Chapter 1

Chapter One

T he honky-tonk in High Wind, Wyoming, looked the same as any other honky-tonk within a one-hundred-mile radius. Perched a stone's throw from a motel that looked older than Elvis, it boasted tired neon Budweiser signs, dark tables and chairs, and floors that stuck to the bottoms of your boots. Or, in this case, Vivian Bridgestone's four-inch stilettos.

She glanced around and shook off the cold as a blast of early October wind followed her inside. The old jukebox in the corner played low, though the unmistakable sounds of Patsy Cline reached her ears. The music, she could appreciate. She just wished it didn't come with a side order of grease and stale beer. But, with no other place to grab food this close to midnight, she'd have to make do.

Aware that as the lone woman in the place (other than a server behind the bar) she was the focus of most of the men, Vivian adjusted her jacket, held her chin high, and kept her gaze forward. Male attention, she was used to, but it had been a long-ass day, and she didn't want to make small talk with a bunch of cowboys who were six beers deep or more.

She found a small table not far from the bar and set her purse down. There was enough distance between her and the men gathered near it that she would be able to relax. She doffed her coat and slid onto the seat. The bartender made her way over and, after fumbling for a small notepad, gave Vivian a smile.

"Evening. I'm Jenny."

"Hi."

"You're not from around here," the woman said.

"No." Not in the mood for conversation, Vivian kept her reply short and sweet.

Jenny appeared to be in her early thirties, with dirty blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and enough makeup on her delicate features to make a dance mom proud. She wore faded jeans and a pink tank top, and eyed up Vivian's pale blue dress with interest. A vintage Dior, Vivian had thrifted it the previous year, though she hadn't had the chance to wear it until tonight.

What a waste.

"That is the prettiest dress I ever seen." Jenny winked and shook her head. "Where in heck are you coming from looking like that?"

"Some place I wish I'd never been." Vivian attempted a smile, but it fell short.

"One of those nights, hon?" Jenny winked. "Well, let's get you a drink, and you'll feel better. The beer is cold though if you're looking for wine we don't have none."

"A soda is good. And a burger with fries."

"Coke?"

"Root beer."

The server got busy scribbling in her book. "Anything else?"

"That should be good. Thank you."

"All the fixings on your burger?"

Vivian nodded. She watched as the woman walked to the kitchen and disappeared from view, then sank back, her bones so tired, they ached. Jackson Hole had been a disaster. Why she'd ever agreed to meet up with her old girlfriend, Cassidy Buchanan, was anyone's guess, though if she were being honest with herself, she knew it was nothing more than an excuse to leave the ranch. To get away from the memories she couldn't seem to shake and a family she didn't feel she belonged to anymore.

If she were really being honest, the trip to Wyoming was to get away from him.

Him.

She couldn't even think his name without getting riled. Vivian had been back in Montana for well over a month now, and not once had Dallas Henhawk come to see her. Or talk to her. Or even check to see if she was alive. Or okay. Or something . It was as if she'd been erased from his life. Like he'd pressed the backspace on a keyboard until she was gone.

It was a bitter pill indeed, because as long as Vivian had been away from Montana, and it had been years, she'd thought about him most every day. Even now, tonight, at the tail end of what had been a miserable day, he was on her mind.

"Here's your soda. Dave will have your burger up in a jiffy."

Vivian accepted the root beer from the server and checked her phone to see if her brother had responded to her SOS. The truck she'd borrowed to drive to Jackson Hole had died. It had begun making weird noises about ten miles back, and luckily, the motel's sign had been a beacon. She'd managed to limp it off the interstate before it died.

She'd booked a room, but hoped that her brother Benton was on his way to get her. If she had to spend the night, Vivian supposed it was better than pulling over on the side of the road and hoping for the best.

"But not much better," she muttered, just as Jenny came back with a large platter of fries and a burger that smelled like heaven.

She dug in and ate quietly while she listened to some of the conversations at the bar.

There was leather-jacket guy, who thought he was in love with his girlfriend, Natalie. He wanted to put a ring on her finger because it would get his mama off his back, and maybe some extra-special loving from said girlfriend.

His pal, backward-ball-cap guy, disagreed. Vehemently. His opinion was that the girlfriend was already a nag and that if leather-jacket guy had to lie in order to have a night out with the boys, how in hell would that work?

He wasn't wrong.

Then there was the big, burly man with a bald head wearing a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, who was trying to explain what a hobbit was to a guy who was clearly asleep on the bar.

If Vivian weren't so damn tired, she would find it all amusing. Maybe write it down. Make a story of it. But the fact was, she was tired, and with a full belly, all she could think of was getting some shut-eye.

She checked her phone again. Still no response. With a sigh, she finished off her root beer and was about to grab cash from her bag when she noticed one of the men from the far end of the bar heading her way. He was a good-looking guy, with a headful of wavy dark hair, a handsome face, and some beef on him. The kind that spent his days outdoors. And maybe if it were another time and place, she might consider getting that itch that needed scratching, scratched. Nameless, faceless sex was in her wheelhouse, after all. But she wasn't in the mood for this stranger. Not tonight.

She bent her head, made a show of rooting for cash, but when his boots stopped a few inches from her, she knew things would probably get ugly. She could smell the whiskey. Envision the attitude.

"Hey there, girlie."

She didn't bother to look up. "I'm not interested."

"Ouch. That's one helluva cold wind in here."

Vivian grabbed two twenties and gritted her teeth. She looked up. "Can you move, please?"

"Sure can." He grinned and stood to the side. She got to her feet, and when he tried to grab her jacket, she shifted a bit and shrugged into it. Great . He was the handsy type. And built like a Mack truck. This might be harder than she first thought.

"The name's Gary. I'd like to buy you a drink."

"I'm good, thanks." She tried to go around him, but he grabbed her elbow.

"Come on. One drink."

Vivian looked pointedly at her arm. "Let go of my elbow."

"Why you being so squirrely? Let me buy you a drink." There was an edge to his voice now.

"I don't want a drink, but if I did, I have my own money."

"Ah, I see," he said with a half sneer. "You're one of those women. I bet you get real mad when a man opens the door for you, or, God forbid, tells you you're pretty. Does that offend you?"

This was headed south faster than she'd anticipated. Where in hell was Jenny?

"Gary, I'm asking you nicely to move."

"You think you're too good for me."

"What I think is that this conversation is over."

Vivian considered her options and decided there was only one way to handle this. She'd go for his nuts with her knee and jab him in the throat with her fist. If that didn't work, she was screwed, because no one seemed to care that she was cornered, and he had several inches and at least one hundred pounds on her.

Gary took a step closer, his expression black, and Vivian prepared herself. A part of her liked this. Looked forward to this. The fighting. It was a flaw, to be sure, but one that had served her well many times over, especially growing up on a ranch with older brothers.

"I'd be real careful about your next move, friend."

She froze, and time stood still for a moment.

Then came crashing down as Gary swore and turned toward the newcomer. Vivian knew the voice intimately. Had listened to it late at night when the shadows were as long as her loneliness. She glanced over to him.

Dallas Henhawk leaned against a table not more than two feet away. He was dressed simply, a plain black T-shirt, a pair of old weathered jeans, and big ass boots. His hair was a lot longer than she remembered, the ends and a good amount of length bleached blond from working in the sun, while his square chin and strong jaw sported a thick, dark beard. He'd always been a looker. His features were up there with Adonis, and in another world, he could have been a model. Or an actor. Or someone who was put on the earth to fuel the fantasies of every woman who crossed his path. He looked more like a biker than a ranch foreman, but then, he'd never cared much for convention. Dallas was tall and stood at six-foot-six. He was a mountain of a man with muscles, tattoos, a mouth made for sin, and…

He took her breath away. Literally. Vivian felt like she'd just been punched in the gut.

Dallas's eyes narrowed, moving from Vivian to Gary, and white teeth flashed when he smiled. "Leave the lady alone."

The look on his face, the words that he said, lit a spark inside Vivian. Leave the lady alone? Since when did he care about her welfare? That spark grew into a fire, and all that pent-up stuff she'd been hiding for weeks now erupted. There was no way to stop it.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Collecting you."

"I don't need collecting."

Dallas slowly straightened his body, and though he smiled, his eyes were wintry and cold.

"Seems to me you do."

"Listen, bud." Gary, too stupid to know the danger he was in, puffed up his chest. "The lady doesn't need you." He turned back to Vivian, his brain thinking he'd won, and reached for her.

She was done. Over this idiot. Over this night.

She kneed Gary in the groin, hard , then jabbed her hand into the base of his neck. The surprise on his face was comical, and he went down, roaring like an animal, grabbing hold of his family jewels along the way.

She sidestepped the cursing, groaning Gary and walked to the bar, glaring at every single male turned her way. Itching for one of them to start something. She smiled at Jenny, who was obviously shocked at the turn of events, and handed over the two twenties in her hand.

"Thanks. This should cover my bill."

Vivian headed for the exit, and the men parted like the Red Sea. By this time, her knees were shaking as her adrenaline waned, and it took some effort to keep her body upright. She almost made it out when she felt him at her back. She didn't turn around, just angled her head to the side to speak. "I've got a room. I'll stay the night and get the truck fixed in the morning."

"Sounds good."

She made a face, took a step, and then that little demon inside her couldn't help but stir things up. She whirled around—wrong thing to do. He was so close, she could count his lashes if she wanted to. So close, his woodsy smell filled her nostrils.

So close, the heat of his body crept over hers.

"Why are you here?" The words fell like jabs.

"I thought we just had this conversation."

"I called Benton."

"Benton was busy."

"Doing what?" she scoffed.

A hint of a smile lit up his face. "Busy doing what men do at this time of night."

The meaning didn't hit at first, and when it did, Vivian's cheeks heated uncomfortably. "That, I didn't need to know."

"You asked," he pointed out.

"Look, it's late, I'm tired and pissed off, and you're literally the last man on the planet I want to be around. I have a room, and I'll get the truck looked after in the morning."

"So you said."

She narrowed her eyes and watched him closely. Dallas Henhawk never gave in. She started forward, focused on the motel. "I'd say safe travels, but I don't give a crap."

Stones crunched under her feet, and it took less than a minute to cross the parking lot. She headed for room number four and grabbed the key from her coat pocket. It was about that time she realized Dallas was still behind her. She swore under her breath and turned around, but before she had a chance to say anything he spoke.

"I'm not leaving you alone in a place like this out in the middle of nowhere."

"I didn't think you cared," she retorted, voice dripping sugar along with a generous helping of sarcasm.

His eyes glittered, and the air between them shifted. "Maybe I should rephrase. I wouldn't leave any woman alone in a place like this."

"Out in the middle of nowhere."

His eyes narrowed.

"You forgot that part." Her heart was in her throat, the beats ten times faster than only a few moments ago. Vivian sensed a darkness in him, and it touched the same darkness that called her soul home.

It had always been that way between them. This pull. And it had nearly destroyed her all those years ago.

"You're not coming inside," she managed to say through tight lips.

He stared down at her for what seemed like ages, and then he stepped away, expression shuttered and unreadable.

"I wasn't planning on it."

She watched Dallas head to his truck and, with wooden fingers, unlocked her motel room. She closed the door, turned the lock, and latched the bolt, then leaned back, feeling utterly defeated.

All this time she'd been in Montana, Vivian had told herself Dallas meant nothing to her. That the only reason she was upset he hadn't shown any interest or come around to check on her was because of stupid wounded pride.

But that wasn't the case. There was still something there. Something dark and heavy and intense. As far as she could tell, it was a one-way road. Her road. Same as it had always been. Dallas Henhawk was a lone wolf, and she should know better.

She looked up at the dirty ceiling and shook her head.

How inconvenient was that?