So Tough to Tame (Jackson Hole 3)

“Come on, Walker. I can barely walk in these things. Be a gentleman and let me hold your arm.”

Well, shit. He wouldn’t say no to that, and she knew it. Her smile tipped into triumph. Walker gave in with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll walk you over to the saloon, and then I’m leaving.”

“We’ll see.”

She took his arm even though he highly suspected she didn’t need any help. Then again, he hadn’t often seen Merry in heels. She was more a jeans and Converse kind of girl. “Where’s Shane? I like it when he gets all riled up about you.”

She grinned. “Me, too. But I don’t think he’s home yet.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I was going to dance you around the saloon porch a little, just to rub it in.”

“I don’t dance in heels. I just sit on a bar stool and look stunning.”

“Same as without heels, then?”

She elbowed him and snorted. “You’re such a dork.”

This was what he loved about Merry. No one ever called him a dork. And he was damn sure no one had ever called Shane Harcourt a dork, either, but Walker had heard Merry say the same to him. No wonder Shane was hooked. Merry was sweet and smart as hell. Unfortunately, that kind of woman didn’t go for Walker. Not for the long term anyway.

He escorted Merry up the steps to the saloon porch, then hesitated at the door. He normally loved a good night out, but he wasn’t in the mood quite as often lately.

Merry tugged him forward. “You can drop me off at the bar.”

“In case you think I don’t know I’m being played, I know I’m being played,” he muttered, but he opened the door and waved her in.

Country music thumped through the air, and his heart immediately reset itself to the rhythm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he could stay for a few minutes to be polite. He let Merry lead him toward the bar. She’d apparently dropped any pretense that she needed a steady arm to support her, but Walker couldn’t resent it. He’d spotted a hot female ass in tight jeans and Merry was taking him straight toward it.

“Look who I found!” she called to the crowd at the bar.

Several faces turned toward him, but Walker was busy raising his eyes up the woman’s spine and over long brown hair to see Charlie smiling over her shoulder at him. He blinked, surprised yet again that she was all grown-up and working a gorgeous ass. His eyes slipped down again, over her long, long legs to the bright red spike heels she wore. Damn.

“Hey, Walker,” she purred when he drew near.

Wait, he thought as he leaned down to return her hug. Charlie Allington purring? He must’ve heard that wrong.

“You ready for that payment I promised?” Her breath whispered over his ear, the words sneaking inside him.

He pulled back quickly. “A beer, right?”

“Sure, unless

you want a pomegranate martini.” She pointed at the drink she held, which was such a bright red the reflection tinged the underside of her chin pink.

“You think I won’t drink a pomegranate martini?” He lifted his chin toward Jenny and gestured to Charlie’s drink. “I’ll take one of these,” he called.

Jenny rolled her eyes, but she grabbed the martini shaker.

Charlie looked up at his hat, then down to his boots, but she stayed silent until he reached over to the bar and snagged the drink.

“Thanks,” he said, raising the glass toward her before he took a sip. “Perfect.”

“You’re pretty damn adorable,” she said. “A big old cowboy drinking a pretty little cocktail.”

“Yeah?” He leaned a little closer out of flirtatious habit.

“Yeah. Those rough fingers curved around that delicate glass? It’s...promising.”

His blood heated by a few degrees. She liked seeing his fingers on something delicate, did she? She’d moved closer, too, and he could smell her hair. He could also see straight down the front of her red shirt, and the rise of her breasts were faint curves that ended at a silky black bra. “You look awfully promising yourself, Charlie.”