“Wait here,” she said.

  “Don’t take too long.”

  She scurried off, blushing, and let herself into her own garage. No way Trent’s crappy gas station beer was giving her this kind of buzz. It had to be Trent himself. The man loved to annoy her and wind her up, but tonight it felt playful, like a game. A challenge. She snatched six bottles of her newest brew out of the fridge and carried them back over to Trent’s yard. He was grilling corn, letting the cobs char to perfection.

  “Looks tasty.” she said, and handed him a bottle. Trent turned the unlabeled bottle over in the sun, before twisting the cap off and squinting inside at its contents.

  “Dark.” She thrilled at the note of approval in his voice. “What is this?”

  Marianne flushed again, afraid he might laugh. “Well, I like to call it Cherries Brewbilee.” Trent pulled a face, but she couldn’t be sure whether the name or the hint at the beer’s flavor made him regret his decision to try it. “Don’t worry. It’s not cherry-flavored.”

  Trent’s frown deepened. “Then, why—?”

  Marianne took his elbow. “Here. Sit. Wait one second.”

  She ushered him into his chair, then went for her pocket and pulled out a stick of cherry lip balm. “This is one I brewed for fun. I wanted to see if I could make a beer that pairs well with cherry lip balm. A novelty for ladies’ night, when we used to—when I—” She cut herself off. She’d said too much again, but Trent didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy swirling his beer in its bottle.

  “That’s a new one on me,” he said, and stood up to face her. “But what do you mean by ‘paired’?”

  “Watch.” Marianne puckered her lips, coated them with lip gloss, and gave a little smack to pop the flavor into place. Then she twisted the cap off her own bottle and took a long drink. The rich stout tingled against her lips and flowed down her throat as thick as cold cream. She could practically hear her taste buds rejoicing. The chocolate undertones of the stout mixed with the zesty notes of the cherry lip balm, the two flavors complementing each other perfectly.

  “Ahhh.” She gave an exaggerated sigh as she set down the bottle and offered the lip balm to Trent. “Want to try it out?”

  Trent stared, disbelieving. “Do I want to…put on lipstick?”

  “Not lipstick. Lip balm. Don’t say you’ve never tried it.”

  “Not the cherry kind.” Trent had moved closer. Now he closed his eyes and took a deep whiff. “You know what it smells like? Those fancy candles. Sabrina loves ‘em, Yankee Candle, y’know?”

  “I know,” said Marianne. “And I know you’re stalling. Do I need to dare you, or—” The breath stilled in her lungs as Trent leaned in closer. The light had changed, and his eyes had gone dark. They glinted with promise as he reached for the balm. But instead of taking it, he took her whole hand, clasped it in his and pulled it flush to his chest.

  “Trent—”

  He closed the distance between them, his lips a whisper’s space from hers. She could feel his heart beating, and the heat off his skin.

  “Dare me?” he said.

  “Triple-dog dare.” The words were out before Marianne could think twice, and then Trent was kissing her, deep and intense. She lost herself in him, in his taste, in his touch. Her flavorful craft beer might’ve started the party, but Trent’s kiss was the real jubilee. The way his lips joined with her own was the perfect pairing she had always tried for when brewing, and when his tongue swept her bottom lip, she felt herself melt.

  Trent’s hand slid down her back and came to rest on her hip. Marianne dropped her beer and it spilled in the grass, but if Trent noticed, he gave no sign. He cupped her face gently and kissed her again, and held her steady when she thought the gravity of his kiss might bring her to her knees.

  When he drew back at last, Marianne was breathless. She licked her lips as reality sank back in, and stood there groping for something smart to say. All she could come up with was his name. “Trent…”

  He picked up her discarded bottle and set it aside. Then he swooped back in for an equally unexpected second round. Marianne lost her lip balm this time. She wrapped her arms around Trent’s neck as he crushed his mouth to hers. There was no teasing for entry or toying with taste this time. Trent’s kiss was demanding, and full of heat. His tongue flickered deftly between her lips, and she couldn’t help imagining it wandering lower, tasting her all over. She wanted to sag in his arms and let him take every pound of her, but this was still Trent, and she hadn’t forgiven him yet for what he’d said about the Tonk. It wouldn’t be a proper kiss between them if there wasn’t some fight to it. Some bite.

  Marianne grazed her teeth along his bottom lip, gently pulling it into her mouth. Trent groaned and recaptured her lip in turn, sucking until she couldn’t take it anymore. She could feel a moan building, a real whimper of pleasure that, once unleashed, would change everything between them.

  But before her passion could crescendo, Trent drew away once more. He released her lip at the last instant, and it sprang back into place, worried and oversensitive. Marianne longed for him to take it back. He examined her for a moment until he looked satisfied with what he saw. Then he slid his hands off her body and returned to the grill.

  Marianne watched as he picked up his bottle of Cherries Brewbilee and took a long drink from it. His eyes shifted to the sky, and his look of contemplation warred with a grin of satisfaction.

  “I see what you mean about them pairing well together,” he said. “Sometimes the things you least expect to go together end up being perfect. Ready for corn?”

  Marianne wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to climb into Trent’s lap and pick up exactly where they’d left off, until that maddening little smile of his vanished and he got back to more important business.

  Instead, she dropped down into Trent’s abandoned lawn chair. “Yes, please.”

  Once his back was turned, Marianne grabbed a fresh beer. She had a feeling she would need it if she was going to make it through the evening.

  6

  TRENT

  Trent could’ve kept kissing Marianne all night. The thrill of watching her squirm while he pretended nothing had happened didn’t come close to the rush he got from her lips on his. He doubted either of his brothers, Trevor especially, would ever leave a beautiful woman hanging like that, but Trevor wasn’t tangling with a woman like Marianne. Sure, Trevor and Sabrina had had a rough start, but Sabrina was the ray of sunshine to Marianne’s midnight. His neighbor had secrets, defenses stacked high. If he wanted to reach her, he’d need to break through, but battlements that tough would need some wearing down.

  What was she trying to prove, reviving the Honky-Tonk? And who was she trying to prove it to? She was running from something, that much was plain. Marianne was scared, and if Trent knew one thing, it was that fear and bad decisions went hand in hand. A drowning man would pull you under, trying to survive. Marianne was doing the same with the Honky-Tonk, and she wouldn’t see it until she felt safe.

  Trent went to bed with her cherry lip balm still lingering on his lips. He stared at his bedroom ceiling and imagined her mouth pressed to his. He thought of her body, her generous curves, and soon all thoughts of the Honky-Tonk drifted away.

  He avoided looking out the window and over the fence to see if Marianne’s light was still on. If she was up and as restless as he was after their encounter, he didn’t think he’d be able to prevent himself from going over and doing something about it. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep, and eventually it came for him, dreamless and deep.

  The next day, he waited for Marianne to come to him. He figured she’d find some pretext to drop by after work—dropping off more beer, or maybe dessert—but dusk came, then darkness, and she never showed. Far from coming to him, she turned the tables on him. He’d left her hanging for an evening, and she stretched it out over a week. Even when he invited her over for another cookout, she avoided bringing up their obvious chemistry. She cooked steaks on the grill and drank his cheap beer, but as far as their kiss went, it might as well not have happened.

  Trent was on edge at first, waiting impatiently for the other shoe to drop. But as the week wore on, he found himself relaxing, growing to enjoy their conversations more than he had anticipated. Marianne was funny and smart and sincere, and she grilled a mean steak, always a plus. Still, the kiss lingered between them, unacknowledged and—worst of all in Trent’s mind—unrepeated.

  Sometimes he caught her looking at him in a way that seemed to imply a challenge. She was onto him, and she didn’t want to be the first to give ground.

  Well, who the hell did that benefit?

  Trent’s physical frustrations mounted. He looked for every excuse to drop in on Marianne at the Honky-Tonk. A few times he had managed to angle himself behind her, pretending profound interest in whatever task she was engaged in, when he had really only been using it as an excuse to feel the outline of her curves pressed up against him. The way her hands paused and her breath hitched whenever he came close taxed his self-control to its limit, but Trent was determined to wear her down.

  The day of the town meeting, Trevor was stuck at Wildhorse with a foaling mare, so Trent swung by to pick up Sabrina on his way to the Honky-Tonk. They pulled up just in time to claim one of the last available parking spots.

  “Mari must be freaking out,” Sabrina said as she hopped down from the cab. “Looks like half the town showed up for this meeting, and I’m pretty sure most of them are more interested in checking out the new digs than actually discussing town business.”

  “Mari?” The nickname amused Trent. That was how Celia had always referred to Marianne, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her that. Not yet, at least. Not without an invitation.

  “We’ve chatted a few times on the phone. I’m getting to know her pretty well.” Sabrina grinned. “She told me you’re neighbors.”

  “That a fact?”

  “You’ve been holding out on me, Trent.” She leaned in to nudge him with her elbow as they crossed the parking lot. “I want details from you. Because whatever’s going on between the two of you, Mari’s not sharing.”

  “There’s nothing going on,” said Trent, and stifled a groan. In a very real sense, this statement was true. Sabrina’s disappointed expression couldn’t change that. Couldn’t dispel that kiss hanging in the air. He held the door for Sabrina as they reached the Honky-Tonk.

  The front room was wall-to-wall bodies. Trent could already see people resigning themselves to standing around the perimeter of the folding chairs set up for the occasion. Trent caught their murmurs as he headed inside—did she even change anything? Think she polished the floors. Great, so we’ll slip on them? Where’s the pool tables?

  Trent scanned the room for a dark head of hair, a flash of blue eyes, and didn’t come up disappointed. Marianne stood near the front of the room, shaking hands and introducing herself to as many people as she could. She looked swamped and frazzled, her whole body tense. Trent wove through the crowd, and Sabrina followed in his wake. The moment Marianne saw them, she excused herself and hurried over.

  “They’re asking me to do an introduction!” she hissed. In her nervousness, she barreled right into Trent’s chest. He put his hands up to catch her, enjoying the feel of having her (nearly) in his arms, but Marianne seemed too preoccupied to notice.

  “Well…yes.” Sabrina looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t they? Everybody’s dying to meet you and hear more about your plans for the Honky-Tonk.”

  “They want me to speak,” Marianne insisted. “They want me to stand up there and talk. In public.”

  Sabrina may have been confused by Marianne’s fright, but Trent wasn’t. He had witnessed this same aversion to public speaking in his brother Trevor when the two of them had given presentations in high school. Trevor had mostly gotten over his fear now, but he had also managed to build a life for himself where it wasn’t necessary. Trent had never struggled personally, but he knew something about what Marianne was going through.

  “All you have to do is introduce yourself,” he said soothingly. “Nothing more.” Her blue eyes flew to him, wide and full of panic.

  “They’re going to have questions. I can’t just ignore them. What’ll it look like if I say hi and run?”

  Trent wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and shield her from the danger she thought she was in, but she would have to face the town sooner or later. All of Lockhart Bend was buzzing with curiosity about Celia’s niece and the future of the Honky-Tonk.

  “This is your chance,” Sabrina pointed out. “You need to win them over, and look! They’re all here.”

  “Don’t pressure her,” said Trent, and scowled at Sabrina. “All she has to do is say who she is and thank everyone for coming. She’ll have plenty of chances to meet folks one-on-one.”

  Marianne pulled back and took a deep breath. “I appreciate your suggestions. Really, I do. But—” She glanced back behind her. One of the city councilwomen was waving her over. “That looks like my cue. I saved you seats in front, if you want.”

  “We want. We want.” Sabrina pushed Trent along needlessly. They seated themselves as Marianne took the mic from the councilwoman. Her hands were shaking, her mouth a tight line. Trent watched her throat work as she swallowed hard.

  “H…Hello, everyone. Hello, Lockhart Bend.” Marianne cleared her throat, the sound loud and harsh. “Thank you all for coming. This is the Honky-Tonk…but I guess you knew that already.”

  “Can’t hear you!” a voice hollered from the back. A ripple of agreement ran through the room. Trent could have killed whoever had decided to open his mouth this early into Marianne’s introduction.

  Marianne blushed, and fiddled with the switch on the mic. “Is that…is that better?” she shouted. The roar of feedback that followed made several people in the front row wince.

  “Tell them who you are!” Sabrina stage-whispered from beside Trent. Trent leaned back as far as his chair would allow and crossed his arms. He willed Marianne to fix on him—to know he was there and find some modicum of comfort in his proximity—but her eyes shot every which way, bouncing frantically between faces and never settling.

  “Sorry about that. Yes, hello. Welcome to the Honky-Tonk. I’m Marianne Stanton. I think most of you knew my aunt, Celia.”

  “Oh, no,” Sabrina muttered. She’d been scanning the crowd behind them. “This is what I was afraid of. This whole thing is going to turn into a Q&A. For Marianne.”

  Trent twisted around to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, someone had put up a hand.

  “Um…yes?” Marianne motioned for the questioner to go ahead. Phil Hicks rose and hitched up the front of his belt, looking as self-important as Trent knew him to be.

  “Are you going to have free wings, like at the Stomper?”

  Marianne stared at him. “Free wings? I don’t—”

  “The Stomper has free wings on Thursday nights, long as you buy a pitcher of beer,” someone called from the back of the room. “They got poker, too. You gonna have poker?”

  “I, uh…” Marianne tugged at her collar, a nervous gesture. “I have various activities and theme nights planned. We’ll have karaoke, line dancing, and of course, live music. And I’m open to suggestions, if—”

  “The old Tonk had all that,” Phil said bluntly. “But the Stomper has cheap beer, and no neighbors to complain when the music gets loud. What have you got that’s better?” His command of the room was more natural and came to him more easily than Marianne’s. Guess that happens when you’re a spotlight-seeking prick, Trent thought.

  “Well, uh…” Marianne licked her lips. “I’m sorry, I—”

  Sabrina’s eyebrows shot up as Trent rose and stepped forward to join Marianne at the mic. Maybe he was only imagining it, but Marianne didn’t look at all affronted by his bold move. If anything, she looked relieved to be sharing the makeshift stage.

  “Marianne has big plans,” Trent said. “She’ll be serving good beer here, not just the cheap kind, and she’s fixed up those squeaky boards on the porch out back. The lights are all on, and the place looks great. Now, she came all the way from Colorado to set up shop here, and I think the least we can do is give her a chance.”

  He let his eyes sweep the audience, coming to rest on Phil Hicks. Phil looked astonished that Trent had come to Marianne’s defense, and Trent realized he couldn’t really blame him. Hell, he couldn’t blame any of them. They were only voicing his own concerns, although he liked to think he had been more tactful about saying them to Marianne’s face.

  Maybe coming to her defense hadn’t been tactful, though. He glanced at her to check her response, and Marianne returned the look with a relieved one of her own. He guessed she’d needed the reprieve to pull herself together.

  “I think what Phil’s saying is, the old Tonk was depressing, just folks sitting around drinking, not a lot going on.” Phil’s brother had stood up, farther in back. “It’s not that we don’t want to see you succeed. It’s just, the Bend’s grown. You’ve got neighbors all around. We can’t cut loose like we used to in the middle of town.”

  “I mean, you can’t fire shots through the ceiling or howl at the moon,” said Marianne, finally finding her voice. “But the building’s up to code now. It isn’t soundproof, but it’s closer than it once was. We can turn up the volume and not get complaints. And there’ll be live music, and theme nights, and food. And like Trent said, I’ll be serving a selection of beers—not just the cheap kind, but choices for every palate. Even a delicious brew of my own, which you’ll all get to sample at the Summer Festival.”

  The crowd murmured approval at this. Trent glanced sideways at Marianne, but she was off and running, hitting her stride. He moved to retake his seat, but the moment he did, he felt her hand come up—behind his back and out of the audience’s view—to grip a corner of his shirt and keep him in place. He stayed.