How to Catch a Cowboy (Riverrun Ranch #3) - Karen Foley Page 0,1

his brothers, Holt didn’t greet her. The only indication he was even aware of her was a small crease that appeared between his dark eyebrows. Not quite a frown, Jessie thought, but pretty darn close.

“What’s wrong, Holt?” she asked. “Cat got your tongue, as well as your manners?”

He did look up then, ignoring Evan’s amused snicker. The pure blueness of his eyes always made Jessie feel a little dazzled, but when his gaze locked on to hers, she actually felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my tongue,” he drawled.

His words caused all kinds of juicy images to swirl through her vivid imagination as she struggled to form a response. “So, it’s just the manners, then.”

“I’m still working on those.”

Evan made a small scoffing noise and said something that sounded like, Yeah, right.

“Ah,” Jessie murmured. “Maybe you need an experienced handler.”

For just an instant, something flared in his eyes, like the blue flame of a gas burner. Then it was gone and Jessie wondered if she had only imagined that incandescent flash of heat.

After a scant second, when it became obvious he wasn’t going to respond to her provocative statement, Jessie drew in a deep breath and turned her attention back to the twins, who were as different in temperament as they were in looks. “The usual for both of you?”

“You know us too well,” Luke said with a warm smile. “The usual, and a round of beer for the table.”

The usual consisted of the house special or Tres Compadres, a plate consisting of premium grilled skirt steak, grilled chicken, and a marinated shrimp skewer with all the sides. Holt was still studying the menu, but Jessie knew he would order the carne asada, as he always did.

“You got it,” Jessie said.

She liked Luke, whose girlfriend, Jorie, had been her best friend since middle school. Luke had recently returned to Last Stand after a twelve-year stint in the army as a K9 handler. Both he and his service dog had been injured in combat, but Luke had been able to adopt Elsa, his devoted German shepherd, and the two were nearly inseparable.

Luke and Jorie were building a house together out on Hickory Creek Road and Jessie couldn’t be happier for them. With his military law enforcement background, Luke could come across as tough and insensitive, but Jessie knew he had a heart of pure gold and would do anything for those he loved. And he loved Jorie Russell, the lucky girl.

Jessie wanted what her friend had. Not with Luke, of course, but with Holt.

She liked Evan, too, but he rarely took life seriously, and could usually be seen with a different girl every weekend at the Last Stand Saloon. When he wasn’t working cattle, he volunteered as a firefighter for the Last Stand Fire Department.

She was swinging away from the table when Holt’s voice stopped her. “Tequila.”

She turned. “Excuse me?”

Holt leaned back in his chair and his eyes glinted with lazy humor. “I’d like a tequila, please. Neat.”

Jessie felt the impact of that volatile blue gaze all the way to her toes, which were curling inside her Tony Lama boots.

“Any particular brand?” The cantina had an impressive collection of tequilas, ranging from five-dollar shots to some that would set a customer back more than two hundred bucks. Holt didn’t always order tequila but when he did, he usually chose a ten- or twelve-dollar shot.

“Surprise me,” he said, and turned his attention back to the menu.

His tone said he didn’t particularly care what brand she selected. He hadn’t been rude, exactly, just . . . indifferent. To both the tequila and to her.

She’d had a thing for him for as long as she could remember, but no matter what she did to try to gain the handsome rancher’s attention, he seemed determined to ignore her. From the time she’d turned eighteen and had begun working at the cantina, she’d been asked out by more cowboys than she could keep track of, so it wasn’t as if she was ugly. In fact, she’d been called gorgeous.

Sultry.

Her looks aside, she was smart, hardworking, loyal, and passionate. Any guy would be lucky to have her. Call her crazy, but she was only interested in one guy, who apparently neither knew nor cared about her existence. The thought filled her first with sadness and then with a kind of fierce determination.

“You got it,” she said sweetly and spun on her heel, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. How many times had