The “stuff” Sabrina referred to—and there really was a load of it—was all the old furniture and torn-up equipment Marianne had put aside during her renovations, some to be restored, some for the junkyard. For a lack of any better solution, she had temporarily piled it all up against the wall in the Honky-Tonk’s main lounge.

  “I actually wasn’t sure what to do with it all,” Marianne admitted. She was still trying to wrap her head around their unexpected offer. “The barstools, I love those—they’re being refinished. But the rest’s mostly junk, broken tables, scrap wood. Do you know where the dump is, so I can clear the space?”

  “Dump?” Sabrina’s expression turned horrified. “You’re just going to throw all this in the trash? You’re sitting on a gold mine, Marianne!” She gesticulated wildly toward the pile like she had just uncovered a fairytale dragon’s hoard.

  No matter how much Marianne squinted, she couldn’t see what Sabrina saw. “You want it? You’d be doing me a favor by taking it, actually.”

  “Really?” Sabrina squealed.

  “Don’t mind her.” Trent came up beside her unexpectedly. His shoulder brushed hers gently, and the connection sent warmth coursing through her veins. “She’s fanatical about upcycling. But if there’s anything you want us to take with us, we came in my brother’s pickup.”

  “Are you leaving so soon?” The question was out of her mouth before she could think to hold it back. Trent raised an eyebrow at her, and Marianne flushed. “I mean…I mean, don’t you want a quick tour? If you’re going to invite the mayor here, you should at least see the rest.”

  “The two of you go ahead.” Sabrina waved them off without looking, transfixed by the trash pile. Marianne found herself admiring the way the other woman could see so much possibility in the stuff she’d deemed worthless. Marianne considered herself a practical woman, good at making do with what she was given, but Sabrina took resourcefulness to a whole new level. Maybe later, Marianne could corner her and pick her brain.

  She exchanged a look with Trent to see if he was still game for the tour, and he nodded. They left Sabrina behind them as they strolled toward the back patio. Trent got there first, and he held the door for her.

  Marianne strode out ahead of him, steeling herself. She’d brought him out here with an ulterior motive. If she was to restore the Honky-Tonk to its former glory, she’d need the town on her side—and who better to start with than its hunky sheriff?

  With him in her corner, and soon the mayor, she’d win them all over. The Tonk would live again, and so would she.

  4

  TRENT

  Trent knew exactly what Sabrina was up to, sending him off alone with Marianne. His brother’s girlfriend was as smart as she was scheming, and it wasn’t just recyclable material she hoped to whip into shape. She’d made sure Trent knew that, now his two brothers were close to getting hitched, she intended for him to be next. With one look at Marianne, Sabrina had obviously made her mind up about who he should set his sights on.

  Not that Trent could blame her. It wasn’t just her impressive command of curse words that had taken his breath away the first time he’d met Marianne. She was, frankly put, the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, from her glossy dark curls to her long, shapely legs.

  He followed her now, enjoying the view from behind as much as he enjoyed the prospect of time alone together. Maybe he could get used to Sabrina taking the reins on his love life after all.

  “So this was all your idea, huh?” Marianne asked him over her shoulder. “The town meeting and everything?”

  “What can I say?” Trent shrugged. “I wanted to get a peek under your tarp.”

  She half-laughed, half-scoffed in surprise as he drew up beside her. He liked the way her cheeks pinked at his turn of phrase, and the way she seemed tongue-tied in the aftermath.

  “Really?” she said, when her flush had faded. “And here I thought maybe you wanted to see me fall flat on my face in front of everyone.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “Who doesn’t love to say ‘I told you so?’” Marianne’s warm smile curdled on her lips. Clearly, the fear of failure was weighing on her mind. Trent hadn’t thought any of his warnings were getting through to her, and it surprised him to see this chink in her armor. He’d thought he’d approached the subject with a decent amount of finesse. Could it be that she saw him as an enemy? A doubting Thomas?

  “You know I’m rooting for you, right?” Trent asked, as he leaned on the railing. It didn’t creak like it once had, and the boards didn’t wobble under his feet. A pleasant smell rose from the garden patch below.

  Marianne sat down on the porch steps. “Are you? Rooting for me? Because all you do is pick holes in my dream.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for a fight,” Trent said. “Either that, or you don’t have a lot of experience letting other people support you.”

  He didn’t know what made him say it, and he regretted the words the moment he’d said them. Marianne made a pained sound, a sort of strangled hiss. She kept her back turned, perhaps wanting to hide her expression. Had Trent hit a nerve? Poked at some hidden wound? He’d hoped to get to the heart of her, but not with a knife.

  He opened his mouth, but his apology caught in his throat. For whatever reason, the words wouldn’t come. He moved closer instead, offering the warmth of his proximity, willing it to be a comfort and not an invasion. Marianne started a little, and let out a harsh breath. She didn’t lean into him, but she didn’t back away. When she spoke at last, her voice was tight.

  “I think the best way to get through life…is not to rely on outside support. It has a way of dropping out when you need it the most.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Shall we continue with the tour?”

  “I wasn’t aware it had started.”

  He gazed down at her, but Marianne remained resolute in not meeting his eyes.

  What made you come all the way down here? he wanted to ask her. What are you running from?

  She got to her feet and gestured around her. “This is the back porch, Sheriff Wild.”

  “I can see that,” he said quietly.

  “I have plans for back here, but they’ll have to wait. I’m on a tight budget, so I’m taking it in stages. But I’ve planted lavender and catmint, and a lot of nice-smelling herbs, so when folks come and smoke out here, it won’t stink so bad.”

  “I noticed,” said Trent. “I was just thinking it smells good.” He sniffed the air, shook his head, and found his words at last. “Listen, about before, you seemed kind of defensive. If I came on too strong, if I sounded harsh…”

  Marianne wasn’t looking at him. She’d turned away from him, and was staring at the railing. Trent wanted to catch her chin and raise those blue eyes to meet his. His hands slid out of his pockets, but Marianne was faster. Her icy gaze snapped to him, but as he watched, it thawed slowly.

  “Fine,” she said. “While we’re noticing things, why don’t I tell you something I noticed about you?”

  “Sure. Notice away.”

  “You don’t like being mistaken for you brother.”

  “No.” Maybe Marianne was trying to deliver a sting comparable to the one he had inadvertently dealt her, but her observation only surprised Trent. People didn’t generally notice that sort of thing, and here Marianne was calling him out on it. “It happened a lot when we were younger,” he explained. “I blame my grandma. She used to love dressing us in the same outfits when she took us to Sunday school.”

  “I bet that was cute.”

  “You should see us when we do it now.”

  Marianne laughed at this, and Trent couldn’t hold back a chuckle himself.

  “Are you close with your brother?” she asked.

  “Yep. Both my brothers, in fact.” Trent followed as Marianne led him inside, up a narrow flight of stairs to the long room above. “One runs Wildhorse Ranch, just outside town, and the other plays football for the Texas Teamsters. Though I suppose you’re more interested in hearing about my twin, Trevor.”

  “Because what would be interesting about a professional football player?” Marianne laughed, and Trent caught what he thought was an admiring glance from her out of the corner of his eye. “You know, Sheriff, there’s more going on with you than I first thought.”

  “I’m not just a pretty face,” he said. “Hell, even if I was, I’m still one of a pair.”

  “So how can I avoid mistaking the two of you when you’re in plain clothes?” she asked.

  Trent figured he would never have to worry about it with Marianne, but he answered her anyway. “We’re different enough. Trevor’s got more of a tan, for one thing, and he always smells like a barn.”

  Marianne smothered a laugh with her hand.

  “It’s our dispositions that really set us apart,” he continued. “I’m an easygoing guy. Toe the line and you’ve got nothing to worry about from me. Trevor’s the one who’s too serious for his own good. Pretty sure he sat down on a riding crop at some point, and that explains the stick up his ass.”

  It was an old joke, and one that Trevor hated with a passion, but relaying it now to fresh ears and being rewarded with Marianne’s surprised laugh made it worth it.

  “He can’t be that bad!” she exclaimed. She stood aside to let Trevor take in the room. “Aunt Celia kept junk up here; old tables, decorations. That’s most of what’s downstairs under that tarp. But I figured I’d rent the space out for parties.”

  Trent took in the space, with its smoke-blackened rafters and its exposed brick walls. Its small open balcony looked out on sprawling ranchland. It would make a great rustic dining room, if she made this place a brewpub, and she could still rent it out if she had a mind to. He opened his mouth to say so, but Marianne nudged him.

  “Hey, Sabrina’s Trevor’s girlfriend, right?”

  “That’s right,” said Trent, unsure where she was going.

  “Then he can’t be as stiff-necked as you’ve described him. I can’t imagine her getting along with someone like that, much less falling for him.”

  “They had their share of struggles getting together,” Trent said. “But they pulled through. You might say their differences make them a good match for each other.” He crossed his arms. “But I stand by what I said. I love my brother, but he really is that bad.”

  Marianne shook her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “I mean, you’re twins, right? Isn’t just one of you supposed to be evil?”

  Trent sputtered, affronted, and when he turned to Marianne, he caught her fighting laughter. “Are you saying you think I’m the evil twin?” he asked incredulously.

  “I’m saying that remains to be seen.” She turned her back on him to open the balcony doors. Trent gazed at the elegant curve of her neck and the exposed bit of shoulder revealed by her wide collar. He took a step toward her, then caught himself.

  You have no idea how bad I can be, he thought. Normally he wasn’t the sort of man to let his imagination get the better of him, but finding himself alone with Marianne in the low-lit upstairs of the Honky-Tonk was seriously testing his self-control. He knew she was feisty, under that businesslike veneer—he’d heard it in her cursing, seen it in her flashing eyes. He wanted to bring that bite to the surface.

  Marianne cleared her throat. He’d been staring too long. Her cheeks had gone pink again, the same way they had when he made that crack about peeking under her tarp, and suddenly Trent couldn’t hold himself back from picturing every inch of her laid bare beneath him. That creamy skin of hers still didn’t have so much as a single blemish. He wanted to run his hands along every exposed inch of her body and commit it to memory.

  “So that was the tour,” she said. “Do you have…any questions?” Her voice was hushed and hesitant now, but it succeeded in breaking the spell that had come over them.

  Trent found the most pressing question he wanted to ask her was completely unrelated to the Honky-Tonk. He wanted to know the reason Marianne had changed her last name from Mantel to Stanton. As Lockhart’s sheriff, he was as much an investigator as he was an enforcer, so he thought he could make a guess.

  Still, Celia had never mentioned it to him. Then again, Celia had also failed to mention her niece was one of the sexiest damn women on the planet.

  “What’s that doing there?” Trent pointed to a small cooler in the corner. “Doesn’t look like junk.”

  Marianne laughed again, the tension breaking. “Oh, that’s for hydration. Renovating’s thirsty work.” She retrieved the cooler and pulled out a bottle. “Hey, it’s still cold, and it’s been here all night. One of my own recipes, in fact. Care for a taste test?”

  Trent eyed the bottle with mounting suspicion. The liquid inside didn’t look much like beer. It was thin and pale pink, almost like candy. “What is it?”

  “Try it,” Marianne encouraged. When he hesitated, her expression turned teasing. “What, are you chicken?”

  “I’m not chicken, just—”

  “Then, go on. Drink.” She passed him the bottle. Trent opened it on his belt buckle—a little trick he had picked up for the sole purpose of impressing a pretty woman—and raised the bottle to his nose for a whiff. It smelled unexpectedly and cloyingly sweet, like the air around the cotton candy booth at the county fair.

  “This isn’t that nasty come butcher stuff, is it?” he asked with a frown.

  “You mean kombucha?” Marianne laughed. “No. I do make great kombucha, but this isn’t that.”

  Fuck it, Trent thought. He’d never been one to turn down a dare. He threw his head back and took a long, deliberate swig. The liquid that rushed down his throat was refreshing and sugar-sweet. “Cream soda,” he said in wonder as he pulled back from it. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid. There used to be a shop just down the street that sold them.”

  “You like it?” Marianne’s pretty face was turned up, her petal-pink lips blossoming in a smile. “I overheard a couple of people reminiscing about that shop the first day I got here, and I couldn’t resist whipping up a batch for myself.”

  Trent took another sip, and the nostalgia hit him again. He closed his eyes and was twelve years old again, ringing the bell on his ten-speed. Riding home to the ranch with this same sweet taste still fresh on his tongue. Folks in town would love this stuff. Line up for it, even. If Marianne’s craft beers were even half this tasty, she was wasting her talents on a honky-tonk. He wondered if he was the first person in Lockhart Bend to sample her wares.

  “I loved cream soda when I was a kid, too,” said Marianne, startling Trent from his thoughts. “This place, as well. My aunt would let me in sometimes, before she opened. She’d serve me Coke at the bar in a chilled beer glass. Made me feel grown up. Like I was special.”

  Trent wasn’t sure what to say to that. The Tonk meant a lot to her—he could see that now. She had memories tied up here, maybe more than she was saying. But even in Lockhart Bend, times were changing. A place like the Honky-Tonk didn’t fit like it once had.

  “The place looks great,” he said finally. “And you’ve got a lot of ideas.”

  It was the most diplomatic comment he could muster at present, but Marianne’s eyes narrowed as if she knew he had more going on in his head than he said aloud. Trent raised the soda. “Mind if I polish this off?” He meant it as a peace offering.

  “Of course, Sheriff. I don’t mind at all if you finish your cream soda.”

  Trent chuckled despite himself, and some of the inflexibility in Marianne’s mouth eased up. She laughed, too, as the two of them filed down the narrow stairs and back to the front room.

  “How did it go?” Sabrina asked them brightly. She had a twinkle in her eye, and Trent knew she’d demand a fuller account of his private tour on the ride back to Wildhorse.

  “Well, I can’t deny she’s got hustle,” he admitted.

  Marianne fisted her hands on her hips and glowered up at him. “And?” she prompted. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Sheriff. I assume you’re just bursting with ideas on how I might improve the place.”

  “The Honky-Tonk doesn’t need improvement,” he said. “It’s perfect for what it is. But I’ll be honest with you, Marianne. I don’t think anyone is going to drink here.”

  “Oh really? And why is that?” Marianne asked.

  “Because the people who make up this town are either country boys or doctors. And working men head out of town to get their drinks now, at the Boot Stomper, by the highway.”

  “What about the doctors? You don’t think they’ll want to drink here?”

  “Not unless you make the place a little more…classy.”

  “Classy?” Marianne repeated. “So, what, you’re saying we don’t have class? Me and Aunt Celia, we’re…what? What are you saying?”

  Behind her, Sabrina was gesticulating for Trent to stop talking, but now he’d started, he couldn’t stop. If Marianne didn’t take his advice now, the Honky-Tonk would have its grand reopening and close again a year later.

  “I’m saying doctors and nurses coming off shift, they don’t want cheap beer and loud country music. They want tables to sit at where they can enjoy a nice craft beer and a quinoa and kale salad.”

  “It’s pronounced keen-wah,” Marianne snapped. “And while we’re on the subject, no one likes kale. It tastes like old garbage mixed up with dirt. If I was serving salads, they’d be arugula-based.” She raised up on her toes to attempt to match him in height—not going to happen, Trent thought—but he was suddenly too aware that she had brought herself within easy kissing distance, and that he wanted to kiss her, even if they were fighting in full view of Sabrina. Even if locking lips appeared to be the last thing on Marianne’s mind. “I’ll be serving bar snacks. Wings. Potato skins. Sorry,” she added quickly, glancing at Sabrina, who shook her head and shot her the thumbs-up. Sabrina loved a good plate of buffalo wings. “I’m going to make this place friendly. Make everyone feel welcome, doctors included. That’s all a place needs to be successful.”