We walk into The Railspur, the best bar in town. It used to be the only bar in town before Chestnut Springs started growing with city folk moving out this way to live the country lifestyle or some cheesy shit like that.

And I’m pretty sure Honky Tonk Sundays are designed just for them. It’s the night when they all play cowboy dress-up and line dance or two-step, and just generally pretend they aren’t high-rolling city slickers.

If I weren’t so annoyed by it, I’d find it funny.

It feels like everyone in our group is a local celebrity of some sort. Rhett the retired rodeo king, Beau the military hero, and Jasper the hockey sensation—even though he avoids attention like the plague.

I’m just the brother who runs the ranch, the one whose woman left him with a child and more responsibility that he reasonably knows what to do with.

It’s the nudge of Willa’s shoulder against mine that keeps me from diving into a huge well of self-pity. “This place is so cool.”

I thought she’d take off with Summer. The two of them had a serious case of the giggles in the back of my truck on the way over here. I’m pretty sure I heard Summer say something about peeing a little, and that’s when I tuned them out.

“Yeah, I guess.” I survey the bar as we make our way toward our favorite spot at the back. The one with big green leather couches and a roaring fireplace.

What do people call this? Cowboy chic? That term has always amused me. Cowboying has never seemed all that chic to me.

The place is warm, all dark woods and fireplaces, ornate chandeliers. It’s changed a lot since the days when I’d come here more regularly. Now I only ever come when my brothers drag me out.

“Do you come often?” Willa asks.

“What?” My brain takes that question in a different, sex-starved direction.

Her lips roll together, not missing a goddamn beat. “To this bar? Do you come here often? God, I don’t know if that’s really any clearer. I mean come like c-o—”

I close my eyes and say a silent prayer for patience and a flaccid dick, holding up a hand. “I know what you mean and the answer is no.”

When I open my eyes again, she’s smirking. We come to stand in front of the couches. Everyone files in and she watches them carefully, eyes assessing where everyone sits. As always Jasper takes the back corner seat facing away from the rest of the room and Beau takes up position across from him—always facing the room.

Willa doesn’t even glance at me when she murmurs, “You don’t come often?”

“Not here,” I bite out.