Chapter 8
EVERYTHING LOOKED BETTER behind the lens of a camera. Ashley Ozark focused on a group at the end of the bar, and the shutter of her Canon EOS 5D Mark III made a delightful swish as she captured a head thrown back in laughter, a sardonic look from a friend, another face shadowed by a cowboy hat and a fourth wiping his brow. She smiled, happy with the result of the image, a conversation between friends and rivals, so intimate she almost felt like she’d overheard it.
She knew those men, rodeo boys, probably egging each other on, making bets, relieving tension before the county fair and rodeo this weekend.
A sharp-nailed, rat-a-tat-tat, on the top of her head made her lower the camera.
“Ouch.”
Her older sister, Beth, stood to her side. “You’re supposed to be helping bartend tonight. Not spending the entire time behind that camera.”
“I’ve been hired to take pictures by the County Fair Committee. I’m just doing my job here.”
“Yes, and you’ve also been hired to tend bar tonight.” She indicated the long line of patrons waiting to be served. “By our father, I might add, who is also on the Fair Committee.”
“Okay, okay.” Ashley sighed, tucking the camera away into its bag and storing it under the counter. “I got some great candids in here.”
“I’m sure you did.” Beth tossed an apron at her head, but Ash caught it before it hit her face. “Now put that on and get to work.”
“Tyrant,” she muttered.
“You got that right.”
“Bully.”
“Exactly. Now get to work before I kick your ass.”
“Like you could.”
With a grin, Ashley tied the apron around her waist and lifted her chin at the next person in line, indicating she was ready to take their order. While she helped out at the bar on the odd occasion because the Prospector Saloon in the Gold Dust Hotel was owned by her family, it really wasn’t her scene. She preferred her quiet job at the flower shop, Heart’s Bouquet, down the street. However, during the county fair it was a given—all hands on deck. That meant all five of the Ozark girls were required to help: she and Beth behind the bar, Brandi on the floor and the twins, Zoe and Chloe, in the kitchen. This year it was even more imperative because it was Half Moon High’s Centennial celebration, so they expected more out-of-towners than normal. Based on the crowd tonight, it was an accurate assumption.
Ashley was happy to help. It meant extra dough, both working at the saloon and taking pictures, and every penny she made was going toward her Get-the-hell-out-of-Half-Moon Fund. So she plastered on a smile and kept the cold ones coming. Already the bar was standing room only, even though the festivities didn’t officially start until tomorrow. The din from people talking and laughing was so loud, it drowned out the sound of the band. That was until her sister Brandi got up on stage between songs and grabbed the mic.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she bellowed and yet still managed to sound sultry in a way that only Brandi could with her practiced, husky voice.
People stopped talking and heads turned—or at least, every male head turned, like a flock of sheep.
Baaaaa.
“For those who are visiting, welcome back to Half Moon Creek. We’re so pleased you were able to come to the rodeo and fair this year and to celebrate Half Moon High’s Centennial Celebration. We’ll be kicking everything off Friday morning—Oh, my God! That’s tomorrow, already—with a parade followed by the rodeo and opening of the fair grounds. Don’t forget to pick up tickets for Saturday’s big formal banquet. Tickets are still available at the front desk and...”
“Sweetheart?” came a voice from her left. “A little help here. I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes and...”
Ashley spun toward the deep voice. She turned up the volume on her smile when she saw who it was. Colton Cross. Figured. The cocky, bull-riding cowboy was exactly the kind of person who would think it was okay—no, not okay—he probably figured she’d be flattered by him calling her sweetheart.
“Well now, honey baby. What can I get for my sugar pie?”
“What?” Colton mouthed the words sugar pie with a look of confusion on his unfortunately handsome features.
“Oh. I’m sorry, sweetie, aren’t we on a ‘terms of endearment’ basis?”
“Umm...” Colton’s brows drew together so close they formed one line across his forehead. “Ahh...whatever you say, darlin’. Can I get two pints of Beaverhead draft and an order of nachos—”
“You did not,” Ashley said, leaning across the bar. This was exactly why she couldn’t wait to leave Half Moon. Macho rodeo jerks like Colton Cross.
“I did not, what?” He asked slowly.
She rolled her eyes. “Call me darlin’—”
Oomph.
