Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)

Since the Big Sugar is the only bar in town, that’s where we end up an hour later.

The townsfolk of Sandbank congregate in packs of denim, leather, and wide-brimmed hats. Their boots scrape across floors covered in ground peanut shells, and distrust tapers their eyes as our party of three settles into a high-top table.

It’s not just my tattoos that raise their hackles. Though, that’s part of it. Women in this town just don’t put ink on their skin. Period.

Their main point of interest is the arm Jake rests around my shoulders. The fact that we’re together is enough to ripple whispers of controversy through the bar.

He leans in and drags his nose along my cheek. “Ignore them.”

Hard to ignore all the women ogling my cowboy like he’s the juiciest slab of meat in three counties. Last time I was here, I swore to a table of old classmates that I wouldn’t take their playboy off the market.

The fact that he’s been with a lot of these women riles a toxic, gnawing ache in my gut.

I shove back my shoulders and rise from the stool. “I need a beer. You guys want anything?”

“A beer?” Jake narrows his eyes. “You’re going to drink?”

“I’m twenty-two years old.” I shrug. “’bout time I give it a try.”

“You can share mine.” He gets Jarret’s order and ambles to the bar.

Every female in the bar watches him pass, eyes glued to his ass as he leans a denim-clad hip against the bar and tips his hat at the bartender.

He has the kind of intimidating beauty that stops a woman in her tracks. He must be used to it, the hitching of breaths and the sweep of greedy eyes. His confident nonchalance about it only makes them stare longer and pine harder.

My hands ball into fists on my lap. “I’m in high school again.”

“You were pretty back then.” Jarret uncurls my fingers and gives my hand a gentle pat. “But you’re unbelievably gorgeous now. Those women are so threatened by you they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

I glance down at my plain white tee, tattered jeans, and beat-up square toe boots. I’ve never put girly products on my face or in my hair. Jarret’s judgment must be clouded by his affection for me.

The familiar faces around me are all done up with pretty make-up, their hair ironed and sprayed or whatever they do to make it so shiny and straight. Except that one. I squint at the blonde perched at the end of the bar, watching her as she stares a hole through Jake.

She’s not even trying to blend in with her fitted black trousers, button-up shirt, high-heeled pumps, and curly hair that cascades around her shoulders, down her back, and everywhere. She runs a hand over it, patting down the unruly locks, like it’s a nervous habit. Her hair is natural and beautiful. Hell, she is beautiful.

And she’s not from around here.

“Who is that woman?” I poke Jarret’s leg. “Do you see the…?”

He’s already gawking at her with his tongue sliding across his lip. “I don’t know, but tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you what her O face looks like.”

“Don’t be a pig.”

He laughs and cuts himself off. “Oh shit. Here she comes.”

She slides off the stool and glides toward us, navigating those heels through the sawdust of tossed peanut shells.

“She has that gleam in her eyes.” He stares at her with creases marring his brow.

“What gleam?”

“She’s on the hunt, and it has nothing to do with my irresistible charm.”

“Oh, brother.” I shake my head, biting down on a smile.

At the bar, Jake collects the beers and heads back. His longer strides catch up with the woman, and they arrive at the table together.

He straddles the stool beside me and passes a beer to Jarret.

“Um… Hi.” The woman hooks a thumb under the purse strap on her shoulder. “You’re the Holsten twins, right?”

“Yup.” Jarret takes a long draw on the bottle and stares her up and down, lingering on her chest, then her lips.

I kick his boot beneath the table. “Women don’t like to be leered at.”

She inclines her head at me, blue eyes shining with gratitude. “You must be Conor Cassidy.”

My scalp tingles. How does an out-of-towner know my name?

Jake slides his beer in front of me, his attention on the woman. “And you are?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Jarret rests his forearms on the table and captures her gaze. “That’s your name?”

“Yeah.” Her smile tightens at the corners. “Maybe Quinn. Mind if I sit?”

Jarret nods and waits for her to lower onto the stool.

I sip from the beer, surprised by the tangy flavor. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it, either. I pass it back to Jake.

“So, Maybe…” Jarret tilts his hat, scrutinizing her. “Which news network do you work for?”

News network? A chill works its way down my spine. Is she a reporter? How does he know?