“God, you really believe that.” Trent stared directly down into her stormy blue eyes. Marianne had more height on her than he gave her credit for; their noses were practically pushed together. “Celia was friendly as all get-out. Friendlier than you. And she still went under. How is this different?” he demanded.

  “Guys.” Sabrina drew up beside them and put her hands out. “A sit-down place would be nice—I mean, it’d be fine,” she self-corrected as Marianne’s steely gaze landed on her. “It could really thrive here in Lockhart Bend. That’s where Trent’s right. But Marianne has a point too. Maybe the hospital crowd never came before because they didn’t think they’d belong. But if she lets them know everyone is welcome, and she’d love to serve them, I don’t see why they wouldn’t at least give it a try.”

  Trent watched Marianne’s expression carefully. He could see that she was at war with herself, but why? Sabrina had pretty much said the same thing he had, but Marianne hadn’t heard it coming from him. Now, she was frowning, twirling her hair. Didn’t she see that he wanted her to succeed?

  “I don’t know,” Marianne said finally. “I don’t have the budget to do what Trent’s suggesting. And the whole reason I moved here was to start fresh. Try something new, I mean,” she added too quickly. “This will be new for me, running a honky-tonk. A brewpub? Not so much.” Marianne’s lip curled, and she turned away. Trent shot a glance at Sabrina, and she returned his look with an inquisitive one of her own.

  What was Marianne really trying to escape by coming so far south?

  “But I guess I could try adding some healthy snacks to the menu,” Marianne said. She crossed her arms and squinted, as if trying to rejigger her budget in her head. “Sweet potato fries, maybe. Kale chips. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Any time you want to chat, and maybe bounce some ideas around, call me,” Sabrina enthused. “I’ll give you my number. Trent?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you going to give Marianne your number?” Sabrina batted her eyes innocently at him. Trent had heard more discreet hints come out of the mouth of his quarterback brother, Charlie. “She might need it,” Sabrina continued. “You know. In case of emergency.”

  “There’s a specific number set aside for emergency purposes,” Trent said in amusement. “I hear it’s the same in every area code. You want my personal number?” he asked Marianne point-blank, just to get the spotlight off him and onto somebody else.

  Marianne flushed. “Actually, my aunt already gave me the number for your cell. And she had it posted behind the bar just in case.”

  “Perfect!” Sabrina said. “Then you’re all set. We won’t trouble you anymore. I’ll just have Trent help me haul some of this stuff out for you, if that’s okay?”

  “More than okay,” Marianne replied. “You’re doing me a huge favor. Just leave the barstools, but the rest is fair game.”

  “You heard her,” said Sabrina, and pointed Trent at the pile.

  “Hey now,” Trent protested, but Sabrina just laughed and turned away to start the move-out process. He caught the flash of a smile on Marianne’s face before she suppressed it. “You like giving me shit,” he said. “And watching me take it. Guess I better watch myself around you.”

  “Guess I better do the same,” she said.

  “Marianne…” He stepped closer, and she didn’t back away. He ached for any excuse to touch her. He wanted to say the right thing, to give the right advice…Hell, to ask her out for that drink they had talked about when they first met in her garden.

  “Yes?” Her gorgeous blue eyes were round and expectant. Any trace of the acerbic, defensive edge was suddenly gone. It was an opening. He could make amends for any insult he had paid her, maybe open the door to a new understanding.

  “Don’t work too hard,” he concluded. Marianne looked about as disappointed as Trent felt with his words, but only for a moment. She nodded and straightened a little. Trent could see Sabrina struggling with the front door, and duty called. He clapped a friendly hand on Marianne’s shoulder, letting it linger, and heard her sigh as he let go. It was a sound he would take with him and mull over for the remainder of the day.

  5

  MARIANNE

  It wasn’t worth dwelling on Trent’s warnings. Marianne counted the reasons as she sanded the Honky-Tonk floors: first, she’d run a business before, and she was pretty sure Trent hadn’t. Second, he didn’t know her, or what she could do. Third, it didn’t matter, because even if he was right, her budget was fixed. She didn’t have the money to buy tables to replace the booths and barstools.

  She sanded furiously, and buffed, stained, and sealed, and had the floors varnished and gleaming by three.

  “Well, what do you know? Ahead of schedule for once.” Marianne crossed the floors off her to-do list, which just left the kitchen, the barstools, and the creaking side door, a problem she’d only noticed last night. Next on the list was spreading the word, a tall order with her being so new in town.

  She snapped a photo of the gleaming floors for the Honky-Tonk’s Instagram, making sure to catch the view out back in the frame. Brand new dance floor, she typed. Who wants to come help break it in? Grand opening next month, July 27! She added a few hashtags, hit post, and waited, but no likes appeared, not even from bots.

  “Damn it, Trent…” She headed out back to weed her herb garden, and by the time she had finished patting the last of the dirt into place, it was nearing five. The sun blazed in the Texas sky like it had never considered the notion of setting. A waxing gibbous moon hung at the opposite end of the horizon, looking as if a particularly strong breath might blow it away like a puff of smoke.

  Marianne went back inside to check on the floors, but the overpowering smell of varnish chased her straight back out. She grabbed her laptop and purse and locked the door behind her, though she figured the fumes were enough to keep any would-be burglars at bay. That, and Sheriff Trent Wild’s on the job, she thought as she slid behind the wheel of her car. If he’s up in everyone’s business as much as mine, I’d be surprised if there’s any crime in Lockhart Bend at all.

  Her heart gave an insistent throb in her chest at even the passing thought of him. He’d been in her head all day, and not just his warnings. Maybe it was the floor varnish making her giddy, but more and more as the day wore on, she’d found her thoughts drifting toward fantasy—how Trent’s hair would feel if she ran her hands through it. How his kisses would taste. How he’d groan when she punished him for making her fret.

  She pulled into her driveway half-frustrated and half-horny, and made a beeline for the shower. Trent Wild wasn’t the only hot thing on her mind.

  After her shower, Marianne changed into a fresh pair of shorts and a crisp white tank top. She had just stepped out on the back porch to enjoy some sunshine while she called for pizza when the divine smell of sizzling meat mixed with charcoal smoke nearly knocked her to her knees.

  Marianne’s thumb hovered over her cell’s keypad. Her stomach growled loudly. It didn’t want to hold out another half hour for dinner, but she wasn’t just going to waltz over to her neighbor’s house and beg to be fed.

  She considered her phone a moment longer, then stuffed it in her pocket. Ladies didn’t beg, but they did pop next door and introduce themselves to their neighbors. And if said neighbors happened to extend an invitation to their delicious barbecues…

  I’m only doing as Trent said. Getting the locals on my side, so they’ll drink at my bar.

  The aroma wafting over from her neighbor’s yard became more mouthwatering the closer she got to the source. As for the cook…Well, if she hadn’t already been salivating over his cooking, the tall figure bent over the grill would’ve gotten her juices flowing. He was distinctly masculine, distinctly muscular, and distinctly familiar, his neck lightly sunburned beneath his close-cropped dark hair. His discarded cowboy hat bore a distinctive gold badge.

  “Trent?” Marianne exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Her mysterious neighbor was none other than Lockhart Bend’s sheriff.

  Trent glanced up from the smoking grill and froze. “Marianne?” He sounded as perplexed as she felt. “What are you…?” His eyes traveled to the house behind her and back again. “You bought the place next door? I didn’t realize it sold.”

  Marianne leaned against the fence, trying to affect a casual demeanor. On the inside, her heart raced like it had a prize to claim, a marathon to win.

  “Yeah. I haven’t…I’ve been meaning to take the FOR SALE sign out of the yard.” She blushed a little at her oversight. She felt like she had been trying to recover ground ever since their first meeting, when Trent had found her on her knees, swearing at rocks. She didn’t want to appear temperamental or absentminded—she was capable. Dignified. Trent should see her that way. It wasn’t her fault he kept catching her unawares, but now at least she had a chance to give the right impression. “I’ve just been down at the Honky-Tonk so much, I’ve barely had time to unpack.”

  “You eaten yet?”

  She shook her head, her damp curls tumbling free and clinging to her shoulders. She was very, very glad she’d taken that shower. Had Trent ever seen her out of her work clothes? The way his eyes dropped to consider her bare skin told her he hadn’t.

  “I got enough patties here for two if you’d like to join me.” He held up his can of beer. “You want a drink?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Marianne replied as she made her way around the edge of her yard and through the gap in their shared fence. She regretted that comment the next instant when Trent popped open his cooler and tossed a silver can her way. She caught it one-handed, and tried not to cringe when she read the label. God, I remember drinking too much of this stuff in college.

  “Thanks,” she said aloud.

  “My pleasure.” The way the word rolled off his tongue was a treat unto itself.

  Marianne popped the tab on her beer. “Think you’ll like having me as a neighbor?”

  She snorted. “I’m getting used to seeing you every time I turn a corner.”

  Trent grinned. She loved the way the laugh lines flexed into prominence around his eyes when he smiled. “I’d hate to bore you,” he said.

  “You haven’t yet.”

  “Good to know.”

  Something was happening beneath the current of their conversation, like tectonic plates shifting just below the surface. It had been so long since Marianne had flirted and been flirted with in return, she was hesitant to assume that was what they were doing. Still, a sense of charged possibility hung in the air, exciting, unpredictable, and not entirely within her control. Was Trent Wild flirting with her? Every time they were together, she couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run his hand down her curves or run her out of town. He certainly knew how to disguise what he was really thinking when it suited him.

  Trent broke eye contact, and it was only then that Marianne realized she had been staring back at him. He gestured toward one of the lawn chairs. “Have a seat. Feel free to take a load off.”

  “Thank you.” Marianne sat down, crossing one sleek leg over the other. She may not have her Texas tan yet, but the way Trent’s eyes dropped appreciatively to her calves told her it wasn’t a prerequisite for grabbing his attention. “Your work must keep you busy,” she said as he turned back toward the grill. “I’ve been living here a whole week, and our paths never crossed.”

  “Our paths have crossed a lot. Can’t seem to avoid you.”

  “That should be my line,” she informed him with a wry smile. “What I mean is, I can’t believe it took us this long to realize we’re neighbors.”

  “My police vehicle has been in and out of the shop this month,” Trent explained. “And every time I’ve been home during the day your driveway’s been empty.”

  “Sounds like we could both use a break from work,” Marianne said.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “But speaking of work,” she volunteered quickly, “I just wanted to let you know I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  Trent cocked a brow. “Oh?”

  “You were right about some of it.” Marianne sipped her beer and tried not to grimace. “I might’ve grown up here, but I’ve been gone a long time. I don’t know the town, or the folks in it. If it’s changed, I need—well, I need to take off my nostalgia goggles. Figure out how to sell the Honky-Tonk to Lockhart Bend now.”

  Trent was silent a moment, and Marianne wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. She’d hoped her change of heart would help bridge the gap between her ideas and Trent’s, but maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe he was a “my way or the highway” type of guy.

  “I guess if anyone could make it work, it would be you,” he said finally. “And I could see Dylan in a honky-tonk, and she’s a doctor.”

  Marianne stopped with her beer raised halfway to her lips. Dylan? Who was Dylan? Hadn’t Sabrina implied Trent was single?

  “Dylan’s Charlie’s girl,” said Trent. “She’s way out of his league, but he’s too dim to know it.” He tapped his temple. “All that charging and tackling, his head’s full of mush.”

  “That’s mean,” said Marianne, but she laughed anyway, and a comfortable silence passed between them. Trent flipped his meat patties and took a sip of his beer. He set his spatula aside and began stacking burgers on buns. When he was done, he passed Marianne a plate.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said as he sat down.

  She reclined a little in her chair, but her guard was back up. Trent was a good guy, but he was also a cop. Versed in the art of interrogation. Marianne didn’t have anything to hide, but some things were private, and her past was her past. “Ask away,” she said. She sipped a spot of foam off the top of her beer can and pretended to be unconcerned about whatever he might ask.

  Trent likewise leaned back in his chair. He regarded her for a moment before continuing. The dark, soulful eyes Marianne had been trying to stop thinking about all day were lighter in the sun. They transfixed her. In the light of the golden hour, they appeared amber, almost hazel. How had she missed seeing that before?

  “Your last name…” he began, though he trailed off before resolving the question. “Your aunt told me it’s Marianne Mantel.”

  Marianne let out a sigh. “I was married before. Now, I’m divorced.” She shifted the beer to her right hand so she could waggle the naked fingers of her left.

  “I figured,” Trent replied.

  Marianne grimaced. “Yes, and she introduced me to a few of the Honky-Tonk’s delivery people that way as well. She’s still adjusting. The divorce is still fresh.” Marianne bit her tongue. She’d said more than she meant to. “Anyway, that’s the story. I’m glad you asked.”

  “You’re glad I asked?” He smiled a little.

  “I mean…it’s good to know these things. In a general sense.” Marianne quickly chugged the rest of her beer and crumpled the can to kill her nerves. Trent’s smile broadened at this, and he did the same. He tossed his can into an empty planter, and Marianne followed suit once she realized it appeared to be set aside for that purpose. “And I think you like to know things,” she added before she could help herself.

  “Makes me a good sheriff,” he replied.

  “Makes you a little nosy,” she said.

  “I’m not the one sitting in my neighbor’s yard drinking his beer.” Trent’s smile widened. “Not that I object to the arrangement,” he added.

  “Well, if you’re worried about me drinking all your beer, I have some samples of my own I can bring over,” she hinted. “The taste test I promised you, if you’re still game.”

  Trent’s eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re knocking my beer.” Trent rose and flipped the cooler open. He took out a new can, but didn’t crack it open. “You’re one of those snobs. Admit it—you are.”

  “I am not,” said Marianne, and that was true. She wasn’t. She could appreciate a smooth, refreshing PBR, but this—this—

  “Too good for the real stuff. I got your number.”

  “I love a good cheap beer, but this is not beer!” She grabbed a can of her own and waved it at him. Shaking it might’ve been a bad idea if she’d planned on drinking it, but it had all the flavor of day-old dishwater.

  “Funny,” said Trent. “It says ‘beer’ on the label.”

  “I could write beer on a vat of used fry oil. Doesn’t make it beer.”

  “Snob.” Trent smirked.

  Marianne planted her hands on her hips. She knew Trent was teasing, but this was too important to just let it go. “Look, okay, I’ll admit I might be kind of a snob. But I went to school for chemistry. I lived it for years. Wrote my own recipes, perfected my taste. I know beer. I love beer. And you, well, you’re…”

  “Yeah?”

  Marianne held up her can again. “If you think this is refreshing, then you have no idea what’s out there. Taste mine and tell me you’d still call this beer.”

  “Is that a dare?” Trent’s grin was back.

  “If I say yes, will you drink my beer?”

  Trent had moved closer, so close Marianne could smell his light aftershave. The scent made her dizzy, or maybe that was just him—those piercing eyes, the stubble along his jaw. The way his shirt sleeves stretched over his biceps.

  “Would that make you happy? If I drank whatever you’ve got in that brewing vessel?”

  Marianne shivered. Trent hadn’t said anything lewd or suggestive, but the gravel in his voice had her hairs standing on end. She felt more alive than she had in a while, her body on high alert, her pulse loud in her ears.