Done and Dusted: A Rebel Blue Ranch Novel

I saw her the second her black cowboy boots crossed the threshold of my bar. She was Meadowlark’s sweetheart, a giant pain in the ass, and my best friend’s little sister.

Clementine Ryder.

The last time I saw her was the holiday season before last, but she had been leaving Rebel Blue Ranch as I was arriving. Because, as usual, I’d been late.

Gus had told me Emmy’s schedule had been pretty intense over the last few years. Considering she was damn good at racing, I’m sure that was true. Considering the Ryders were the only real family I’d ever had, Emmy was a constant presence in my life, even though I rarely saw her these days. Occasionally, I was with Gus when she called, or I saw in the paper that she’d won another title, but that was different from her walking into my bar on a Friday night.

Looking like that.

Holy hell. Had she always looked like that?

Or was it just the way she looked in the neon glow?

Her hair was reckless and messy. It looked even longer than when I last saw her, hitting the middle of her back. She was wearing a skirt made out of some sort of shiny material; satin or silk, I think. It moved over her body like water. It made me wonder how she’d look wrapped up in bedsheets. But not just any bedsheets–my bedsheets.

Shit. Where the hell had that come from? What was wrong with me? It had obviously been too long since I’d gotten laid. I didn’t want to think about how long.

That’s your best friend’s little sister, dipshit.

Two words rang in my head like alarm bells: off limits.

But damn. She did look good. It was okay for me to acknowledge she looked good, right? She was a grown woman. I was a grown man who generally enjoyed looking at beautiful women. I just hadn’t seen one in a while.

At least, not one this beautiful. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen between us, anyway. She couldn’t stand me.

Joe, who was tending bar tonight, flagged me down, jostling me from my inappropriate thoughts about Emmy Ryder. What the hell was she even doing here?

Usually, I heard about her visits because Gus wouldn’t shut up for a few days leading up to her arrival, but I hadn’t heard a peep out of him since he’d left for Idaho yesterday. Plus, when she did come home, she didn’t leave the ranch. It was no secret that Emmy had always wanted to get out of Meadowlark. The only thing stronger than her desire to leave was her love for her family, and that’s what dragged her back a couple times a year.

“Brooks! We need change at the bar, man,” Joe called over the music. Right, that’s what I was doing before a certain brunette walked through the door and stopped me dead in my tracks. Since when did the youngest Ryder have any sort of effect on me?

Since now, apparently.Nôvel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner.

That was fucking annoying.

I looked back and gave Joe a quick nod, letting him know I’d heard him. That’s when I noticed a redhead flirting with one of my horsemen at the bar. I recognized her bouncy-ass ponytail before I saw her face: Teddy Andersen.

If I would’ve seen Teddy first, maybe I could’ve prepared myself for Emmy’s arrival. When it came to those two, one thing was certain: where one went, the other was sure to follow. It drove Gus bat-shit crazy.

He always thought Teddy was too much—too loud, too vulgar, and too much trouble.

I liked her. She’d always been a good friend to Emmy and was one of the few people who didn’t shy away from Gus’s general asshole-ness.

Plus, I could always count on my patrons to spend a little more money, and give my bartenders slightly bigger tips, when she was around. Teddy was good for business, but Gus didn’t think she was a good example for his little sister. I thought Emmy deserved a little more credit. She was quiet, but she was scrappy. It’s what made her and Teddy a good pair. Not that I’d ever tell Gus that.

Emmy was none of my business.

Teddy caught my eye, and her stare bore into me.

I couldn’t place the look on her face, but then I saw her gaze shift to Emmy and then back to me. Fuck. I’d been caught staring where I shouldn’t be staring. I turned quickly and made my way through the bar to my office. It was right behind the stage where my house band, Fiddleback, was working through a lot of Waylon, as usual.

The Devil’s Boot had had a live band for as long as I could remember, but usually only on Fridays. Since I’d taken over, the house band played on Fridays, and other local bands covered Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. They could play a few originals as long as they supplemented the set with the classics.

My patrons loved to sing. Loudly.

On the other days of the week, we went old-school on the jukebox.

I tried, and failed, to keep my eyes off Emmy as I made my way to my office. Catching a glimpse of her just as she slid her denim jacket off, revealing a low-cut white top that showed off her toned arms. Christ.

Between that and the fucking skirt, I wanted to scream.

Change, Brooks. Joe needs change. Just get the change.

I would get Joe his change, and then I would make myself the world’s busiest bar owner. I just had to make it through the night, because in the morning, the neon glow would be gone, and Clementine Ryder would look like my best friend’s little sister again.

Hopefully.

My office was small, but it had the essentials: a desk, a small couch, and a bottle of whiskey in one of the desk drawers. I didn’t spend a ton of time in there. When it came to business, I usually did any work that had to get done out at the bar before we opened. I liked watching the the place transform from day to night. It was like magic.

I never saw myself as a business owner. No one had. I wasn’t exactly known in Meadowlark for being responsible, but this bar made me want to be more than other people’s expectations of me.

I didn’t know if I was getting there.

Because my office was right behind the stage, I could feel the kick drum. Its vibration shook the glass and whiskey I’d pulled out of my top drawer across my old oak desk. I poured myself a shot and threw it back, hoping it would dull the new effect Clementine Ryder was having on me.

Why was this happening to me?

I waited for the burn in my throat to go away before grabbing a wad of cash for the bar. I didn’t count it, but based on the size, it should be more than enough to get them through the night. I, however, would probably need a few more office shots if I was going to have to look at Emmy all night.

I didn’t even want to know what Gus would do to me if he knew what I was thinking about his little sister.

Maim me, at the very least. Murder me, probably.

I walked out of my office, cash in my back pocket, and locked the door. When I looked up, I had a perfect view of Emmy flirting with none other than Kenny fucking Wyatt.

That slimy little bastard. Sure, Kenny was the town golden boy, but Emmy’s older brothers and I had not forgotten how he’d left Emmy for another girl at their senior Homecoming.

Describing Emmy’s oldest brother as protective was the understatement of the century, and her other brother, Wes, was the same, but in a less intense way. Gus would be the one to beat the shit out of someone who hurt Emmy, and Wes would be the one to make sure she was okay.

I didn’t have much of a family, but I had the Ryders, so I usually got dragged along when it was time to defend Emmy’s honor, which happened more than one might think.

To this day, I didn’t think Kenny knew how his precious Mustang ended up on the other side of town with four flat tires.

And now, that piece of shit had one of his hands on Emmy, and she was smiling at him, so I did what Gus and Wes would’ve wanted me to do: I got his grimy little hands off of her. That’s the only reason I did it. For Gus and Wes. Not for me.

Not because I was jealous.

I wasn’t fucking jealous.

The look on her face as soon as she heard the steel guitar kick in was priceless. As a bonus, her hand immediately dropped from dickwad’s arm. Good. But his hand stayed on her waist as she started to look around the bar—looking for me, probably. She had to know Gus was at that ranchers thing in Idaho, and I was the only other person who enjoyed pressing this button of hers.

I did my best to ignore the way Kenny kept his hand on her–like she was his–or else I would walk over there and break it. I watched her look around the bar. She was laser-focused, and I could tell she was madder than a hornet. There was something in her eyes I hadn’t realized was missing when I’d looked at her before: fire. I started walking toward her, unable to help myself, ready to get burned.

EMMY

I felt Brooks’s hands grip the tops of my arms to steady me after running square into his chest, which felt like hitting a brick wall. It was hard. Was he benching cars or something?

His hands felt rough against my skin, and I hated the small thrill that went through me at his touch.

It didn’t matter how old I was–when Brooks was involved, I was thirteen years old again, watching an eighteen-year-old him bale hay without a shirt. He’d been nice to look at then, and he was nice to look at now. Even though my adolescent crush on him dissolved as soon as I got smart enough to realize how annoying he was, there was just something about him that got under my skin.

I shrugged his hands off me, frustrated that he still had any sort of effect on me. I was tall, standing somewhere around five-nine, but I still had to crane my neck to shoot daggers from my eyes at Brooks. He hadn’t changed much over the past few years.

If anything, he’d just gotten more handsome, which irritated me more than I already was.

Brooks wasn’t just tall, he was broad. His dark brown hair, which was always long, hit the middle of his neck. It had a slight wave to it that a lot of women would die for, including me.

Just like his stupid eyelashes that framed his stupid chocolate eyes. His hair was long enough that he could tuck it behind his ears, which meant I could see his stupid sharp jawline with its stupid five o’clock shadow.

I’m sure there were a lot of girls out there who would love for their brothers to have a best friend as good looking as Luke Brooks. I was one of them. That is, until he opened his stupid mouth and talked with his stupid low voice.

I really should have been more creative with my descriptive insults by now, but Luke Brooks had a habit of frustrating me enough that all coherent thoughts basically raced out of my head.

It was annoying.

He was annoying.

“Hey there, Clementine,” he drawled. My harsh stare was doing nothing to quell the arrogance that was literally oozing from his every pore. It was palpable. He was always like this. If his ego were a physical thing, it would be bigger than the entire state of Wyoming. Probably Colorado and Utah, too.

“Fuck off, Brooks.” He let out a low whistle that ended in a chuckle. I hated when he did that.

“Glad to see your tongue is still sharp as ever, sugar.” The way he said “sugar” was almost demeaning.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” I paused after every word, letting my annoyance with Brooks punctuate every syllable.

“Don’t let Kenny Wyatt put his hands all over you,” Brooks fired back. “Then I wouldn’t have to rescue you.”

Was this guy for real? He was waging psychological warfare with that stupid song because a boy from high school put a hand on my waist?

A hand on the waist was probably the most innocent gesture in this bar’s entire history. Seriously—I didn’t even want to know how much of Meadowlark’s population had been conceived in The Devil’s Boot bathrooms.

“Rescue me?” I questioned. My voice was getting louder, but luckily not louder than the music…yet. “Get a grip, Brooks.”

The band made it to the line about soft and fine bubbles—thank god. It was almost over. Almost everyone in the bar was singing, but most people had forgotten I was there after the first chorus, so Brooks’s stupid joke hadn’t lasted long.

“Yeah, Clementine. Rescue you. Your brothers would flip their shit if they saw you in here flirting with Wyatt.”

“I wasn’t flirting with Kenny. I was just saying hi. And even if I was, it’s none of your business. You aren’t my keeper, Brooks. And neither are Gus or Wes. I can take care of myself.”

“Actually, what my patrons do in my bar is my business.” His bar? Since when? “And your family is my family, Emmy, so even if you weren’t in my bar, you would be my business. You’ve always been my business, and you’ll always be my business.” The level of authority in his voice told me he didn’t want to be questioned.

I didn’t care.

He had to be kidding. He didn’t own The Devil’s Boot. I didn’t know who did, but there’s no way it could be Luke Brooks. He was reckless and irresponsible. I was pretty sure the only things he’d ever owned in his life were a black Chevy C/K pickup truck that could barely be classified as a vehicle, and a bunch of muscle tees that used to be t-shirts until he mutilated them with a pair of scissors.

“This isn’t your bar,” I said defiantly.

“This is my bar, sugar. And right now, my bartenders need change, so move your ass out of my way.” He started to push past me, but then turned to me one more time. “And tell Kenny Wyatt to keep his hands to himself, or I’ll kick you both out.”