Then Creed heard a man say, “How about another dance, pretty lady?”
“And who is that?” Creed pressed through clenched teeth.
Boone chuckled. “Hey, you said you didn’t care.”
“No, brother. You said it. What the hell? You either answer my question or I’m going over to your place and put Nair in your shampoo.”
“Like that scares me. I could use a cut.”
“No, but if I use your toothbrush to clean out the toilet you’d be scared.” They’d played enough dirty tricks on each other growing up that Boone knew better than to pretend he wasn’t worried.
“Fine. That’s the cowboy she’s been dancing with for the last hour.”
“And you’re just now calling me?” Before Boone could answer, Creed muttered, “I’m on my way.” He started for the door then stopped. What the hell am I doing? If Mindy decided to dance with someone, she had that right. She had a freewill. The last thing he should do was go running after her.
He went into the kitchen, poured a glass of water and downed it.
Then washed the glass.
Scrubbed the already spotless counter.
Swept the clean floor.
Bounced a rubber ball he found in the junk drawer.
Then cursed a blue streak.
Strolling into the living room, he grabbed his hat from the hook and practically ran to his truck.
Yeah, he was an idiot for doing this. Mindy no longer needed him, but why did he still need to be needed? No, he wanted to be wanted. Especially by her.
Those were his thoughts when fifteen minutes later he pulled up in between two trucks at Pelican Hawke and climbed out. Several strides took him through the front door and into the crowded honky tonk. Nothing new. The place always drew a crowd, as much for the food as for the alcohol. A live band was playing on stage which brought a crowd from surrounding counties.
Creed always respected that Hank had taken over the place and turned it into a reputable business.
Searching through the swarm of people, Creed finally found Boone sitting at the bar.
“Where is she?” Creed asked once he stepped up to the bar, waving at Hank who was working the bar. He didn’t usually bartend these days, not since he’d hired help.
“Hello to you too,” Boone chuckled. “Right there.” He pointed a finger.
Following the path, Creed found her on the dance floor. He felt a crushing blow in his stomach. She was dancing—or rather arousing the attention of more than one man with the shake of her hips and shimmy of her bottom. Her hands were tangled in her hair as she moved smoothly to the beat of the country song.
My God, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
The long-sleeved white shirt was tied at her waist, and the black lace cami underneath gave a teasing glimpse of firm breasts. The waist of her cut off jean shorts rested low on her hips, cinched by a leather belt. The swaying and shaking of her hips reminded Creed of a dangerous pendulum.
Long, toned legs went on for miles and miles, down to ankle length cowgirl boots with an intricate western design carved into the leather. The longer she was back in Cooper’s Hawk, the more he was seeing the girl again who didn’t care what people thought. In his opinion, she’d been a little buttoned up when she first came back, not that it had deterred his attraction in any way.
He’d been staring so intently that it took him a good solid two minutes before he realized she wasn’t dancing alone. Some cowboy was bumping and grinding the air close to her.
Creed laughed, but it quickly turned to a growl when the man got a little too close. Boone elbowed Creed. “Relax there, partner. She’s been keeping him at a decent space.”
The dancing hillbilly rested his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. Creed felt the buried protectiveness rear its head. “You call that reasonable space, do ya?” A football field would have been too close with the way the stranger had his blood thirsty eyes on her firm bottom.
Mindy created more distance between them.
“The tequila shots must be working.”
Creed shot his gaze on his brother. “Tequila?” He knew exactly what Tequila did to her—for her. He lifted off his hat, threaded his fingers through his hair and fixed his hat back into place.
“A couple at least. What did you do to her?” Boone leaned his elbows back on the edge of the bar.
“What did I do to her? I didn’t do a damn thing. I thought I made myself clear over the phone?” Creed turned his attention back to the dance floor, reminding himself to breathe.
“Hell, I just figured.” Boone shrugged, lifted his beer bottle and took a long swig. “Want a drink?”
He could certainly use one. “No.” He needed to keep his wits about him.
Hank came over and shook his head. “Oh I see. A pretty brown-eyed cowgirl can convince you to come inside your brother’s bar, but when he asks you are too busy,” he quipped. All three brothers looked similar. Dark hair. Whiskered, broad jaws. All over six foot and two hundred pounds of solid muscle. People said when the three of them got together they could be intimidating. Probably why they never got into fights with others growing up. You fought one Hawke you’d have to face them all.
“If I wanted to see your ugly face I’d come in
