Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(10)

The men who make them feel that desperate for affection are hardly men in my opinion. Weren’t raised by fathers like mine, I suppose.

“Oh yes,” she sighs, her voice breathy. “The Sundance is just about a kilometer up the road—only bar in town. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” I tip my hat towards her before making my way to the exit.

“Mr. Tucker?” she calls out behind me.

Stopping, I look over my shoulder, nodding for her to continue.

“I’m off in just a few minutes if you need a date,” she purrs, suggestively propping her breasts on top of the counter.

“Thank you for the offer, ma’am.” I smile as the thoughts form on my tongue. “I’ve already got a date though. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

The last thing I see before stepping out into the warm August air is the furrowing of her brow.

Hell, I don’t blame her. The whole thing is confusing me too.

The girl is right, though—just shy of a kilometer up the main drag, the familiar neon lights glow bright. It’s nine-thirty when I finally put a boot down on the beat-up hardwood floor. Heaven only knows what glass and brawls the grain in that wood has seen.

The bar is loud—exceptionally loud for a Sunday night in a small town, I figure. Nonetheless, my ears appreciate the twang and steel guitar coming through the speakers. My tense shoulders relax with the music.

Resting my forearms on the bar, I lean forward and wait as a petite redhead makes her way towards me.

“What can I get you, sugar?” she asks.

Lifting two fingers, I nod towards the bar behind her. “Bourbon, please.”

She pours the amber liquid into a short glass before passing it over the counter. “That’ll be twelve.”

After passing her a twenty from my wallet, I shake my head as the pretty, young thing tries to give me change. Just as she’s about to speak, the knucklehead wobbling on his stool beside me pipes up.

“R-e-e-d,” he slurs. “One more, baby.”

I don’t know how much he’s had, but the woman before me hardly seems like she fits such a masculine name.

“You’ve long since been cut off, Frank. Go on home.”

She turns to walk away, but the good-for-nothing idiot reaches over the bar, grabbing her bicep.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Reed,” he snaps.

I wait for the fear to build in her eyes. He’s a big guy, and he’s absolutely had a few too many. But it never comes.

“You have three seconds to remove your hands from my body, Frank, or I’ll have Mack haul your ass out of here. You hear me?” She leans into his face.

I can’t fight the smirk on my face when he uncurls his hand and shrinks back into his seat.

“Don’t you think you owe the lady an apology?” I ask, not looking up from my glass.

I feel his eyes sizing up the competition. He must determine it’s not worth it, because his stool scrapes across the floor.

“Sorry,” he says begrudgingly before vacating his seat.

“Thank you,” the bartender says.

I look up at hazel eyes. Shaking my head, I chuckle. “Seems to me like you had everything handled just fine on your own. Deserved an apology is all.”

“Reed Hennessy,” she says, reaching her hand over the bar. “I own the Sundance, and that there”—she nods towards the brute of a man coming towards us—“is my brother.”

After swallowing the contents of my glass, I put my much larger hand in hers. “Branson Tucker.”

It’s hard to see the resemblance between the two as her brother leans his hip against the counter beside me. “You good, Reed?” His face hardens in question.

“I’m good.” She nods. “Meet the out-of-towner, Branson Tucker.”

“Mackenzie Hennessy,” he clips out, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “You can call me Mack so long as you’re here.”

I fall into easy conversation with the sibling duo, and a few glasses of bourbon later, I’m about ready to call it quits for the evening. Then a god-awful sound crawls through the speakers.

Tap. Tap. Tap. “Is this thing on?” a pretty voice says, talking too closely into the microphone.

After turning around, I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the bar to watch.

“You see, I . . .” Her voice drops off as she argues with someone offstage and out of my line of vision. “I promised my big sister it was karaoke night tonight.” She stumbles a little. “So,” she says, pointing her finger out towards the crowd, “whaddaya say, Hennessy? How ’bout a little Shania Twain?”

Something about her appearance nags me, but I’m distracted when Reed mumbles, “Oh, lord.” She sighs before nodding towards Mack. “Go on and set it up for ’em. Poor girl’s had a rough one. She wants to embarrass herself on stage, let her do it.”

It only takes Mack a few minutes to get the old school karaoke machine set up, and as he puts in the song they were looking for, the blonde onstage motions for someone to join her. When she furrows her brow, I think she’s given up, but then she points towards Mack.

“Help a girl out?” She smiles.

The bastard caves almost immediately.

The whole thing is too darn funny—drinks and a show.