Chapter One
Sunday, mid-September in Bozeman…
Reuben Price’s weekend had been a blur of big hats, big bulls and even bigger egos. He hated it when the rodeo came to town. Even though the Copper Mountain Rodeo was twenty-four miles away in Marietta, Bozeman still got a bunch of cashed-up cowboy wannabes and their groupies mixing beer and bullshit together in a haze of testosterone and dick-measuring that never ended well.
He wasn’t sure how many bar fights he and his partner had broken up but he did know he was getting too old for this shit—and he was only thirty. Maybe he should see if a sheriff’s department somewhere down in the Keys had an opening. Somewhere with palm trees. Where drinks came with tiny umbrellas. And women came with tiny bikinis.
No snow, no blizzards, no mountains.
No damn rodeos!
He sighed. The truth was, Reuben liked rodeos and mountains. He loved the big sky country of Montana. And he hated sand. That shit got everywhere. He was just…well, it had been one of those weekends and the big-ass cherry on top had been Clementine, his long-term girlfriend, dumping him over brunch on Friday just before he’d started his weekend from hell.
He really hated brunch.
Okay, yes, sure…they weren’t exactly a hot couple. He doubted they’d ever been. But after a lifetime of growing up in small-town Marietta together they’d fallen into a friends-with-benefits relationship three years ago that had just kinda…continued. It had been monogamous and mutually satisfying.
And just…easy.
Reuben liked easy. Too much stuff in life was hard—which was fine; he didn’t mind working hard—but it was nice when it wasn’t. It certainly made him appreciate the things that were easy a whole helluva lot more.
But he and Clem were over and now he was going to have to face the wrath of his mother. And Clem’s. Despite neither him nor Clem giving their moms any hint or encouragement, the two Marietta stalwarts had been picking out china patterns for a while and discussing names for grandchildren.
“We’re not getting any younger, Reuben,” his mother had said the day before that fateful brunch, which felt like a year ago now.
Yeah…they were going to be pissed.
Several people greeted Reuben as he strode into his favorite bar in Bozeman. A couple were locals who preferred a quiet place to drink but also some folks he recognized from Marietta. Probably trying to escape the testosterone fog that tended to hang around for a few days after the rodeo left town. He nodded to them politely but in a way that told even the most oblivious person he wasn’t up for a chat.
He just hadn’t wanted to sit at home staring at the four walls, either.
What Reuben needed—craved—tonight was the distraction of people but not the company. Which was why this was his favorite bar. It was in the lobby of a local hotel that was off the beaten track and frequented mainly by businesspeople passing through town on their way to somewhere else.
Essentially it was nothing like the louder more crowded bars on the main street. They had their place for sure but he’d spent all weekend in loud, crowded bars trying to stop drunk idiots from hurting themselves and each other and that didn’t appeal tonight.
“The usual?” the bartender asked as Reuben approached and sat on a stool, his elbows sliding onto the polished top.
“Thanks, Mike.”
Reuben drummed his fingers as Mike, who had been two years ahead of him at school, poured the cold ale and set it down in front of Reuben before departing. For a bartender, Mike never said much.
People really should be more like Mike.
The cold beer tasted like liquid gold and he actually sighed as he swallowed, closing his eyes as he savored the moment for long seconds. There were few things better than that first sip of cold beer at the end of the day.
This was the life. No bar brawls. No idiot amateurs trying to prove they can last eight seconds on the mechanical bull with a skinful of booze on board. No Dear John chats. Just him and his beer. The simple life.
“I’ll have what he’s having.”
Reuben’s eyelids sprang open at the low, husky voice. A woman had sat down on the stool next door. She was smiling a big smile with red lips that glistened under the overhead lights. The tips of her straight blond hair sat forward over the thrust of her breasts encased enticingly in a satiny blouse, the two buttons at her cleavage appearing to be under a little extra strain. The dark skirt she was wearing also pulled taut across a nicely rounded ass and generous thighs that filled it out just right.
Reuben had always thought he’d been a women-in-blue-jeans-and-boots kinda guy. Apparently women-in-tight-skirts also did it for him.
Her face was quite square with a broad forehead and big, buggy eyes of a nondescript brown. There was a slight ski slope lift to the end of her snubby little nose. None of her features individually added up to a hill of beans but together they made one hell of an interesting face.
The type of face that made him want to keep looking.
One thing was for sure—she didn’t look easy. She looked complicated as all fuck.
He smiled. “Beer?”
“Is that all?” She grinned now and her teeth were nice and white but there was a slightly crooked one in the front that was fascinating. “You made it sound like it was the elixir of life.”
“It could be argued that beer is the elixir of life.”
“Hmm.”
She nodded slowly regarding him with those steady brown eyes and, in his peripheral vision, Reuben could see the enticing brush of her hair across her breasts.
“I would have to respectfully disagree with you there.”
The light tease in her voice made its way to Reuben’s groin. If only some more dudes this weekend had respectfully disagreed instead of being loud and obnoxious. “Okay, let me guess.” He regarded her as thoughtfully as she’d regarded him although maybe part of his brain—the one in his pants—was trying to decide whether the tips of her hair covered her nipples or sat just above.
Which would probably get whatever beverage she preferred dumped over his head.
“Champagne? Chardonnay?”
She cocked an eyebrow as she tsked but she was obviously not too insulted by his gender-based assumptions of her drinking habits. “You don’t think I can shoot whiskey?”
Reuben wasn’t sure why that sounded so dirty. It just did. “Can you shoot whiskey?”
“I have been known.”
The second beer was placed on the mat and Reuben absently said, “Thanks, Mike.”
Picking it up she also said, “Thanks, Mike,” and smiled at the bartender as she tilted it toward him in salute. Then she took two long swallows, those red lips pressed to the rim of the glass before placing it back down on the mat, her tongue swiping froth off her top lip as she turned slightly toward Reuben.
Hot. As. Fuck.
Her brown eyes were full of mischief—like she knew exactly what that sexy little lip lick had done to him. “So, if it’s not beer or wine or whiskey,” he asked, “what is the elixir of life?”
“Chocolate, of course.”
Reuben laughed. Why did that answer not surprise him? Like chocolate, there was something lush and decadent about this woman. Like she appreciated indulgence in all its many-splendored ways. The satin blouse, the tight skirt. The full jut of her breasts, the generous curve of her hip.