The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(14)

“No, but I know where there’s a cot we could set up and take turns taking hour-long naps.” She smiled.

“Starting right now?”

She grabbed a bar rag and threw it over her shoulder. “You take care of the grill, and I’ll fill beer pitchers and take money.”

Tyrell slid onto a stool and crooked his finger at Jill. “A double shot of whiskey, darlin’. You are a feisty one. You really don’t want Betsy for an enemy.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if she’s my friend or my enemy. She’s not tearing up the bar. It’s neutral, just like the store,” Jill said.

Sawyer poured up a shot of whiskey and set it on a paper coaster in front of Tyrell.

“Thank you,” Tyrell said, but his dark eyes were on Jill, not Sawyer or the whiskey. “Jill, darlin’, did I tell you that I’m named after the best-lookin’ Sackett brother that Louis L’Amour wrote about? Only my mama put two L’s in my name so I’d be twice the lover, but I ain’t nothing but a rough old cowboy. I do like my whiskey neat and my women beautiful, and you, darlin’, are the prettiest thing I’ve laid eyes on in years. Please don’t be mad at me for fighting in the store or at my cousin for fighting in the bar tonight. I’m sure they’ll have to call the undertaker to come haul me out of this bar feetfirst if you break our date.”

“I’d hate to see someone as full of shit as you die in Aunt Polly’s bar, so I will go to supper with you tomorrow night.”

“I will knock on your door promptly at five with roses in my hand.”

“And now, Mr. Tyrell Gallagher, named after the famous Tyrel Sackett, only with two L’s in his name, I must get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked back at Sawyer. Both dark-haired. Both with brown eyes. Both cowboys. What made the difference in the way they affected her? Could it be that one was full of bullshit and the other was honest?

Tyrell picked up the whiskey and downed it in one gulp. “I believe I’ll live to dance another day with that shot and the promise of spending time with the gorgeous Jill Cleary tomorrow night.”

“Be sure to get her home before midnight. She turns into a rabid coyote when the clock strikes twelve.” Sawyer moved on down the bar to fill a pitcher with beer.

“That true, darlin’?” Tyrell asked.

“Got to take the bad with the good,” Jill answered.

*

The jukebox played its last song a few minutes before eleven. The grill was cooling. Beer and margarita pitchers were in the dishwasher.

“I’ll sweep if you’ll wipe down the tables, and then we’ll be done,” Sawyer said.

Jill picked up the spray bottle filled with cleaner, and a couple of bar rags, and went to work. Sawyer grabbed a broom.

He’d known her for twenty-four hours. They’d started off arguing, but had quickly worked things out until they were like old friends now. He leaned on the broom handle and stared at her, careful to go back to his job when she straightened up to go on to the next table.

She turned the chairs upside down on the table after she’d wiped them all down, so he could have easy access for sweeping. “Better hurry up and stop taking breaks if you want to get me home by midnight, so I don’t turn into a rabid coyote.”

“I was trying to help you out there, woman.”

“I know that. I wish we could both go back to yesterday and undo tomorrow. I dread it.”

“Then be a rabid coyote so neither one of them will like you,” he said.

“Might be an idea. If you work faster, you’ll get home to that apple pie quicker. It’s cool by now, and there’s ice cream in the freezer to go with it.” She straightened up and rolled her neck to get the kinks out.

He made a big show of sweeping faster. “Work, good woman. Work fast and hard. I’d forgotten that pie and chocolate cake await us at home. You might have to bake something more on Monday morning.”

She flipped two of the three chairs upside down on the last table and sank into one of the remaining ones with a long sigh. “I can’t wait until Monday gets here, because then all this Sunday shit will be done with. Hell, I can’t even remember their names most of the time. What if I call a Brennan by a Gallagher’s name, or vice versa?”

“Say the name three times and picture an animal to go with the name, so you don’t call him by the wrong feuding family name. Quaid looks like big old Angus steer to me, so picture a bull. Now the other one, Tyrell, is a wolf for sure, so picture him as that, and you’ll never forget his name.” Sawyer leaned the broom against the jukebox, sat down in the remaining chair, and propped his feet on the table.

“Quaid the bullshit cowboy. Tyrell the hungry wolf cowboy. You’re getting my table all dirty,” she said.

“I’ll wash it. My feet are tired. At least you are getting red roses. I’m not taking roses or any other kind of flower to Betsy or to Kinsey. Maybe they’ll take that as a slight and leave me alone.”

She tucked a few strands of flaming red hair behind her ear. “I don’t even like roses. I said that so he wouldn’t know my favorite flower and bring them. I have a problem relating flowers to people or events, and I damn sure don’t want my favorite ones ruined by a one-date cowboy.”

“And the favorite ones are?” Sawyer asked.