Free Night Thunder by Jill Gregory Page A

rafters of the bar.
    “Corinne and Roy—you two lead it off.”
    Corinne and Roy stood up, grinning.
    “That’s Elam, my boss,” Corinne told Josy. “He’s just buttering me up, hoping I’ll stay on after all.”
    “Not a chance in hell of that.” From behind her, Roy wrapped his arms around her waist, just as a bowlegged older man in a plaid shirt and string tie hustled up, grabbed Roberta’s hand, and pulled her toward the dance floor. She was doing a jitterbug as she allowed herself to be swept away.
    Throughout the Tumbleweed Bar and Grill, couples were swarming toward the dance floor.
    Josy noticed Corinne glancing at her, hesitating.
    “Go on, you two. I’m fine here.”
    But Roy was shaking his head. “No way, Josy. A beautiful woman like you sitting here all alone? Corinne and me won’t hear of it. Besides, you heard what Elam said— everybody on the dance floor.” A slow grin spread across his face. “And damned if I don’t have the perfect dancing partner for you.”
    He turned around before she could speak and cupped his hands around his mouth.
    “Hey! Ty!” he called in the direction of the men still playing pool near the double doors. “Come on over here!”
    “Roy—no!” Josy murmured, her stomach sinking. Corinne placed a hand on his arm.
    “Honey, this isn’t such a good idea.” But Roy wasn’t about to be deterred. He waved his hat over his head as the group of men playing pool all turned and glanced at him.
    Josy turned sharply back to the table, caught between amusement and mortification.
That’s what you get for
coming tonight,
she thought.
You should have just stayed
in and plugged away at the fall line.
    “I don’t want to dance with anyone, Roy. Seriously.” She tried her most charming smile. “I’m antisocial— always have been. It’s a chronic condition. All my friends will tell you. Please, just go dance with Corinne. I have my wine, I’m perfectly happy to—”
    But she broke off as she heard the unmistakeable sound of a man’s boots thumping against the floor behind her, moving closer.
    “Ty, this is your lucky night. This lady needs a dance partner. Meet Josy Warner—from Chicago,” Roy said cheerfully.
    The footsteps halted right behind her chair.
    “Josy, this is my cousin, Ty Barclay.” Grinning from ear to ear, as if well pleased with himself, Roy clapped a hand on the shoulder of the man behind her. Resignedly, Josy craned her neck up and sideways to see who she was about to be stuck with.
    Oh, no.
    It was him. Mr. Not-So-Prince-Charming from the Pine Hills apartment stairwell. The tall, powerfully built man with the hard features and the wavy blue-black hair. And those cold, gun-smoke-blue eyes. Tonight instead of sweats he was wearing an open-necked dark blue shirt and well-tailored gray slacks—but the same scowl he’d worn last night.
    He looked even less pleased to see her than he had when he’d nearly knocked her down the stairs.
    “You’d be doing my cousin a big favor by dancing with him,” Roy informed Josy, seemingly oblivious to the tense silence that had dragged on several seconds too long.
    “He’s done nothing but play pool and talk business since he got here, and Ed Flanagan over there could bend his ear all night about rustled cows and damned incompetent brand inspectors. Ty, I know you’d much rather be dancing with this beautiful woman than thinking about rustlers. You’ll even get a free beer,” he added, grinning, and Josy wished she could sink through the floor.
    “Roy!” Corinne gasped, but he just pulled her toward the dance floor with a chuckle.
    For a moment the silence continued. The man standing behind her chair didn’t move, didn’t speak.
    “It’s all right. I don’t want to dance,” Josy said firmly, turning slightly, throwing him a quick cool glance. “Not with you, not with anyone. So thank you anyway, but—”
    “Great.” Ty Barclay gave a curt nod, not even letting her finish. “If you’re