"My friend is staying with the twins, and I need to bring her something from her brother."
"Well," he says, all helpful now, "you take Main Street right through town and keep going. The big trees are a tip-off that you're getting close. The McLaughlins have a big front gate with the letter "M" on it. It's lighted, so you can't miss it even in the dark."
"Thanks a lot, man."
I start for the door when he gets to talking again. "They won't be around right now. I mean, if that matters to you."
"Come again?" I ask, turning back.
"Someone will be at the house to let you in. If you're looking for the twins and your friend, they won't be at the house at this time in the evening."
"Got any idea where they could be?"
The man scratches at his chest, near his faded nametag spelling out "Gigger." "Are you really a friend of theirs because I don't want to get in any trouble for telling you stuff?"
"No one is getting in any trouble."
The man glances outside then back at me. "You come to town alone?" When I nod, he chuckles. "I don't see you being a threat all by your lonesome. The twins usually spend their evenings at the Hidey-hole."
"Where's that?"
"Keep going like you're heading to their place. It's the big honky-tonk with the howling dog sign on your right side."
After thanking him again, I head down the road and past plenty of storefronts with rocking chairs on the front porches. People watch me go by, and a few of them wave. I sense either this town is friendly as hell or I'll be buried in an unmarked grave soon.
The Hidey-hole doesn't do much to conceal itself, despite the camouflage painted walls. I pull into the half-full parking lot, and find a spot away from the semi-trucks lined up on the far end. Country music plays from the outdoor speakers located near the dog sign's howling mouth.
The bar is bigger on the inside than I expect. The decor feels more steakhouse than honky-tonk, and I'm struck by the scent of grilling meat. A pretty waitress smiles at me and asks where I'd like to sit.
I glance around the place and spot a head of blonde curls. "I'm meeting someone," I tell the waitress and make a beeline for Sawyer before my common sense gets the better of me.
Her back faces me as she picks a song from the jukebox. Sawyer's lean body sways once the distinctive sounds of Ram Jam's Black Betty begin over the speakers. The men in the bar notice the hot blonde grooving. Even if I don't blame them for admiring all the bare flesh her tight tank and shorts offer, I feel a familiar jealousy rising up in me. Even knowing this isn't the time or the place to lose my shit, I decide logic be damned, I'm ready to murder anyone who so much as breathes on her.
Sawyer turns around, sees me, and stops jamming halfway through a hip thrust. Her eyes freeze, so I don't know if she's scared or pissed. I don't know what she's thinking, but I'm quite certain of my feelings
I cup her face and kiss her before I can stop myself. Her lips open in surprise, and I taste beer and steak sauce on her tongue. I don't know how long our lips mash together, hungry for something we haven't felt in nearly nine months. All I can think is how much I love this woman and how badly I fucked up. My kiss promises I'll fix all the bullshit I've caused.
Pulling my lips away, I look into her bright blue eyes and try to think of the right words. Before I can speak, Sawyer does.
"Oh, hell, no!" she yells, trying to knee me in the crotch.
I block her knee, and the punch she throws next. Frustrated, Sawyer runs for the front door.
Instinct kicking in, I beat Sawyer to the door and grab her around the waist. The girl bucks like a wild animal, but I manage to hold on.
"Let me go!" she screams, punching at me.
Sawyer's too upset tonight to focus, and her strikes go wild. I dodge them before swinging her over my shoulder and turn to the door. I expect everyone in this place to pull their weapons and stop the newcomer from stealing a girl from their domain. People laugh instead. Some take pictures on their phones. No one looks ready to call the cops as I storm past them and out the door.
The music is loud enough outside that I can't hear the names Sawyer's calling me. I suspect most of her threats involve my dick though. Despite my ease at getting out of the honky-tonk, I'm screwed. How the hell do I get this pissed chick anywhere? Sawyer will most definitely jump off a moving Harley. She once jumped out of Bailey's moving SUV because her sister wouldn't change the channel. Sawyer's temper shorts out her common sense every time.
"Hell," I grunt standing in the open. "Do you have a car?"
"I'm going to filet your dick. Grill it too. Feed it to my dogs!"
I open my mouth to mention something about Cooper sending me. I even think to explain how I'm only there to help. My goal is to bullshit Sawyer long enough to find her keys.