Page 9 of Danger

Guess I am short, sweet, and apparently I have nicknames that are impossible to forget once others start saying it.

“Yep. Guess Honey decided I was employable.”

His jaw tightens. “And your parents know you’re runnin’ drinks in a bar full of cowboys who don’t know how to behave?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m capable of carryin’ a tray and sayin’ no.”

His hand curls around the edge of the bar, knuckles whitening slightly. “You ever had to say it to the men who come in here?”

“Like I told you before, I can handle myself.”

“That right?” His gaze flicks to the men across the room watching us a little too closely. “You can’t always see things before they turn for the worst.”

There it is. That tone. Like I’m still seventeen and back at Weston Woods where he’s telling me I’m too young to have a drink in my hand, even though I was just trying it for the first time with a group of my friends.

I straighten. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“No,” he says after a moment. “You didn’t.” He looks at me like he’s remembering something, or maybe realizing I’m not some kid trailing after Trouble anymore. Just… me.

The Stetsons were always loud, close, everywhere—and I’ve always just been… here. The small-town girl you grow up with. Not shiny like a new city girl, not wild like the buckle bunnies that roll through. Just nice. Familiar. Predictable.

Not exactly the kind of thing you stop and stare at.

Trouble tried, there were days where it felt like he really saw me. I know he did. Lord knows I wanted it to work.

But wanting someone doesn’t mean you get to keep them.

“So, you must be Danger?” a drunk blonde calls from the corner. “They call you that ’cause you’re a hazard to women everywhere?”

He tips his hat like she just paid him a compliment. “Something like that.”

Of course he’s unbothered. Men like him always are. I take a longer sip than necessary of the drink I’m pretending I’m not stealing.

The blonde leans in. “So, Trouble tell you about what he’s spent all day doin’?”

Their conversation gets quieter, and I can no longer hear it over the music.

Honey’s mouth twitches as she drops a few ice cubes into a glass. “Trouble’s been busy today.”

“Busy?” I ask.

Honey hesitates. “You really wanna know?”

Something in her tone tells me I should say no, but I don’t.

“Just rip off the Band-Aid.”

She sighs, sympathetic. “Trouble’s proposing tonight.”

The words are gentle, but they still manage to knock the breath right outta me.

“Oh,” I say, because it’s the only thing my mouth can form.

“Yeah,” she adds quickly. “He went all out. Rented the fairgrounds. Lights, flowers, the ferris wheel. Said it’s where they had their first real date.”

I picture it without meaning to. Sawyer glowing. Trouble nervous in that quiet way of his. Giving her that same look, the one he gave her the moment she landed in Weston.

“That’s…” I smile, and I mean it. “That’s really sweet. I’m happy for them.”