shoulders against the back of the booth. “Just here to throw darts.” The guys stared at him. “And that bike trail could lead to all kinds of other prob—”
The door to the bar opened, and Levi stopped talking. He couldn’t breathe, and that didn’t make any sense at all. It was just a woman. Pretty brown hair pinned up on her head. Pale, creamy skin. He couldn’t see her eyes from this distance, but her lips were red and turned up at the corners. She twirled a set of car keys on her finger, and gathered the train of her dress—a wedding dress, and that was weird—in her other hand, saving it from the closing of the door.
“You were saying?” Collin prodded him, but Levi couldn’t remember what the three of them had been talking about. He’d been a little annoyed with them. Something about the bike trail that still hadn’t been decided on by the county commissioners.
His mouth went a little dry, and he forced himself to take a long breath. Tried to make his heart stop galloping in his chest. She was...the most beautiful figment his imagination had ever created.
“Something’s definitely wrong with him,” Aiden said. And Levi realized his friend was right.
There was something very, very wrong with a man who hallucinated a beautiful woman in a wedding dress. Something really wrong.
Maybe it was a brain tumor, only instead of giving him migraines, the tumor was causing him to imagine beautiful women. Or maybe Adam’s epilepsy was catching. Airborne or something. Didn’t he say that things went fuzzy and stopped looking normal when a seizure was starting?
A beautiful woman, in a wedding dress, in his favorite bar was definitely not normal.
Levi blinked. The woman was still there, standing just inside the door of the bar, looking a little lost. She wasn’t fuzzy around the edges or anything.
So she wasn’t a hallucination, then. He could cross brain tumor off the list of things that were wrong with him. That left the epilepsy. Except that couldn’t be it, because a person didn’t catch epilepsy because he hung out with someone who had the disease. That left...jealousy.
Was he jealous of the relationships his friends were in?
Levi Walters didn’t get jealous. He had everything he needed at the ranch. More than he needed when he thought about the plans he had for the business that had been in his family for three generations. He didn’t need a girlfriend. Definitely didn’t need a woman in his life who walked into a bar in a wedding dress. That was a little too desperate, even for a guy who hadn’t had sex in...more months than he cared to recall.
She focused in on Merle, the bartender, and crossed the room, the heels of her shoes click-clacking across the hardwood floor.
“I’m lost,” she said, and Levi found himself leaving the booth and crossing the bar.
He wasn’t looking for anything. He knew who he was, knew where he was going. He had good friends, and he was happy for those friends.
But there was something about the woman who’d just walked into the bar that was different.
Maybe, just this once, he should let himself consider something different.
CAMDEN CROSSED THE hardwood floor to the bar, wishing she’d at least grabbed the ballet flats she’d worn to the wedding venue that afternoon. The ballet flats wouldn’t echo so much in the cavernous space. At least there weren’t hundreds of people crowding the dance floor, staring at the strange woman in the wedding dress. She really should have thought this whole thing through. Should have taken five minutes at her mother’s house to shed this ridiculous gown.
She couldn’t stop now, though. She was probably the only person in the world to get lost in such a small town. And she wasn’t even really lost. She knew she needed to get on the highway—it was those stupid one-way streets that were causing the problem.
The older man at the bar wore a faded Kansas City Royals T-shirt and was wiping down a mahogany bar that already looked pristinely clean.
“I’m a little lost,” she said, trying to keep her voice low. The only full table was in the back of the bar. What appeared to be three locals were sitting there, and they probably couldn’t overhear her. Still, she didn’t want to advertise her predicament to the whole town. “I’m trying to get on the highway, but every time I hit the intersection, the one-ways make me go the wrong direction.”
“You want a beer?” The older man’s voice was gruff, but he didn’t seem annoyed.
“No, just the directions, please.” He looked at her for a long moment. “Okay, and the beer.”
He grabbed a bottle from below the bar and slid it across the shiny surface. The mountains on the label were icy blue. She eyed the amber bottle for a long time, hearing her mother’s voice in her head. Telling her wine was a lady’s drink, but that a lady never had more than half a glass. As if she were living in the 1800s and not the twenty-first century. Real women drank. And she was tired of living by rules that were not her own.
What the heck? She was in a bar, in a strange town, wearing her wedding dress. “Do you have a bottle opener?”
“Twist-off cap,” the bartender said. He put the cleaning rag away.
Camden twisted the cold cap and grinned when it popped off in her hand. She put the bottle to her lips and grimaced as the beer hit her tastebuds. Maybe her mother had been right about this one thing; wine was very definitely preferable to the contents of this bottle, pretty amber color or not. She pushed the bottle away. “About those directions?”
“Sure. The mayor ordered new signs after the tornado. Only the crew working that area were supposed to put them just past that intersection. You go one more street past the light, then hang your right and follow the signs from there.”
That seemed simple enough. “Great. Thank you.”
“No problem.” He seemed to consider his answer. “Course, you could also just take this street out to the bridge and catch the highway there.”
Even better, she wouldn’t have to make her way around the one-ways again. “Thank you, again. How much for the beer?”
“Three dollars. You taking it with you?”
Camden eyed the bottle. “No. No, I’ve had enough. You wouldn’t have a white wine?”
The older man narrowed his eyes and snatched the still-full bottle from the counter. “This is a bar, lady, not a nightclub. We serve beer, whiskey and tequila.”
“Don’t you let this old geezer bother you, honey.” A Hispanic woman came up to the bar, holding a round serving tray. “I’m Juanita, and this is Merle. He’s harmless, but he has definite ideas about the differences in bars, nightclubs and bar-and-grill-type places. We have a nice boxed blush—”
“You said I only had to keep those frou-frou drinks on hand during the summer.”
“Summer ended about a week ago—”
“A month and a half ago, woman, it’ll be Thanksgiving
