“What would be the point?”
Brenne didn’t like to see Jack in such a dark mood. It wasn’t like him. “So people could see them, duh. Why else?”
“What I need is a job, not an art showing.” Jack adjusted the easel so that it didn’t smack into the large oak tree they were passing. “Maybe I should talk to Lilah. See if her company has any openings.”
“You selling insurance?” Brenne laughed loudly. “You’d be a terrible insurance salesman.”
He eyed her, his lips compressed into a thin line. “What’s your job again? Besides annoying your brother?”
“Believe me, that’s a full-time job when you have seven of them.” Brenne refused to take the bait. She might not have a steady job, but she made enough giving riding lessons to keep her in pocket change and strawberry soda. She wasn’t worried about a career, didn’t particularly want one. All she cared about were her horses.
And Alex Parsons.
Brenne fought a frown at the thought. Repressing her annoying inner voice, she tried to think of a way to respond. She was saved from having to explain why insurance sales was a horrible gig for Jack by the buzzing of her phone. She fished it out of her pocket, seeing that it was the saloon calling.
“Speaking of work,” she said, then hit the green button. “An asshole says what?”
“What?” came the response from the other end from a confused female voice.
Jack let out a laugh while Brenne sputtered. “I’m sorry, Lou. I thought it was my brother calling.”
“Johnnie is waist deep in bikers right now,” Lou said, sounding frazzled. “Apparently there is some sort of motorcycle club event up the road and they’ve all decided to come in for a big night out. Teresa called in sick, so we are short-handed. I don’t suppose you feel like strapping on an apron for a shift?”
“Hmm… a bar full of surly bikers. Bikers who likely will grab my ass and not tip…”
“Come on, Breeeeeeee,” Lou cajoled. “You know how to put a handsy guy in his place. You taught me the power of a well-placed elbow. I could really use some backup.”
“Alright, alright,” Brenne relented. “I’ll do it, but you have to lay off the nicknames. I’ve told you, they never suit me.”
“Deal. So will you come?”
“I will. I can’t leave a woman behind enemy lines without reinforcements.”
“Thank the Lord! You’re the answer to my prayers, sister-in-law.”
Brenne rolled her eyes. “You and the Lord owe me.” She hung up, wasting no time swinging up into the saddle. “Duty calls. Unless you want to start a new career in hospitality?” Jack pretended to consider her words. “I do look good in a tight pair of jeans, but unfortunately you haven’t taught me the elbow trick, so I’m not sure I’m qualified.”
Brenne stuck her tongue out at her brother, then laughed. “See you around.” She clicked her tongue to get Comet’s attention, then rode off in the direction of the stables.
CHAPTER 3
ALEX
“I’m tellin’ you, sweetheart, I could give you a much better ride.”
Alex gritted his teeth as he tried like hell not to stand up from the table, walk across the saloon’s polished hardwood floors, and feed the roughneck his teeth. Brenne took the fool’s words a little better than he had. She smiled down into his face, a weathered face with a few days’ worth of stubble, and said, “That may be true, but I don’t have a saddle in your size.”
The rest of the roughnecks exploded with laughter as Brenne turned and walked away. Alex released some of the tension he’d been holding as he watched the exchange, then turned back to the table to realize he wasn’t the only one who’d been observing the play-by-play.
“I thought she wasn’t working here anymore,” Jim MacAllen grumbled.
“She’s not,” Jameson said, his voice a short step above a growl. “She’s covering for Teresa who’s been out sick all week.”
Jim shook his head, then took a pull from the beer in front of him. Wiping the foam from his lips, he scowled at the table of cowboys who were still drooling over his sister’s curves. “Johnnie might be okay with customers ogling his wife, but I’m not as comfortable as he is when it comes to our sister.”
“No man in a hundred miles would dare ogle Louisa,” Jameson corrected. “Not if they wanted to keep their eyes in their head.”
Alex chuckled at the older man’s assessment. Johnnie MacAllen, owner of the Whiskey River Saloon and one of eight MacAllen siblings, was extremely protective of his new wife. She was the daughter of the town’s fire and brimstone preacher, and she maintained a touch of innocence even when poured into the form-hugging jeans and T-shirt that comprised the saloon’s uniform. Johnnie kept one eye on the bar and the other on his wife, and if any of the patrons got overly exuberant with Louisa, Johnnie was on them quicker than a scalded cat.
“Then why is it okay for our sister to take the abuse?” Jim asked, extending his arm in the direction of the roughnecks as he argued. “Johnnie should be on anyone who hassles Brenne just as quick.”
A couple of the cowboys caught sight of Jim’s gesture and focused attention on their table. Alex figured it might be better to change the subject than to get into a pissing match with the other men. “I thought we were here to talk about Instant Gratification.”
“You’re right,” Jim said, barreling along. “These men expect instant gratification, but they’re not going to find it with our little sister!”
Jameson wiped a hand over his tired face. “He meant IG. The company that’s plotting a move to Whiskey River to completely remake our town in their image.”
“Right,” Jim said, starting to simmer down now that Brenne was no longer near the rowdy cowboys. “I’ve been talking with some lawyers who specialize in property rights and urban planning, and they’ve got a few ideas, but all of them have said explicitly that IG outclasses us by orders of magnitude. They could throw a literal brigade of lawyers at us and not miss a penny.”
“We could never hope to match them in cash,” Jameson grumbled, “but we could hope the law was on the side of the little guy.”
“Nowadays the little guy gets crushed.” Alex felt a weight settle on his shoulders as he realized they were about to buckle under the weight of one of the most successful companies of all time. Instant Gratification, or IG for short, was a juggernaut that specialized in providing lightning quick delivery from their infinite list of products. If the world’s biggest retail conglomerate wanted to build their new green headquarters in Whiskey River, there was almost nothing the people who lived in the town could do to stop them.
“What’s the matter, boys? Y’all don’t look very thirsty.” Alex looked up as Brenne gestured to their nearly full beers. He had to look away almost instantly, afraid that the MacAllen brothers at the table would notice the way his heartbeat sped up whenever he looked at their sister.
“We’re talking about IG,” Jim replied, not bothering to add any details.