Chapter 1

"Iwant you to go out with me," Coop said.

Macie looked out the front window and frowned in confusion. "Outside? Why? It looks like rain."

Coop shook his head. "Out with me. On a date."

Macie wasn't sure how to reply, but that didn't stop her mouth from opening and producing sound. "Seriously?"

Coop didn't seem offended by her stupid question. "Yeah."

She glanced around the bar, wondering if anyone could hear the exchange. Not that she cared if they could. She imagined—like her—any eavesdroppers would be floored by his request.

Hank Cooper was a regular at Sparks Barbeque. He'd come in for dinner one night shortly after his wife's death nearly a year earlier and it was as if he'd taken up residence. Which suited Macie just fine. He was a nice guy with a quick wit. Coop got her special brand of sarcasm. She liked that about him.

And it had occurred to her that—though he was frequently in the restaurant—he was watching her more closely than usual tonight. In fact, she'd felt his intent stare on her the past couple of times he'd been in. Of course, she'd probably noticed it because she'd been watching him lately as well. It was like she couldn't help it. Coop came in and for the rest of the night, half her attention was on her job, the other half on him.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Coop took a deep breath as his gaze remained locked with hers. She was used to this expression. People used it with her all the time. She called it the "praying for patience" look.

"I'm sure." His response was gruff. Coop didn't mince words, which seemed like an outright anomaly to her. She didn't understand how people could say so much with so few words.

Macie loved to talk, loved the sound of her own voice as she wove fantastical, far-fetched stories. Why say something in three words when she could use four thousand and eighty-seven?

Then she figured his invitation was extended merely out of boredom or loneliness. She wasn't a threat because they were friends, and it simply wasn't possible for her to be any less his type.

Even so…she felt compelled to warn him. He was about to open one big-ass can of worms.

"You realize pretty much every single woman in town is ready to cast her bra into the ring the second you give them the green light to go. Right now, they're all giving you space and time to mourn. If you and me go out, it's open season on Hank Cooper. Is that really what you want?"

"I don't intend to date anyone but you."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked around the room once more. "Is this a joke? Did my dad put you up to this?"

She started to call out to her father, to give him shit for joining forces with Coop to pull her leg, but Coop grabbed her hand and squeezed it before she could speak.

"It's not a joke, Macie."

His tone and expression finally managed to plow through her thick skull. He seriously wanted to date her. Once again, she didn't know what to say. So she went ahead and spoke anyway.

"Why?"

"You off now?"

She nodded. Her sister, Adele, had come in a few minutes earlier and gone to the back to put her things away. Once she returned, Macie had the evening off. She was planning to go home and masturbate while watching the wedding episode of Outlander for the millionth time. Jamie Fraser melted her butter.

"Get your stuff," he said as Adele stepped behind the bar.

Macie gave Adele a quick rundown of who was drinking what and then she grabbed her purse from the storage room. Coop was waiting for her by the front door of the restaurant.

She assumed he was planning to walk her to her car, though it was a completely unnecessary gesture in Maris. Crime here was rare and what little they did have was usually of a nonviolent nature, if you didn't count the arsonist her cousin, Evan, tracked down and apprehended not quite a year ago.

So she was surprised when he placed his hand on her back and led her to his truck.

"Where are we going?" she asked when he opened the passenger door for her.

"I told you. I'm taking you out."

"Now?" Despite her confusion, she let Coop help her up into the truck. It wasn't like she had much choice in the matter. The guy was damn strong and pretty good at compelling her to do things almost unintentionally.

She'd first noticed that ability of his at a barn dance out at the Mills' place a couple months ago. Her cousin's band, Ty's Collective, had been performing and she never missed a chance to catch one of their shows, as they happened too few and far between now that all the band members had "real" jobs.

She hadn't planned to step out on the floor for the slow dance because she was hot and sweaty and her feet hurt from all the crazy Texas two-stepping she'd done. But Coop had reached out a hand to her and before she knew it, she was in his arms swaying to an old George Strait song, "I Cross My Heart." And even during the dance, there had been no denying who was in control. He twisted and turned her with ease as they glided to the easy rhythm.

She hadn't told anyone, but the dance had made her horny. Like seriously horny. So much so, she'd gone straight home afterward and fired up her vibrator. Three different times throughout the night.

Then he had done the same thing at her cousin Sydney's wedding last month. Just dragged her out to the dance floor and once again, she'd relinquished all control to him. Put herself in his oh-so-capable hands and enjoyed the ride.

Once Coop climbed behind the steering wheel and fired up his old Chevy, she turned to face him.

"Listen, Coop?—"

"Buckle up."

She reached for the seat belt, but the interruption didn't distract her. "I know it's been a long time since you've been out there." She finger quoted the words out there. "But you can't ask a woman for a date on the night you want to take her out. It doesn't work that way."

He glanced her way briefly before turning his attention back to the road. The corners of his mouth were tipped up in a not-quite-there grin. "Why not?"

"Because women need time to get ready. Fix their hair and makeup. Shave their legs and pits. Hell, at this point, I'd just settle for a shower. You've caught me at the end of an eight-hour shift behind a bar. I smell like?—"

"Whiskey."

She nodded. "Yeah. I spilled some Jim Beam on my jeans."

"I love the smell of bourbon."

Macie couldn't argue that. She adored the scent. "Oh my God. Me too. I'd bathe in the stuff if I thought Evan wouldn't give me a DUI for it."

Coop chuckled.

"But even so, I need a shower with plain old water and soap. And clean clothes."

"You smell fine."

"Okay. Again, you're missing the point. All I'm saying is you're lowering your chances of getting lucky with this technique. No woman's going to put out when she hasn't had time to prepare."

He didn't respond immediately, but Macie wasn't exactly surprised by that. Coop was a man of too few words.

"You planning to put out?" he asked at last.

She rolled her eyes. "You misinterpreted that whole conversation."

He looked at her, holding her gaze. "Not sure I did."

She blew out an exasperated breath, perfectly aware this wasn't an argument she would win tonight. "Anyway. Moving on. Where are we going?"

"My place. I'm making you dinner."

"You are?"

"Yes, Macie. I am."

"Oh. Well, that's really sweet."

She was met with more silence, so she filled it with some general observations of the houses they passed and the people who lived inside them. Once they turned onto the highway that would lead them to Coop's ranch, she began discussing her thoughts on politics, then how she thought all of Adele's songs sounded the same—as did John Mayer's, which somehow led to her feelings about the latest Star Wars movie. Through it all, Coop nodded, but apart from a word here or there, he didn't contribute much to the conversation.

Of course, that didn't bother Macie. Left more room for her to talk. She wrapped the conversation up when they pulled in front of his house. She'd only been to his place a few times in the past—all of them right after Coop's wife had passed away to bring him food and to visit for a bit.

She reached for her purse and opened the door, about to step out when Coop appeared, his hand reaching to help her down.

"Thanks," she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. He owned a huge truck, the kind that made her feel like she needed a stepladder to get in and out of it. With any other guy, she probably would have made some joke or given the fella shit for overcompensating for lacking in other areas, but it was clear that was not the case with Coop. He was large, powerful, and intimidating—but not in a scary way. It made sense for him to drive this truck. Hell, he'd look ridiculous driving anything else.

Coop didn't back up or give her space to walk away from the vehicle once she hit land again. Instead, he leaned closer and pressed her against the side of the truck.

His actions were so unexpected, she responded on instinct, licking her lips when there was no denying he planned to kiss her.

Macie struggled to catch her breath, to keep up with him. The past thirty minutes had been one what the hell? after another.

"You asked me why I wanted to go out with you."

She nodded. "Yeah. I did." And he hadn't answered.

"This is why."

Rather than offer an explanation, he kissed her, roughly, completely, thoroughly.

Macie's hands flew to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on for dear life. Good God, the man could kiss.

Coop wasn't gentle about it either. His hands cupped her cheeks as his lips forced hers apart and his tongue swept in for a taste. Macie tried to breathe through her nose, going light-headed from the lack of air. Too much more of this and Coop's tongue was going to know the inside of her mouth better than hers did.

Soon, the kiss morphed into something even more. Coop pressed his body more fully against hers, letting her feel his erection against her stomach. She wasn't a small woman. At five-eleven, she was taller than quite a few of the men in town, and she wouldn't describe herself as thin either. Her dad liked to refer to her as "sturdy," which annoyed the shit out of her, even if it was true.

However, with Hank Cooper, she felt like one of those tiny ballerinas, petite, fragile. He towered over her by at least half a foot and the man was built like a brick house. His muscles were made the old-fashioned way, not with weights at a gym, but through hard work, and he was very good at using them to move her exactly where he wanted her.

Which apparently—at this moment—was pushed up against his truck as he gave her the hottest kiss of the century.

When he finally released her lips, he only moved away a few inches, his hot breath tickling her face.

She peered up at him. He'd kissed her senseless, but not silent. "So, just to recap…"

Coop chuckled. "I want to date you because I'm attracted to you, Macie."

"Sexually?"

If he hadn't been standing so close, she would have slapped herself on the forehead. With each passing minute, she was sounding more and more like a complete idiot.

"And intellectually. Don't want you to think I'm only after you for your body."

She snorted. "Thanks for clearing that up."

He took her hand and led her toward his house. Once again, she let him lead the way, offering no resistance. She was starting to wonder what she would do if he bypassed the kitchen and dragged her straight to his bedroom. Part of her feared she'd walk right into that lion's den and drop her granny panties without question, hairy legs or not.

Fortunately, Coop didn't put her to the test. As they entered the kitchen, he pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for her to sit. She dropped down and took a few minutes to study her surroundings as Coop reached for a bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured two glasses.

The kitchen had a homey feel. There were vintage metal signs adorning one wall that advertised Dr. Pepper, Rice Krispies, and Armour Franks. There was a pretty green hutch against another wall and the cabinets appeared to be freshly painted—white—so the whole room was bright and cheerful.

"So you like to cook?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I like to eat."

She laughed. "Yeah. Me too. Unfortunately, I suck in the kitchen."

"I can manage simple stuff." He handed her a glass of wine. "Like spaghetti. Tonight's fare."

She thanked him for the wine. Then she took a deep breath, the scent of his sauce smelling far too tantalizing. "It smells delicious. Did you have that sauce slow cooking all day?"

"Yep. Threw it together just before I came to the restaurant. Had it simmering since."

Which suddenly explained why he'd simply ordered a beer and not dinner upon arriving at the restaurant a couple hours earlier. Macie had thought that odd at the time because Hank was a big fan of the daily specials.

She stood up and walked over to the stove to watch him cook. He put a pot of water on to boil and stirred the sauce.

"Is that homemade sauce?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Had a pile of tomatoes in the garden I needed to use."

"Wow. That seems a little more complicated than my idea of simple spaghetti."

"Which is?" He turned to look at her, taking a sip of his own wine.

"Open a jar of Prego and dump it in the pan."

Coop opened the box of spaghetti noodles and placed them in the boiling water. He stirred as the pasta softened and then he gestured back toward the table. "That'll take a few minutes to cook."

The two of them sat together to wait, each lifting their glasses for another sip.

"Never would have pegged you for a wine guy."

He shrugged easily. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

She agreed with that assessment. "You can say that again. This whole damn evening has shocked the hell out of me."

He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers. "To surprises."

As always, her thoughts came falling out of her before she thought through what she was going to say. "You know I'm still fairly certain you've made a mistake here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not your type."

He frowned. Not that the expression was all that unusual for him. It wasn't that Coop was a miserable guy. He was just really serious. She figured that attitude was only enhanced by the fact he'd spent the last few years taking care of his wife, Sharon, as she battled breast cancer and then, after she passed, mourning her death. He hadn't had a whole hell of a lot to smile about.

"My type?"

She was suffering from serious diarrhea of the mouth today. "You know. Sharon. She was calm and quiet and really nice."

"You're not nice?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm a smartass from the word go and you know it. And the words ‘calm' and ‘quiet' have only ever been used in regards to me when people tell me how they wish I would act. Primarily my mother."

"I like listening to you talk."

Macie laughed. "If I hadn't just waited on you at the bar and known for a fact you only had one beer, I would accuse you of being dead drunk. I know I talk too much. About stupid stuff."

"It's not stupid."

Macie switched gears, bored with that line of conversation. They clearly weren't going to agree. Besides, her thoughts kept returning to what had just happened against his truck. "That was one hell of a kiss out there, Coop."

"Hank."

She frowned. "What?"

"Call me Hank."

Macie leaned back in her chair and studied his face for a moment. "Nobody calls you Hank."

He held her gaze intently. "Not what I said. I want you to."

"Why?"

"You ask more questions than a three-year-old."

She shrugged. "Only way to get answers is to ask questions."

"Good point. So I'll ask one. You want kids someday, Mace?"

Macie choked on the sip of wine she'd just taken. "Damn, Coop. Warn a girl next time before you hit her with something like that."

"Do you?"

"Well." She paused. She hadn't anticipated the conversation getting so personal, so quick, but then again, she hadn't expected to be sitting in Hank Cooper's kitchen tonight either, so what the hell. "Sure I do. I'd like to have a big family one day."

He nodded. And remained infuriatingly quiet.

"Do you want kids?" she countered. She'd always assumed he hadn't. After all, he and Sharon had never had a family and they'd been married twenty years.

"Yeah. I do."

It was on the tip of Macie's tongue to ask why he'd never had any kids with Sharon, but there was something sad in his eyes that made her hold back.

Prior to his wife's death, Macie hadn't known Coop very well. Their association had been pretty peripheral. They had lived in the same town all their lives. They knew the same people and every so often, their paths crossed, so they'd say hello, make some innocuous comment about the weather and move on.

After Sharon died, Coop began coming into Sparks Barbeque more and more often. Their conversations moved away from hello to those enjoyed by friends—gossip, jokes, affable arguments over sports and elections. Only in the last few months had their relationship shifted once again, moving from surface friends to good friends—the kind who shared confidences and slowly revealed more personal details, opening the door to who they really were, deep inside.

Macie had told him about her friend, Johnnie, about his childhood accident, his physical impairments, and his death. And Coop talked about Sharon's original diagnosis and the years of ups and downs as they'd thought her cured, only to have their relief shattered when yet another tumor appeared somewhere else.

Regardless of that, Coop had never insinuated that he was interested in her romantically, and he'd never talked about wanting kids.

The timer went off just as Macie had worked up the nerve to ask why they'd never had kids. Coop rose and returned to the stove. He pulled out a noodle and tossed it against the door of one of the top cabinets. It stuck.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Checking to see if it's done."

"Couldn't you accomplish the same thing by just eating one?"

Coop ignored her question. "Top up those wineglasses while I dip this out."

She wondered if drinking more alcohol was such a good idea. She was already struggling to figure out what was going on. Besides, she was here without a car. She'd need a way to get home at some point. Regardless, she filled both of their glasses as Coop carried the plates to the table.

He resumed his seat and lifted his glass to hers. They tapped them without a toast and then began to eat.

"Wow," she said after the first bite. "You're a liar. You're a wonderful cook. This sauce is incredible."

He nodded once with a grin, clearly pleased by her compliment. They spent the next few minutes discussing what he put in his sauce and what vegetables he grew in his garden. Macie polished off her first plate, wishing she had just a bit more. Her appetite was more than healthy, but she didn't want to look like a glutton. This was her first date with Coop—was there even going to be a second?—and she figured she should at least pretend she couldn't out-eat pretty much every guy in town.

Then Coop grabbed her plate and his, taking them back to the stove to pile them up with seconds. Despite her better judgment, she fell a little bit in love with Coop when he brought the plate back to her.

"I really shouldn't," she demurred as she lifted her fork and dove back in.

Coop, God bless him, didn't roll his eyes at her.

They'd nearly cleaned their plates the second time when headlights flashed through the window and the sound of brakes interrupted them.

Coop rose and glanced out the kitchen window. Her curiosity was sparked when he muttered a quiet curse. "Give me a minute, Macie."

She waited until he left the kitchen to cross the room for her own peek outside. Janice VanMeter was climbing the stairs to the front porch.

Janice and Coop's late wife had been best friends all through school and then as adults. Macie couldn't understand why Coop would mind a visit from her. Janice, though sort of boring, was pretty nice.

Coop met her at the door, but didn't invite her in. Macie couldn't hear what they were saying, so she decided to move closer to the kitchen door. When her eavesdropping was still unsuccessful, she mentally said "to hell with it" and walked out into the foyer.

Janice saw her first and her eyes widened when Macie lifted her hand in a wave. "Hey, Janice."

"Macie." Janice's gaze traveled from her to Coop and back again. "I didn't know you were here."

Macie walked over to Coop. "Just having some spaghetti. Coop makes a killer sauce. How have you been?"

It wasn't until she moved closer that Macie began to feel like she'd made some faux pas, though she didn't have a clue why. She and Janice were friendly, and until that moment, she'd thought Coop and Janice were, too.

When she stepped beside Coop, she realized he was standing rigidly and was suddenly tense, a far cry from the relaxed guy she'd just been eating supper with.

"I'm fine," Janice replied with a smile that looked fake. "You two eat together often?"

Macie shook her head. "Oh no. Tonight's the first time."

Coop didn't reply, either verbally or nonverbally, so Macie kept going. "He surprised me with the invite."

"Well, I didn't mean to interrupt," Janice said with just enough sadness that Macie almost invited her to join them. She knew that, like Coop, Janice missed Sharon terribly. Maybe she'd been having a bad night and come looking to spend time with someone who understood and appreciated her loss.

However, Coop wrapped his arm around her back, his fingers covertly digging into her waist in a way that had her falling silent. She wasn't sure how he was able to do that, how he could convey his wishes to her without words, with mere touches, but she knew he wanted Janice to leave.

"It was nice of you to stop by," Coop said at last. "Macie and I should get back to our supper before it gets cold."

Janice seemed hesitant to leave, but then, she nodded slowly. "Sure. I'll see you around sometime then. Good night."

Macie waved. "See you later, Janice."

They both stood in silence until the other woman had started her car and driven away.

Then Coop led her back to the kitchen. They returned to their seats, but neither of them bothered to eat anything more.

"Nice of Janice to stop by," Macie said, fishing.

Coop nodded, but added nothing more. "You finished?"

"Yeah, I am. That was really good, Coop. Thanks."

He took her plate and his to the sink, placing them in without rinsing them. When he returned, he reached out a hand to help her stand. She assumed the night was winding up. Needless to say, he threw her for a loop. Again.

"I told you to call me Hank."

There was something in his tone, something dark and demanding and—God help her—sensual, that had her feeling almost guilty. "Sorry. That's going to be a hard habit to break. Not sure I've ever heard anybody call you Hank."

"Let me hear you say it." Coop pulled her closer to him and once again, Macie licked her lips, hoping for another one of his kisses. Mercifully, they'd both eaten the spaghetti, so she wouldn't be the only one with garlic on her breath.

"Hank," she whispered.

His eyes softened and one side of his mouth tipped up in a grin. "Good girl."

He rewarded her with another of his all-consuming kisses, and it was several minutes before Macie could rouse herself from the sheer passion of it to take stock of her surroundings. When they had started kissing, they'd been standing next to the table. Now, she was across the room, her back pressed up against the wall with Coop's lips on hers and his crotch rubbing against her, leaving no question in her mind that he hadn't lied earlier.

Hank Cooper wanted her. Sexually.

And maybe intellectually, as he'd promised. Not that she gave a shit about that part at the moment.

She ran her hands around his waist, tugging his shirttail from his jeans so she could stroke his bare chest with her fingers. She discovered silk over steel and the slightest smattering of hair.

Coop's hands gripped her ass cheeks, pulling her more tightly against him.

Her head was swimming when he finally broke the kiss.

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight, Whiskey. But you are going to come for me."

Macie blinked, trying to make sense of his words. In her mind, they were already naked in bed and getting busy. Which was ridiculous. She didn't put out on the first date.

Not that this felt like a first date.

This was Coop…Hank…shit. It was her friend. The one who'd lost his wife a little more than a year ago.

She opened her mouth to blast him for arrogantly assuming she'd have sex with him, then maybe she'd cuss him out for denying her said sex, and move on to persuading him to change his mind about the no fucking part. That seemed like a hasty decision to make at a time like this.

Of course, what came out was none of that.

"Whiskey?" Since when did he have a pet name for her?

"You sure that's the part you want to question?"

She bit her lip to try to hide the big-ass grin fighting to take over her face. Macie didn't want to encourage his cockiness. She nodded, and then figured it was a wasted question because she really did reek of alcohol from that damn drink she'd spilled on herself at the bar.

"It's those pretty brown eyes of yours. Remind me of a smooth bourbon whiskey. Man could fall into them as easy as a bottle of the stuff. And believe me, he wouldn't mind spending a good long time getting drunk on them."

Dear God Almighty. Hank Cooper was a romantic. Who would have believed it? His words had her going all gooey inside.

Even so, a large part of her still couldn't believe he was talking to her like this.

She cleared her throat, searching for something nice to say back. She failed miserably. "You know, most cowboys just use darlin' or sugar."

"I've used those before. But I won't with you."

His sincerity, the seriousness in his face, had her heart beating harder. Then, her humor faded as a new anxiety surfaced. "Have you had sex with anyone since Sharon died?"

He'd hit her with the kid question, so she figured he owed her the answer to at least one personal question.

"No."

She wasn't sure if his response made her feel better or worse.

She opened her mouth to ask him "why me?" but Coop kissed her before the words could form.

When he released her, he cupped her cheek. "I can see all those questions lining up inside that busy head of yours. Put 'em away for now, Whiskey."

"But—"

"Asking and answering them won't change what's gonna happen here. Tonight, tomorrow, or next week."

"It won't?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

She started to ask him what the hell was about to happen, but realized she didn't need to.

She already knew.

Macie Sparks was going to fall tits over ass for Hank Cooper.

Hell, she was halfway there already.