Page 5 of Danger

It shouldn't bother me anymore. It did when I was younger, but it’s a less fun nickname when you’re fifteen and just trying to make it through the hallway without feeling like a walking joke. Bakery kid. Freckle face. Easy target.

Small towns love a label. Once it lands on you, it doesn’t wash off—no matter how many years pass by.

I glance over, deadpan. “Parking-lot-Penny—is that you? Wow. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

A few snorts break out. The women around Danger glare, whisper something to each other, and then peel away like my comment ruined the moment.

Nothing’s changed.

Back when I spent my childhood summers trying to run into his little brother, I saw Danger running around with the same type—gorgeous, evil cheerleaders who knew exactly how much power they had and used it like a weapon. Still, the world bent around them anyway. People always loved them, made room, followed. One woman in particular made my life miserable for years, and he ended up having a child with her. The math doesn't add up once you meet Fisher.

Sweet, funny, adorable Fisher somehow came from two people who carry so much darkness.

His eyes land on me.

“You lost?” Danger asks.

I turn, tray balanced on my hip. “Excuse me?”

He stalks closer, jaw set. “This ain’t the kinda place I’d expect to see you.”

“Well, get used to it,” I say lightly. “I work here now.”

Honey appears at my side instantly. “She sure does.”

Danger doesn’t even look at her. “She doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

“Oh hush,” Honey snaps. “She’ll be just fine.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve seen her get taken out by a calf half her size.”

Laughter ripples through the bar.

My cheeks burn. “That happened once.”

“Twice,” he corrects.

I was a child back then.

And there it is—that look. The same one he used to give me whenever Trouble and I laughed too loud or pushed things a little too far. Here came Danger. Dark. Broody. All storm clouds and silence. He never raised his voice. Never had to. One look from him and suddenly everyone listened.

Trouble included.

It’s still like that now.

In this town, what Danger Stetson says tends to become law. With his brothers. With the ranch hands. With people twice his age who should know better. I don’t know if it’s fear or respect or some unspoken agreement everyone signed without me—but he always gets the last word.

I don’t understand why everyone’s so intimidated by him. He’s only six years older than me. And I’m not a kid anymore. Not that he’s noticed.

“And how old are you now?” he asks. “Honey check your ID before she handed you a tray—or should I?”

One of the glasses on my tray wobbles. Tips.

I suck in a breath.

His hand shoots out, steady and fast, catching it midair like it never had a chance of hitting the ground. He sets it back onto my tray, fingers brushing mine just long enough to make my pulse oddly stutter.

Then his eyes lift to mine. Calm. Certain. Infuriating.