formed a perfect O then she snapped it shut and giggled.
Mack glanced at her bare ring finger. “So tell me, Just Beth, do you have a cowboy waiting for you at home?”
“Not anymore.”
“If I were to suggest we get to know each other better after the band finishes tonight...”
“I’d say yes.”
Score! Mack leaned in close, inhaling her sexy scent. “I’ll see you in an hour.” He returned to the stage and the band played a set of rodeo songs and he pushed Beth to the back of his mind, focusing on entertaining the crowd. He never wanted to disappoint his fans.
During the week he made decent money cowboying at the Black Jack Mountain Dude Ranch, but it was the income he earned playing music that padded his savings account. His married brothers suggested he use the money to build a house and find a good woman to settle down with. In the span of a little over three years, four of his brothers and his younger sister had tied the knot. Mack and Porter were the only single siblings left in the family.
A part of Mack admitted that he wasn’t getting as much satisfaction out of the singles scene but old habits died hard, and he was only willing to give up the nightlife when the right woman came along. He looked over at the bar.
Just Beth’s stool was empty.
There went another shot at finding the right woman.
* * *
THE LAST PATRONS walked out the door of the Number 10 Saloon and drove off, leaving only a few scattered pickups in the parking lot. Beth sat on the tailgate of one of the trucks, rocking her legs as if she was on a
