Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free Page A

danger. Nobody hid from Javier Mass for long.
    “Your turn,” Andy interrupted.
    “I’ll take his turn,” Chayton said. “He’s not playing so well tonight.”
    Garret groaned and shrugged his shoulders, approaching the bar for another Guinness. One more beer wouldn’t hurt.
    He stood by the bar and watched his younger brother pocket three stripes, finally handing the table over to Andy after missing the fourth. Garret and Chayton had made it a game to challenge each other throughout their lives, but now it seemed Chayton triumphed. Probably because Garret’s job was his life, robbing him of fun or entertainment. He had a lot to make up for, but he’d pushed himself over the past three weeks to fit in everything he could. Sometimes he wondered if he did it for fun or punishment.
    Garret returned to the table and stood beside his brother, but didn’t make a move.
    Chayton snorted. “You too old to play the game?”
    Using the taunt to fuel him, Garret wrested the pool stick from Chayton’s grip and eyed the table. The cue ball rested in the middle of the table, but all striped balls — the three left — were frozen against the short rail, along with two other solids. Taking a moment to focus and bridge his stick, he called his pocket and struck the cue ball. It flew across the table and pocketed not one but two of his object balls, leaving the other to slide against the rail and hang.
    “Hah,” he said, feeling quite proud of himself.
    “That’s great, Gar,” Chayton drawled as he popped him on the back.
    Straightening, Garret narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Don’t forget who taught you this game.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    As a few of the regulars approached, one of them said, “I’m betting on Gar.”
    “No. Andy has more practice,” someone else said.
    “Did you see him carving the mountains the other day?”
    “His brother just played half his game.”
    Sneering at the gibes, Garret took his time leveling his stick. One more object ball and the eight for him and two object balls and the eight for Andy. The competitive side of him wouldn’t make this easy on his opponent.
    Reagan’s image, which had been hovering at the edge of his mind throughout the night, flashed through his head. Cursing, he straightened and wiped his sleeve across his brow.
    He hadn’t even met her yet and already she was disrupting his life. She was beautiful, and a perfect distraction for his frame of mind. Did she have any idea the danger she was involved in? Could he woo her into talking and giving up the entire Mass Mafioso? If so, would he risk her life?
    Ah hell, they could all be in danger, but right now he had to trust his own instincts.
    “You okay, bro?” Chayton teased as he bumped him on the shoulder.
    This was the Chayton he knew, the one that emerged when he wasn’t dwelling on his losses. In coming back to Montana, Garret not only hoped to heal himself but also to heal his relationship with his brother.
    He swilled his beer and returned to the table. In another swift move, he tackled his last ball, but it took two more shots to pocket the eight. Thankfully, he was faster than Andy.
    He blew on the tip of his talc-covered pool stick, mocking a smoking gun in an old western shootout. “That, my friends, is how a real man plays.” His arms flew open and he swaggered backward, exaggerating his theatrics. He peered across the small crowd, playing to the group that gathered. He knew most of them. Had grown up with most of them. The ones he didn’t know knew the ones he did. “If you need lessons, well, I’m not available tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Andy jeered. He held a beer in one hand; the other held his cue as if ready for another go.
    “I’ll take lessons,” Whitey hollered, teasing. So named because of the pale blond hair he’d been born with, and since he was nearly born on the slopes and would probably die on the slopes. “Lessons on how you slay your