Chapter 4
1895 Words
Chapter Four
Rascal Flatts blared from the jukebox in the corner of the Trading Post as Axel and Gunnar stepped through the door of their favorite local hangout. “See the Sinclaire boys anywhere?” Axel glanced around the dimly lit space. “I could use a round of pool about now.”
Gunnar shook his head. “Just us, but I’ll take your money tonight.”
Figured. The Sinclaires were all married men now, and they were more likely to share a beer at one of the bonfires Blake and Maddie hosted than over a game of pool at the Trading Post.
“You’re buying the first round then,” Axel gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. “I see an open table.” He wove through the dining tables that skirted the dance floor, back to where the pool tables were lined up. He began to rack the balls as he waited for Gunn. He wished he could be more like Gunn. Always laid-back, never worried. Gunnar moved through the world with a confidence and ease that naturally commanded respect. Axel had always had to hustle for the same recognition. He loved his brother and would be the first to stand with him in a fight, but sometimes it sucked living in his shadow.
Gunnar brought a pitcher and two pint glasses over to the hightop next to the pool table and began to pour. Then he lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
Axel raised his in return and took a long swallow, barely tasting the amber liquid. He grabbed the pool cue and began to circle the table.
“Break?” Gunnar asked.
He shrugged. “Sure.” Axel returned to the top of the table, lined up the cueball and gave it a solid hit, sending balls careening down the felt.
Gunnar glanced up from the balls as he circled looking for a shot. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? You look like there’s a thunderstorm right over your head.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head, concentrating on lining up his shot. Once he’d taken it, he followed Gunnar to the other side of the table. “What the hell is she doing here, Gunn? f**k, it’s been ten years, and she just shows back up at the ranch like it’s nothing?” Heat blossomed under his collar, threatening to spill out.
Gunn flashed him a knowing grin, and shrugged. “It is nothing, isn’t it? I mean, it was ten years ago and you’re over her… right?”
“Right.” He swallowed uncomfortably. Not so much.
“’Cause if it’s not, now’s your chance to clear the air.” Gunnar knocked his chin toward the dance floor.
Axel glanced over his shoulder then turned as Coop, flanked by Emmaline Andersson and Millie Prescott, paused at the jukebox.
Of course.
Coop had the ability to befriend even a grumpy dog. Of course she’d show up with wingmen at the Trading Post. While it had been Cissy Castro who’d first brought Coop to Prairie, there’d been a whole g**g of them roughly the same age, Millie among them. And Millie must have dragged Emmaline along since Cissy now lived somewhere out in Colorado.
She’d cleaned up since the afternoon. Changed into a pair of snug denims that cupped her a*s perfectly, and some lacy getup on top. She looked good. His belly clenched at a brief flash of her softness under him. Then a fire of protective jealousy roared to life as he scanned the room and saw she’d turned more than a few heads.
“Axe.” Gunnar snapped his fingers in front of him. “You gonna play or stand there staring?”
Letting out a whoosh of breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, Axel turned back to the table, scanning for his next shot. When he found it, he bent and took aim but shoved the stick too forcefully and missed.
“That was an easy shot, dude.”
“No s**t, Sherlock.” Axel risked another glance over his shoulder. The women were still crowded around the jukebox.
Gunnar let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, man. If you’re still into her, go talk to her. Ask her to dance.”
Ha.
As if.
She’d walked out on him. Let her make the first move.
“Why’d you two break up anyway?” Gunnar asked, walking around the table and abandoning their game for the moment.
How in the hell was he supposed to answer that? She dropped me like a hot rock and never looked back? The shame of that still stung. He didn’t think he’d been an asshole. He’d done his best to be attentive, take care of her needs. He’d made sure he always held her hand in public. Little things, like he’d seen Pops do with Ma. Not that Pops was a shining example of a Romeo, but Axel had grown up knowing his dad loved his mom.
In his heart of hearts, he’d always questioned whether the fact that Pops had never warmed up to Coop had anything to do with her abrupt departure. But he’d never been brave enough to ask.
Gunnar was still staring at him expectantly. Waiting for an answer. Axel shook his head, tossing off a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. The past is past. Let’s play.” He turned back to the table, trying to purge a perfect a*s from his eyeballs.
They traded shots and got back to their game. But Axel couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder. They were line dancing now, with a handful of other young women he knew, along with a few adventurous cowboys.
Keep your head in the game, man.
He shot and missed. Again. God, he was playing like s**t tonight.
Gunnar finally put him out of his misery and sunk the eight ball in the side pocket. “Again?” He raised an eyebrow in question.
Axel shrugged. “Sure.”
“You were more fun when you weren’t emo over some lady… just sayin’”
“I’m not emo. Rack the balls.” Axel stalked over to the hightop and sipped his beer, risking a little glance at the dance floor in the process. His belly clutched. Now Coop was dancing with Johnny Benoit, whose hand was sliding dangerously close to her a*s. Jealousy snaked through him, and he gripped his pint glass with a ferocity he usually reserved for when he was letting off steam about Pops.
Gunnar sidled up next to him and refilled their glasses. “Jesus, Axe. Just ask her to dance.” He took a long draw, wiped his mouth, and narrowed his eyes, smirking. “Fifty bucks says you’re too chicken s**t to go talk to her.”
“f**k you, asshole.”
Johnny swung her around and she tossed her head back, laughing. Fire swirled in Axel’s belly. Coop should know better. Johnny was a player of the worst kind. He didn’t know how to treat a woman right. “Fine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “But only to keep an eye on her.”
He handed Gunn his stick and threaded his way through the tables. Anxiety pooled in his gut, a big swirling blob that made him half sick to his stomach. Everything seemed to slow, and for a moment, he remembered a conversation he’d had with his cousin Maddie, almost exactly a year ago.
“I made a mistake a few years back and let someone go because I wouldn’t listen. I wish more than anything I hadn’t.”
Only it had been ten years, and it wasn’t lack of listening. It had been fear. Plain and simple. He’d been afraid she’d give him the message he’d heard his whole life. That he wasn’t enough.
Fuck.
And now he was in his thirties, still hanging out at the town watering hole, hoping that something would change.
Fuck it.
He was guaranteed a whole lotta nothin’ if he kept on keepin’ on. Hope was right. He’d blink, and he’d be middle-aged. The worst that could happen would be that she laughed at him, and people already did that.
His feet propelled him onto the dance floor, and when he spotted them, he marched over and tapped Johnny on the shoulder.
“Mind?”
Johnny’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but then he nodded. “Be my guest.” Johnny smiled at Coop and melted away.
Coop stood looking at him, curiosity and suspicion battling in her eyes.
He extended his hand. “I promise I won’t bite.”
“Are you sure?”
He extended his hand, heart thudding like a bass drum. The jukebox changed, and the opening melody of Tim McGraw’s It’s Your Love floated over them as she slipped her hand into his. Electricity zinged up his arm at her touch. She flinched.
Did she feel it too?
The connection between them was still palpable, even after so many years. He pulled her close and began to move in time to the music. “You pick this song?” How many times had they danced to this song?
She shook her head, letting out a small laugh. “Emmaline.”
His stomach sank a little. It was foolish to think that she might still carry a torch for him. He maneuvered them between the other couples on the floor. At first, she followed him stiffly, but by the second chorus she relaxed into him and he tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her flush.
Their thighs brushed as they moved, and awareness surged through him. God, he could get used to this in a hurry. The song ended, but he didn’t let go. Instead he kept moving as the strains of Brad Paisley’s Then came through the speakers.
What was he doing out here on the dance floor with her? Besides playing with fire and begging to get hurt? If she was really water under the bridge, couldn’t they just talk?
Axel cleared his throat. “So tell me, Coop,” he murmured into her ear, catching a whiff of her scent, which was at once surprisingly familiar and deliciously intoxicating. Like roses and sunshine. Funny, she hadn’t changed her perfume in ten years. The realization warmed him. “Last time I saw you, you were tucked up under my arm, sound asleep, and when I woke up, you’d bolted.”
She stiffened and her head snapped back, eyes searching his warily. “Axe, I don’t think–”
He chuckled and smiled bitterly. “No? All right, we can stick to safer topics.” So anything too personal was still off limits for her. Fine. But he wouldn’t let it go indefinitely. He deserved an explanation, even if it wasn’t right now. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you’ve been up to the last ten years?”
She c****d her head, eyes narrowed. “For real?”
“Mhm,” he nodded. “I’m all ears.”
In truth, he was.
“Well, there’s not much to tell, really.” Her soft, husky drawl washed over him, setting his nerve endings alight. “I still live in Norman when I’m not doing field work. I got my Ph.D. in Meteorology a few years back. I was chief meteorologist at the NBC affiliate in Norman until I left to work with CPARC a year ago.”
Admiration swelled through him. “I bet you were great,” Axel grinned down at her. “I’d have watched you every day.”
She blushed and looked away. When she looked back a moment later, her eyes had gone soft. “What about you Axe? You running the show now?”
Bitterness rose in his throat. “Does it look like it? Pops is still the same. I’ve tried to innovate where I can. Gunn’s been good about pushing through some of my suggestions with Pops.
“Are you happy?”
Her question stopped him dead on the dance floor, and dread churned in his belly. Talk about unsafe topics. But hell, maybe he needed to shake things up. Quit following everyone’s rules and start following his own for a change. He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the patio.
“Axe?”
“You still need a driver?”
- Writer
