Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(31)

Every time the damn door opened, Reagan’s gaze darted over. And every damn time the door opened, Reagan was disappointed because the person waltzing in wasn’t Lynx.

She still remembered the pained look on his face that morning and it made her stomach hurt. She’d put that look there and she hadn’t meant to. The last thing in the world she would ever want to do was hurt that man. Although protecting her heart from him was crucial, he was still a friend. A very cherished friend, at that.

“Get another round over here, ladies?” one of the old cowboys called from the back.

Reagan glanced over at Amy, who was busy wiping down a couple of empty tables.

It was late, closing in on eleven, which meant they’d be shutting the bar down in an hour, and for the first time in forever, Reagan was counting down the minutes until that happened. She was pretty sure today had been the longest day in history. It was time to put it to bed. Not that she had anything to do after she left, but tonight she really didn’t want to be here. She was tired of listening to everyone laughing and joking, chatting it up about nothing important.

What she wanted to do was curl beneath the blankets in her bed and pretend today had never happened.

It would be easier that way.

Reagan popped the top off three beers and carried them over to the group of men. One of the guys — she’d never seen him in there before — glanced her way, his gaze instantly sliding down to her chest. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” she said sweetly. “Still good?”

“We’re good, honey,” the older one confirmed before resuming his conversation.

After making her way back to the bar, Reagan tried to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch the door. Unfortunately, she’d already cleaned everything she could clean. Twice.

“Hey.”

Looking up, she saw the man who’d been checking out her tits now standing on the other side of the scarred bar top. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. A little older, probably mid-thirties or so. He looked as though he’d been rode hard and put up wet, which likely meant he was a new ranch hand over at either the Double D or Dead Heat Ranch. Not that it mattered. She saw so many come through here and they changed quite frequently.

“What can I getcha?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t there for another beer.

“How ya doin’?” he asked.

“Great. You?” She knew her tone didn’t sound great, but hey, Reagan was doing the best that she could tonight.

“Name’s Tommy. And you are…?”

“Busy, Tommy, but thanks for askin’,” she replied coolly.

The guy grinned, clearly not fazed by her obvious brush-off.

“Aww, come on now,” he said with a grin. “I was just tryin’ to be friendly.”

Reagan turned to face him. “And I was tryin’ not to be rude,” she told him flatly.

The man seemed to consider that for a moment. “Somehow, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Nope,” she assured him. “We didn’t. If you need another beer, holler. Otherwise…” Reagan motioned to where she’d left the rag on the bar.

“Got it.” He turned and sauntered back to the table.

She’d half expected some sort of snide remark from being spurned, but he didn’t say a word. She’d gotten used to that over the years. Most of the folks who came in knew her and were friendly. However, there was the occasional hothead who didn’t take kindly to being turned down. And then there was Billy, who had never taken kindly to not getting his way. Whenever she didn’t meekly agree with him, she usually endured a rash of shit spewing from his mouth.

She damn sure didn’t miss that.

Of course, those thoughts had Reagan replaying the conversation with Tommy in her head. God, she sounded like such a bitch.

Seemed she was on a roll today.

An hour later, Reagan breathed a sigh of relief. Without wasting time, she grabbed the till from the bar and secured it in the safe before locking the rest of the place down. She made her way out to the main room to find Amy and Wolfe standing there, clearly waiting for her.

“I’m good, y’all,” she said. “Really. You don’t have to wait.”

“You’re right,” Wolfe replied easily. “We don’t have to. But we want to.”

Same thing Lynx had said the other day.

“Seriously, don’t you wanna take your lady home to bed?” she teased, taking off her apron and tossing it beneath the bar.

“Of course,” he said with a wicked smirk. “And if you’d get your ass in gear, I could do just that.”

“Fine.” Reagan knew they wouldn’t leave until she did, so she grabbed her truck keys and headed toward the door.

“I’m not sure why y’all can’t just—” Reagan pushed the door, but it shifted slightly but didn’t open. It should’ve swung outward. She tried again but was met with the same resistance. “What the fuck?”

She dropped her hands, shook them out, then tried again just in case, you know, she’d forgotten how to open a door in the last few hours.

Nope. Still wouldn’t open.

Glancing over at Wolfe, she frowned. “What’s wrong with the damn door?”