“Yes, he is.”

  The door creaks, and when I look over this time, it is him.

  Finally.

  The air charges between us, across the bar, across the room. I know something has changed. I have changed. But though he doesn’t know what twister of emotions I went through in the last fifteen minutes, he seems to feel that something is different too.

  He tilts his head toward the door behind him, not even taking a step closer.

  “Hey, Unc?” I say out of the side of my mouth.

  “It’s about damn time, girl. Get out of here. I can handle tonight. Been doing it for years by myself. I can damn sure do it just fine.” I can hear the grin underneath the gruffness, and I choose to not argue, even though helping Unc is what I’m here to do. I reach to my belt loop, unhooking the bar towel I keep there and setting it on the bar.

  As I pass by Unc, he catches my arm and crooks a finger my way. I bend down and he lays a soft, dry kiss to my cheek before whispering in my ear, “Give ’im hell, Willow-girl. You’re worth it.” He smells like hops and chemicals, with a faint hint of aftershave he probably slapped on hours ago.

  I smile, feeling a burn in the corner of my eyes. “Thanks, Unc. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He winks. “Now git.”

  I don’t delay any longer because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Delaying the inevitable. I hope this doesn’t go sideways, but as I cross the room to Bobby, his eyes watching me approach with possessive heat and unguarded hunger, I know something important. After three not-date dinners, four conversations, and not even a single kiss . . .

  I am Bobby Tannen’s girl.

  7

  BOBBY

  Today sucked ass. And not in the sexy, fun, kiss that little pucker way. But in the muddy, messy, sweat dripping into your eyes, and back so sore you can barely stand up straight kind of way.

  Welcome to farming, fucker. Same shit, different day.

  Actually, it was literally shit today. We had to fertilize the new plot of land Brutal and I tilled up to expand Shay’s planting operation. She’s got some big plan for a bumper crop of lettuce that grows in thirty days and hopes to make jarred summer salads. It sounded like a fine idea until I’d realized it meant prepping for planting again. But we’d gotten it done before the sun went down, which is what mattered.

  Right up until I walked in the house and Brody had started fanning his nose and squealing like a pig about how rank I was. I thought he was fucking with me until Allyson ran from Brutal’s hello hug too. She never does that.

  So my quick shower had turned into a scrub down because I sure as shit wasn’t going to grab dinner with Willow smelling like actual shit. And now, I’m late.

  Not that we have a set time for me to show up. Or that she’s even given me a hint of encouragement to keep coming by to see her.

  But she hasn’t told me to stop, either. And that’s an important distinction. So I keep on coming back.

  For her.

  I’m already an addict to the way she talks, her stories twining this way and that, the pink hue her cheeks take on when she’s excited about something, and the quiet way she can make me feel ten feet tall and bulletproof with just a look. And I need my daily dose of her or I’ll likely go mad with curiosity about what she’s doing, thinking, feeling, and saying. I want it all, like little treasures of her day she doles out for me to gather up.

  When the door creaks open, I find her easily. Standing behind the bar, her cheeks flush and her eyes widen when she looks over and sees me.

  Is that happiness in those swirling gray mood-ring eyes? Or more?

  My feet root to the floor, in awe of her the same way I am every time I see her. She reigns over this bar like a queen, though she might not know that. Hank has taken to sitting his ass on a stool more and more, letting Willow handle customers and do inventory. I never thought I’d see the day, but I’m damn glad. For him, for Willow, and for me.

  I feel the tension in the air, and though my instincts are telling me to look for a threat, I can’t take my eyes off her. Something’s different, something has changed, and I absolutely hate not knowing what.

  Did someone say something about me to her? I know my reputation’s not the best, but I’ll kill whoever told her some story about my reckless, youthful redneck days. Or has she decided to tell me to fuck off and leave her alone tonight? I’ve been so careful to not come on too strong, even though my heart has been demanding that I scoop her into my arms and get to know her from the inside out. Okay, maybe that part was my dick too.

  Willow’s bottom lip disappears behind her teeth for a split second as though she’s nervous or thinking. I see it. She’s mine and she finally knows it, the way I have for five long fucking days that feel like an eternity despite whatever the calendar says.

  I nod toward the door, silently asking if she’s ready for that tour, and to my shock and joy, she starts walking my way. She pauses when Hank grabs at her arm, and I swallow down the growl that threatens to escape. He’s not stopping her, just telling her something and then she’s walking to me again.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  My heart beats out a too-fast rhythm, and when her toes are nearly touching my boots, I ask quietly, “You ready for this?”

  She looks up at me, sparks dancing in her eyes as her lips lift ever so slightly, like she’s not sure how she got here. “I don’t think so, but . . . yeah.”

  Slow as molasses, giving her time to stop me if she needs to, I cup her cheeks in my palms, finally feeling her skin beneath mine again, and bend down, letting my intentions be quite clear to her. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and I know she’s more ready than she thinks she is.

  Soft as I can be, I take her lips, tasting and sipping at her breath, wanting to steal it into my lungs so that I have a part of her inside me. My tongue swipes along the seam of her mouth, requesting entry, and when she sighs, I fight my way in, devouring and claiming her right here in the middle of a Hank’s Thursday two-dollar draft night. By the time I come up for breath, the whole town will know that she’s mine and I’m hers. There’s no doubt about that.

  A flash blinds me even through my closed lids, and regretfully, I pull back to see who the fuck is interrupting my first kiss with Willow.

  Olivia is grinning like a loon, fanning her flushed face with her phone held up. I shoot her a glare and turn back to Willow, but the moment is fading. She looks shell-shocked and blissed out from just a kiss and my pride swells up at that.

  Oh, darling, if you thought that was something, just wait until I’m kissing you all over. “Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand in mine. My fingers wrap gently around hers, caressing her and making sure that this is real and not another figment of my imagination, which has been getting quite the workout after our dinners. Hell, I barely made it home one night and almost had to jack off on the side of the road in my truck. But I’d managed to wait . . . just barely. Mostly out of fear that Chief Gibson would catch me and never let me live that shit down.

  I open the door for her, that same creak the door’s always had meaning something else entirely now. It almost sounds like a song, like the start of something new.

  Olivia calls out, “I’ll text you that picture, Willow, though I don’t think it’ll be going on your blog.” One glance back tells me that she’s still looking at the picture on her phone. I’d like to see it too. Me and Willow, our first kiss.

  Our last first kiss, if things go the way I’m thinking.

  I lead her to my truck, opening the door and helping her climb inside. It’s not too jacked up, not like Brody’s truck, but it’s high enough that it needs side rails to climb inside comfortably. I shut the door behind her with a finality, a signal to my overworked heart that it has what it’s wanted for so long.

  Her. Willow.

  I damn near jog around the hood and climb into the driver’s seat. The engine growls to life, and Willow flinches ever so slightly. I glance over to find her looking as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.

  “Hi,” I say soothingly.

  She pushes her hair behind her cute little ear and softly replies, “Hi.”

  “You good?”

  Rookie mistake to give her an out, but I don’t want her to regret this later. I get the feeling that if Willow backslides, there will be no two steps forward afterward. She’ll go back into her shell, the one I’ve carefully chiseled away over the past few days, to make a little hidey-hole for myself inside her walls.

  She licks her lips again, but this time, it’s not an invitation. She’s preparing herself, and I give her time to do so. “I just . . . I’m not sure . . . what you expect.” She sighs like that was the hardest thing she’s ever said.

  Everything.

  But that’s not what I tell her. “Anything, Willow. I want to know you, spend time with you.” Dropping my voice a little lower and quieter, I admit, “Kiss you again.”

  Even in the fading light in the cab of my truck, I can sense her blush. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Okay,” I agree, my voice heavy with intention as I lean across the center console. I reach out to cup her cheek again as she leans forward. It feels like a victory, like she’s giving in to this inferno between us . . . the one I’ve been trying to withstand without her. But now that she’s in it with me, it feels like a warm caress that’s gently melting the frost from my bones.

  Our lips meet, tender as we explore each other. I breathe into her, and this time it’s her sweet tongue demanding more. Growling, I take the kiss deeper, hotter, wilder, and to my surprise, she’s right there with me. No holding back, no reserve . . . just free and passionate.

  “Mmm.” She moans as her hand works its way into the too-long hair at the nape of my neck.

  “Fuck,” I groan when I feel her give my hair a little tug. My dick lurches in my jeans, trying to get to her.

  But it’s way too soon for that.

  No, it’s not.

  My dick tries to argue, but my brain wins. Actually, I think it’s my heart that wins, because it’s yelling at me, don’t fuck this up, asshole!

  Too soon, I pull back. She chases me for one more kiss, and I’m this close to giving in, but I stay still. “I promised you a tour. I keep my promises, Willow.”

  She sits back in her seat, another one of those blissed out smiles on her face that I want to keep there always. “Okay then, show me what you . . . I mean, Great Falls . . . has to offer.”

  Challenge accepted, woman. Challenge fucking accepted.

  I let Willow give me the directions to her place, even though I already know where she lives. The whole town knows where Hank’s niece lives because she’s the biggest news to happen to Great Falls in ages. Tapping on the steering wheel to practice a riff I’ve been playing with, I watch as she runs inside to grab her ‘good camera’, as she called it. She reappears a few minutes later, camera bag slung across her chest, wearing a fresh shirt and a new slick of lip gloss on her pale pink lips.

  I see you getting gussied up for this. She wants this as much as I do. Well, maybe not that much . . . yet. But we’re getting there.

  Slow and steady, Tannen.

  For all her sweetness and open-hearted conversation with the bar folks, Willow is skittish with her real self. She’d give you the shirt off her back, help you on the side of the road, or listen to you wax poetic about your problems, but share her truth? Not likely, and not easily.

  But that’s exactly why I want it. I want to earn it, straight from her lips, when she lets me inside her heart.

  She climbs back in the truck, and I catch a whiff of something floral and light. She perfumed for me too. The parallel makes me smile. I showered so I didn’t smell like manure for her, and she’s spritzing on girly stuff so she doesn’t smell like beer for me.

  I drive us through town, giving the tour I promised. “In the middle of the town square is the courthouse. Judge Myson’s been on that bench for longer than you and me together have been alive. He’s old-school, believes in working off your debt to society and paying back your neighbors.”

  She catches something in my tone that clues her in. “Speaking from experience?”

  I lift one shoulder casually, amused but not hiding anything. “Nothing serious. Me and Chief Gibson might’ve had a little chat with Myson in my younger days. Nothing that couldn’t be solved with painting a fence or plowing a few fields, though. You?”

  She laughs. “No. Probably the worst thing I’ve ever done was protest environmental toxins at a corporate headquarters or something.”

  “That sounds serious,” I tell her honestly. “The environment a passion of yours? From your dad?”

  She shrugs, sort of a yes-no all at once. “I was a kid. I was just along for the ride because holding a sign and marching around with Dad all day sounded like fun.”

  I can see that. Little Willow, blonde hair streaming wild behind her as she marches around yelling words too big for her little girl brain, but I have no doubt she was able to define each and every one of them better than Merriam-Webster.

  “Hopefully, we can manage to find a little more fun than that,” I say, pulling into the drive-through of a burger joint. “This won’t be nearly as good as Ilene’s cooking, but I figure you didn’t get dinner yet. We can take it with us where we’re going.”

  “Where’s that?” she asks curiously.

  “It’s a surprise,” I tease, expecting her to argue and demand to know where I’m taking her. But she just settles into the seat a little deeper, looking cozy and relaxed as can be.

  I like that. A lot.

  People always have expectations and assumptions about me. That I’m scary because of my last name, that I’m soft because of my music, that I’m down to fuck because of my face. None of that is totally true. Yeah, I can scrap, had to in order to survive with my brothers and our old issues with the Bennetts. Don’t mean I look to start fights. Yeah, I have a soft side, but it’s not all I am. And yes, I like to fuck, but I’m not a manwhore. I ain’t a monk, either. I’m more complex than all of that shit.

  But Willow seems to be taking me as I come, the same way she does everything—people at the bar, every day, and whatever brought her to Great Falls. I’m definitely curious about that, but she hasn’t said a word so I’m leaving that question alone for now.

  I order us a two-pack of burgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes, then glance over for her approval. We’re good. I pay at the window, noting that Esme is gawking into the truck as she hands over the food. The grapevine will be lit up like a Christmas tree before we get halfway through town as Esme makes sure that everyone knows she’s the one who spotted Bobby Tannen and Willow Parker grabbing a bite of dinner on their way to ‘only God knows where’ to do ‘only God knows what’.

  Too bad she’s too late since everyone at Hank’s already knows.

  Willow takes the food from me, and I set the shakes in the cup holders before setting off for our tour.

  “Best barbecue in town,” I say, pointing at a half-fallen down shack on the side of the road. “Doctor’s office, dentist, hair salon,” I add, pointing at each in the strip center of offices.

  “Just one of each in the whole town?” Willow asks, craning her neck to look back.

  “Pretty much. I mean, we have more doctors, I guess, at the hospital. Or Doc Jones for animals. There’s a barber shop for the guys too, and a few ladies who make house calls for hair, but they’re more the ‘set and curl’ type.” Willow smooths the short hair at the nape of her neck. “And there’s stuff like that at the resort. It’s probably different from what you’re used to, but we’ve got everything we need out here.”

  She has the good grace to cringe. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem critical. It’s just different. But I think I like it. It’s simple and easy. The whole town feels like that. Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.”

  “Pretty imagery. Mind if I write that down?” I ask. When she smiles, I pull my phone out and hit Record on my voice notes, which is my version of ‘writing it.’ I hold it out to Willow and she leans in to repeat herself.

  “Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.” She laughs a little at the awkwardness of talking into my phone, and I make sure to get that too. I toss the phone into the console and we roar to the outskirts of town.

  “You’d be able to get some great shots downtown during the day of the hustle and bustle of folks visiting and shopping on the square. There’s a park on the east side where ducks and geese congregate. But if you want animal shots, I’ve got a whole zoo’s worth at home you’re welcome to photograph. Horses, cows, pigs, goats, dogs, a barn cat, and a bunch of asshole guys who’d probably smile pretty for you. Well, except for Mark. He don’t smile much.”

  “That’s the oldest Bennett brother, right? The one in charge of everything and married to Katelyn?” she says. We’ve talked through a lot of this already, but I like that she remembers the details.

  I nod. “Yeah. If you wanted some nature shots, we’ve got fields and trees and crops that’d be pretty too.” I’m trying to give her as many things as I can, hoping she’ll want to photograph them all and that it’ll take a long, long time to do so. Time she can spend at my side and I can spend soaking her in.

  “We’ll see. I usually take pictures of whatever I’m doing that day, nothing special, nothing particularly planned out, but I like to take the opportunity to explore and see what I can experience and share.”

  I can feel her eyes on me, tracing over my profile as I keep my eyes on the road. “You can take a picture of me if you want to.” I’m half-joking and half-serious, but I’m still surprised when she dives for the floorboard and comes back up with her good camera. Richard was right, it’s nearly as big as she is, especially with the lens that she’s got on it. She does a quick change, carefully setting the lens back into the bag and coming out with another, smaller one, which she attaches easily.

  “Tell me about you,” she orders gently, already snapping away.