The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(41)

Too bad his smile wasn’t as hot as Sawyer’s, or she might have taken him up on a visit to his special spot.

“The only thing I’m interested in is sleep,” she said.

“I would love to hold you in my arms all night. I’ll be the last one out the door, so if you change your mind, let me know.” He picked up two pitchers in one hand, and the last one in the other, and swaggered off to his table.

“Should I tell him that you steal covers?” Sawyer asked.

“What about covers?” Betsy asked from the bar. “I’d be right happy to keep you warm enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about covers, Sawyer. Thought I’d wait for the burgers and carry them back to the table as you get them ready. We are starving.”

Jill didn’t miss the look exchanged between the two women when Kinsey brushed past Betsy on her way outside with a cell phone plastered to her ear.

“I was saying that you can’t judge a book by the cover,” Sawyer lied. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Betsy.”

“Well, hot damn, darlin’! I agree with you on that. Anytime you want to see inside this book, all you have to do is open the cover.” She flipped her hand around to sweep from head to toe.

Sawyer ignored her comment. “Three burger baskets right here, and the other four will be ready when you get back.”

“Fast thinking there, cowboy.” Jill laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kinsey let a welcome blast of fresh air inside when she returned with the phone tucked away somewhere and a smile on her face. She and her cronies, which had grown a table full of people to two tables, put their heads together for another confab and kept glancing toward the bar.

“Either they’re about to murder Betsy, which I wouldn’t mind, or they’re going to try to enlist us into their family for help on the next battle of the pig war,” Jill told Sawyer.

“I’m a lover not a fighter,” he said.

There was that cocky grin again.

“No sassy comeback. You must be tired,” Sawyer said.

“I was thinkin’ maybe I’d tell Betsy that you’re a lover, or maybe Kinsey,” she said.

“They know it already. That’s why they’re both chasin’ me.” He laughed.

“Not a bit of ego risin’ up from your cowboy boots, is there?”

“Awww, this is Sawyer you’re talkin’ to, ma’am. Not Quaid or Tyrell. You don’t have to stomp on my feelin’s because you’re mad at them.”

“A pitcher of beer and two cheeseburgers, no fries,” Kinsey said.

“Four burger baskets for Betsy Gallagher,” Sawyer yelled.

Betsy made her way through the crowd and perched on a stool right beside Kinsey. “So how’s business? You chargin’ more than a dollar to meet some poor old cowboy out behind the bar? I saw you leave a while ago.”

“Prices went up,” Kinsey said sarcastically. “For prime they have to pay two bucks. When I found out you was chargin’ a dollar, I figured I was worth twice that much.”

“Don’t forget to pay your taxes. I’d hate for the IRS to get you for tax evasion. The righteous Brennan name couldn’t stand a mar on it,” Betsy said.

“Like the bootleggin’ Gallaghers?” Kinsey smarted off.

“Ladies, remember where you are,” Jill said.

Betsy leaned forward until she was inches from Kinsey’s face. “I see a few wrinkles around your eyes. Won’t be long until you’ll have to lower your prices or pay the customer.”

Then she flipped two dollar bills on the bar in front of the stunned Kinsey and said, “I wouldn’t want you to starve to death since your chicken and dumplin’s dried up. That should buy you a latte tomorrow morning.”

She lined the burger baskets up on her arm like a professional waitress and sashayed her way through the line dancers back to her table. Kinsey swiped all the color from her lips with a paper coaster and smiled at Sawyer.

“I’m experienced, not old,” she said.

“I’m not sayin’ a word,” Sawyer said bluntly.

“I’ll take the beer back and return for the burgers,” Kinsey said.

The baling on the hip pockets of jeans glimmered as she carefully made her way past the folks two-stepping to Blake Shelton’s newest song. Then suddenly she stumbled and fell right into the Gallagher table, dumping one pitcher of beer on the floor and the other on Betsy.

Jill grabbed a mop and headed that way, with Sawyer right behind her. Betsy jumped to her feet, slinging her hands and throwing drops of beer on everyone around her.

Kinsey’s eyes went wide in mock shock. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said coldly. Then she moved closer to Betsy, grabbed her by the shoulders, and licked the beer from her face from jawbone to forehead. The song ended, and the bar went quiet. It was worse than sitting in the eye of a tornado, and more eerie than the music in a horror movie.

“What the hell are you doing?” Betsy quivered like she’d stepped on a mouse in her bare feet.

“A Brennan doesn’t waste good beer.” Kinsey smiled. “If all you can do is whine and bark, then you don’t have a place with the big dogs.”

Betsy’s hands knotted into fists. “I’ll show you a fight, if that’s what you want.”