A scar on his cheek that cuts my heart in half because I know where it came from.
A raindrop tattoo on his right bicep that matches the one I have on my left breast.
And whiskey eyes the same color as mine.
Those eyes see right through me as usual when he says with certainty, “You need something.”
Chapter Four
Logan
Macey Henwood has a tell. Actually, she has two. She doesn’t know it, and I’ll never let her in on my secret.
But as soon as I get close enough to touch her, I immediately know what’s on her mind.
“Hey, cowboy.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth.
That’s tell number one.
Whenever Macey wants to hook up, she tugs at her lip in a flirty, sexy way that drives me wild and makes me want to take her right away, no matter where we are. Inside her family bar? Fine. Out by my family ranch? Great. I don’t care as long as I have her.
A strand of her gorgeous dark hair has come loose from her bun. She bats at it impatiently, so I reach up and tuck the strand back behind her ear.
She sends me a grateful look, but I don’t miss the flash of heat in her gaze. She squeezes her thighs just slightly, keeping me standing between her legs.
I glance down. Her jeans hug her curves to perfection. I drag my gaze up her body, and that’s when I notice tell number two.
For the last couple of years, whenever Macey decides our once-a-year “thing” is on, she wears a hot little pink top with Texas Y’all written across the chest. Her breasts pop out the T and the Y in a way that makes my jeans uncomfortable, and the way the thin fabric clings to the soft skin I know is underneath—double turn-on.
“Texas Y’all,” I say with a grin. “Good way to advertise our home state to any tourists.”
I slide out from between her legs, already missing her heat. As I hop up onto the fence beside her, I tip my head toward The Cowherd. “I need a cold beer and some A/C. Can you help a cowboy out?”
She jumps off the fence first. “Right this way, sir.”
Leaving my brothers and cousins behind, I walk side by side with Macey to her family’s bar. I hold the door open for her as we step inside.
“So.” I slide onto a stool, lay my cowboy hat on the empty stool next to me, and reach over the bar for an empty beer mug. “What’s shaking?”
Macey hurries behind the bar to grab the mug out of my hand. She brings the mug underneath the tap and fills it up. When she slides the full mug of beer toward me, I nod my thanks and bring the frosted glass to my lips.
Macey’s whiskey eyes turn liquid with heat as we lock gazes. Her lips part, and she inhales sharply.
I lower my beer mug to the counter.
And then, I lean in slowly, making sure I can read her signals.
She takes the tiniest step back. So tiny almost anyone else would’ve missed it.
But not me.
I’ve spent my life memorizing everything about this woman. And today, she’s hesitant. She wants the same thing I do, but something’s got her pulling back.
“Everything all right?” I ask her.
“Sure.” She averts her gaze and goes to wipe down the bartop.
I catch her wrist so she stops her movement. She raises her eyes, those thick dark lashes half-hiding the tormented look in her gaze.
“Hey.” I run my thumb along the inside of her wrist, the one with the scar, and she shivers. “Don’t hide from me, Mace. What’s up? Maybe I misread your signals, but you looked like you wanted to…”
She bites her lip hard and then releases it. “I did. I do.”
“Well…” I let go of her wrist and hold out both of my arms. “I’m here. Ready and willing.”
“Logan.” She lowers her voice to a whisper even though there’s nobody around.
“What is it?” I ask in concern.
She leans her elbows on the bar counter so she can get closer to me. Once our noses are nearly touching, she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m assuming you heard about the Wild Darcy Derby your daddy agreed to host this weekend.”
“My dad said something about sectioning off part of the ranch on Saturday.” I shrug. “We were grappling with a steer at the time, so I didn’t hear much of what he said.”
“It’s a big nightmare.” She frowns. “All the cowboys in town will be in the race, and meanwhile, I’ll be in Elizabeth Bennet attire, dressed up like I’m from freaking 1812 England. My parents want to pair the riders with partners for dinner and drinks at The Cowherd.” She pauses and gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. “Including me.”
I wave my beer in the air. “Relax. It’s just one dinner. And you’ll be sitting right here in this room. It’s not exactly a romantic atmosphere. Plus, if the guy tries anything, just remind him you’re the target champion of Hunt County.”
“You’re riding, right?”
I shake my head. “Have fun with that. No way in hell I’m signing up. I’ll set the course, and then I’m out.”
Macey swallows. “Logan.”
Her cheeks flush as she gazes at me intently.
I narrow my eyes. “What. Is. Going On?”
“My daddy set me up.” Her nostrils flare. “He stole every last bit of money from the safe without my knowledge.”
“Fuck.” I reach out and take her hand. “I’m sorry, Mace.”
“Thank you.” She sighs in frustration. “I don’t need to tell you how typical this is of him.”
“No. You certainly don’t.”
When he’s sober, Benjamin Henwood is a good man. But when he drinks, which is far too often…he’s a selfish guy who puts the weight of the world on his oldest daughter. Macey loves her father, though, and she has enough to deal with right now, so I keep just how angry I am to myself.
“Explain to me what the two things have to do with each other,” I say to her.
“So my parents decided it was a grand idea to marry me off in order to entice more couples to want to marry at the chapel here.”
I straighten up. “What the fuck?”
She nods. “To clarify, I have to spend Saturday evening with the winner of the race, and we’re going to get fake married in a little ceremony here. No matter who he is.”
I’m catching up quickly. “I’ll enter the race. And I’ll win.”
Macey’s elbows slide across the counter until the entire upper half of her body is leaning on the bar. Her hand goes to my face, and she runs her thumb over my scar, the one put there by my own daddy.
I clench my jaw as our gazes clash.
“You promise?”
“On my last name,” I say to her. “Of course I’ll win. You seriously think I’m going to let another man fake marry you?”
“Can you believe this?”
“It’s certainly ironic.” I take a closer look at her face. “Considering you’re never getting married. Maybe your daddy should choose a woman in town who actually wants to meet the man of her dreams.”
“I know, right? And having you be my fake husband would complete the irony.”
“Two people who never plan to marry is better than one,” I joke.