Grady just wants to grieve the loss of his ex in peace, but then Quinn's younger sister, Taryn, whirls into his Texas hometown, looking to stir up the past. She brings in a wave of goons with her and a mystery that's well beyond his pay grade. Still...
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"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit."
Welcome to Terrell, Texas, folks. I'm an officer of the law here, and as strange as that saying may seem to some, I hear it, like, twice daily.
My own ass is on a barstool. I know you ain't surprised. It's probably where every lousy boondock drama begins and ends.
Everyone else in town seems to have the same idea. It's late May and hotter than heaven, even with the sun long gone for the day. It's only Thursday, but there are Friday vibes for sure.
With my second and last beer in hand—it's just the way it has to be—I swivel around, not expecting to see anything grand. If you lived in this town for as long as I have, you wouldn't either.
Of course, it's country-line dancing night, and Saddlebrook Saloon is so crowded that it takes me a few seconds of searching to see what Knox is pointing out.
I haven't seen him blink in a good long while. Sure as sin, it's about a girl, one that I must say, looks familiar even through the stamping and twirling that makes me dizzy just watching.
Before I can confirm a damn thing, Knox ruins the suspense. "Isn't that Taryn Abernathy?"
He's got a good eye, and shit, he's right. Her sister was the singer, but Taryn was the dancer, and holy moly, it shows. She used to be this agile little tomboy—the horse-riding, tree-climbing, fence-walking, rope-swinging sort of kid. She only wiped the dirt off her face for dance class. A stiff wind would still blow her over, but she's got some length now. She's all leg, like a goddamn ballerina, and she has just enough cleavage to bounce.
It's a shocking revelation, let me tell you. Last time I saw her, she was . . . young. I'll leave it at that. And for more reasons than I can count, that thought would have never crossed my mind. Above all, her father would have shot me right between the eyes. Her sister, Quinn, was my age and that was bad enough. Taryn, on the other hand, was daddy's little girl. If she wasn't traipsing after me and Quinn, she was perched on the fence or on horseback, watching him do his thing.
My eyes linger for a moment too long. Taryn stops mid-step to look right at me. Before our eyes have a chance to lock, I duck my chin to my shoulder and practically cringe like a child who is about to get slapped. In a lousy effort to cover all that up, I swivel back toward the bar, and chug half a beer.
I was going to call it a night after this one. I hate myself for needing another one. Something stronger. It's not who I want to be anymore. Sure, I have the day off tomorrow. If I can dig up some self-control, I'll be better off than most of these fools...
With my track record and family history, it's not an excuse I should make, but I make it anyway.
I clunk my empty on the bar, and with my demanding eyes and imposing presence, I get the only female bartender to come over, and for once, she ain't smiling and leaning forward. I have that way with women lately, and quite frankly, the feeling's mutual.
