Free Rough Stock by Dahlia West Page B

twisted one lock of hair around her finger, looking confused. “Want to dance?” she asked Court.
    Amazingly, he merely shrugged. “Maybe later,” he told her then turned away.
    The girl pouted then moved away from them, casting a disappointed look over her shoulder.
    Sawyer stared at Court. “Are you playing some kind of screwed-up version of hard to get? ’Cause I don’t think that’s required.” He eyed the girl as she shuffled away. “And if you make it too complicated for her, it’ll go right over her bleached-blond head.”
    Court scowled. “She’s not what I’m looking for.”
    “Oh yeah? Well, what’s that, then?” Sawyer prompted, but Court didn’t reply. Sawyer turned to Seth. “What about you? You gonna break that monk streak you’ve been working so hard at for so long?”
    Seth rolled his eyes. “I’m not a monk. I’m just busy.”
    “Uh-huh,” Sawyer drawled as he gestured to the dance floor. “You’d better get out there, before all the women are taken.”
    Seth looked past his brother and scanned the bar for any potential dance partners. He passed up more than a few before his eyes settled on a woman at the bar. He couldn’t see much of her face, because she was ordering a shot, it seemed. He liked a woman who passed up fruity drinks and went straight for the real deal. She had long, beautiful brown hair that fell past her shoulders. No part of him felt like a monk as he took in the rest of her, curvy hips, long legs, a waist he could wrap his hands around while they danced—to start with.
    His shot was drained and his beer was at its dregs, so he abandoned them both on the pretense of getting another round. He sidestepped two-steppers as he wove his way toward the woman. With each passing moment, it felt like the bar was getting more and more heated. The crush of people suddenly annoyed him. He’d rather talk to her alone. He came up behind her just as she set her empty shot glass down on the bar. She turned and ran into him, elbowing him in the torso.
    “Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, stumbling back.
    Seth caught her in his arms to keep her from falling. “That’s all right, darlin’. Maybe we could head over the dance floor and—Oh, shit.”
    She looked up at him, eyes wide. They were brown, much like his own, and yes, they were as gorgeous as the rest of her. But they belonged to a face he recognized now that he could see it fully.
    Rowan Archer.
    Everything in Seth warred at once. His mouth wanted hers, to taste her tequila-lime lips. His body wanted to stay pressed up against hers, maybe without clothes.
    Definitely without clothes.
    He’d had too much to drink, he decided, and pushed her gently away.
    “Oh my God,” she breathed.
    Rowan was a kid—at least that’s what his memory was of her. Long, blunt-cut hair, skinny and shy. It was an image totally at odds with the woman in front of him. Wavy, thick tresses, lips that had curved into a smile just seconds ago, and hips…
    He wiped the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, for so much more than she could possibly guess.
    “I…I thought you’d be out,” she stammered. “On the range. It’s spring.”
    “Me?” Seth blurted out like a dumbass. “You thought I’d be…?” But no, idiot , he scolded himself silently. She didn’t think he would be out on the range. She meant them, all of them, the Barlows…she meant Court.
    Like the Devil himself, Court appeared at the mere thought of his name, fitting for someone so in love with himself. He came up beside them, reached out and grabbed Rowan, forcing Seth to take a step back.
    “Rowan?!” Court cried as he tried to pull her to him. “What are you doing here?”
    Rowan blinked a few times, as though she’d seen a ghost, and then jerked back suddenly.
    Court didn’t release her, though. “I can’t believe—”
    “Let go!” she demanded, still pulling away. The bar was behind her, though, and she had nowhere to