Page 9 of The Cowboy Who Stayed

We share a laugh as the bartender returns and we order another round. It’s an unexpected turn of the night, but one I’m far from complaining about.

I’ll sit here all night if Miss Vivica Murphy’ll allow it.

THREE

Vivica

The bartender announces last call, and I realize I’ve lost track of three hours, which was the last thing I expected out of the night.

…that and Rhett Dawson.

He came and sat down next to me earlier with a level of reckless confidence you don’t encounter every day.

I was taken aback as I looked up and realized what was happening.

A good-looking cowboy, damn near half my age, was about to hit on me.

I’m no slouch—in fact, it’s a regular occurrence for men to flirt—but usually it’s men in my own age bracket.

Men under thirty typically aren’t my demographic.

But one glance at Rhett Dawson, and there was no denying the attraction.

He had chocolatey-brown hair pushed back from his face, with hazel eyes, sharp features, and one killer smile he obviously knew how to use.

He was wearing denim on denim for his shirt and jeans, though slightly different washes, and had his sleeves rolled up to show off tanned forearms. He was tall and fit and toned, and it didn’t take long for my defenses to fade away.

…even as I told myself I’d only humor him for ten minutes then send him on his way.

Hours later, as Haven’s Chicks pack up their instruments and only a handful of stragglers remain at the bar, I realize how massively I’ve failed.

Not only have we had a few drinks, we’ve been engaged in conversation the whole time.

It’s been years since I met anyone I wanted to talk to for longer than fifteen minutes. Let alone three hours.

Could it be the whiskey, or is Rhett Dawson just that intriguing?

Intuition hints at the answer, though I’m not sure I’m ready to come to terms with it.

Still, I glance around The Hen House and realize it’s time for another decision to be made. Tonight’s been unconventional, to say the least.

I took Aunt Paula’s advice and came out. I’ve spent the night laughing with a twenty-six-year-old cowboy with a sexy smile, who also happens to smell good—vaguely like leather and bergamot.

Might as well keep the trend going; might as well keep living a little.

…doing things a little different than I normally would.

“You know,” I say, nudging my empty whiskey glass away, “we could keep this going. If you’re interested.”

Rhett tilts his head. “Keep this going how?”

“My place isn’t too far. I could show you the record player and vinyl collection I was telling you about.”

A slow grin spreads across his face and lights up his hazel eyes. “Lead the way, Miss Vivica.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, dropping my keys on the console table by the door. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Some water would be nice.”