Page 7 of Rain or Shine

Harloe is not shy. She takes in every damn inch, finally pausing on my leather cut.

“Yeah…” She bites her lower lip, her smile brightening her whole face. “I can see why ladies like the leather.”

That makes me laugh, so I reach forward and snatch the whiskey bottle out of her hand.

“Hey, I was drinking that.”

“You were drinking it like water,” I agree. “But you better slow down, or you’ll have your head in the toilet all night.”

“Is there something else I should be doing?” She taps her finger on her lower lip, eyes narrowing as she pretends to think. “I swear I had plans this afternoon, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what they were. Oh well.”

She shrugs innocently, and I chuckle.

“Guess not, cowgirl.”

Harloe rolls her eyes at the nickname, which only encourages me to use it more.

“What’s your deal with that?” I ask, taking a sip and letting the whiskey burn a hot path down my throat. “You’re wearing the boots, and I’m guessing you grew up on a ranch if your brother runs one. So why do you hate the cowgirl thing so much?”

She frowns, tapping the toes of her boots together. “It’s not that I hate it. It’s just not who I am anymore.”

“Then who are you?”

“I’m still figuring that out.” She drops her feet to the floor, resting her elbows on the table. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a cowgirl. I spent more time with horses than people. I loved being out on the ranch dawn to dusk. But it’s been a while since then.”

“You still wear the boots.”

“These sparkly things.” She kicks a leg up, smiling. “The boots are my mom’s fault. She always said no one can deny a stubborn girl wearing boots. She was right.”

“Is that so?” I hitch an eyebrow, and she nods triumphantly, making me chuckle. “But you’re not a cowgirl?”

“Nope.” Her lips pop.

“What changed?”

“Everything.” She nibbles her lower lip, not elaborating on what everything is. “After high school, I wanted to get away. Explore. It took me a couple of years to leave, but once I did, I spent the next decade running around. Went to college, studied the ‘ologies.” She waves finger quotes.

“The ‘ologies?”

“Psychology. Sociology. Anthropology. I changed majors more often than boyfriends, and I was quite the heartbreaker.” She winks.

“I can imagine.”

With eyes like hers, a smile that lights up the damn room, and a torn wedding dress from the wedding she never went to, I have no doubt this girl leaves a trail of broken hearts in her wake.

“I spent six years in school and have no degree to show for it,” she continues. “Now I’m back home, working at the family bar. Not a cowgirl anymore. If anything, I’m just a bar girl, I guess.”

“I have a feeling you’re not just-an-anything kind of girl, Harloe Harrison.” I grin when she rolls her eyes. “So tell me, how does a girl like you get tangled up with an asshole like Zander Cross?”

“Didn’t you just get to town? How do you know him already?”

“I make a point of knowing who to keep an eye out for in a new town.”

“Well, that would be Zander.” Harloe grabs the bottle of whiskey again, taking another drink. “We dated in high school. I was smart enough to end it back then when I caught him fucking a cheerleader but dumb enough to think he’d changed when I moved back to town last year. He’s good at showing people what he wants them to see. Had me fooled.”

“Not entirely.” My gaze drops to her dress. “Something happened to make you walk away.”

“Yeah, something.” She brushes her fingers over the rough edge of the lace. “But enough of this conversation. This is not how I should be spending my wedding night.” She pops out of her chair and starts wrestling with the buttons on the back of her dress. “You said you have sweats and a T-shirt I can borrow?”