Cowboy at Midnight Read Online Free Page B

above her left breast?
    It sure as hell was. He hated tattoos. So would Mom. So would his triplet brothers.
    Forget Mom and Clyde and Miles.
    Her black-lashed eyes lifted to his again, and her mouth curved when she realized he was still watching her.
    She was something all right. And she knew it. She was good at this. She probably trolled somewhere different every night.
    The cowboy to his right was giving her the eye, too.Jealousy washed Steve in a hot green wave. In that black spandex miniskirt and the low-cut black blouse with hunky coral jewelry at her throat and wrists, she was the hottest woman in the bar. If he didn’t go after her, some other guy sure as hell would.
    Steve’s hand on his mug froze. Her enormous light-colored eyes were too sweet and sad for words.
    She looked lost—just like Madison had this morning. Just like his brother Jack used to after Ann’s death. Suddenly Steve wanted very badly to know why she was hurting. Even though he didn’t want to be involved, he felt connected, which meant he should run. He removed his Stetson, placed it on the table and ran his hands through his short dark-brown hair. Then he took a long pull from his mug.
    He wanted her. Only her. Maybe because he couldn’t have Madison. The situation scared the hell out of him. Still, he said the predictable sort of prayer all horny bastards say in bars after a beer or two when they see a pretty woman they want.
    Please, make her a nymphomaniac. At least for tonight.
    He hoped the Man Upstairs was listening. Tightening his grip on his beer, he shoved back from his table and arose awkwardly.
    Time to make his move.
    As he swaggered toward her, his boots thudding heavily on the rough wooden boards, he felt like an actor in a bad play. Ever since his fatal wedding day, crowds gave him claustrophobia. The closer he got to her, the more the other people in the bar seemed to stare.
    He wasn’t even halfway across the room when thewalls started pressing closer and his breathing grew labored. He was gulping for air when another cowboy on the way to the bar shoved him, jarring him back to reality.
    The voices in his head began to scream. No blondes, dummy. No blondes.
    â€œSorry,” the cowboy said with a sheepish grin.
    â€œSure,” Steve grunted as his throat squeezed shut.
    Jeff signaled him.
    No way could he talk to the blonde now.
    Beyond Jeff, he saw an exit sign. Blindly he veered toward it, stumbled over a chair leg and sent two chairs flying. When he righted them, his legs felt heavier. Every step was impossibly difficult. He felt as if he was slogging through knee-deep mud.
    Hell.
    â€œWait! Your hat!” a velvet voice cried behind him.
    He turned and saw the black girl in the red sheath waving his Stetson at him.
    To hell with his hat! He’d buy another one.
    Then the blonde snatched it out of her friend’s hand and slowly put it on. It was way too big for her, but she looked cuter than hell when she peeped at him from underneath the brim with her huge, lost eyes.
    Her mouth curved in a sweet, sad smile that made him want to save her from whatever the hell was bothering her.
    Run!

Two
    A my felt flushed. Was it the Flirtita, a fruity variation of a Margarita, that she was drinking that was making her feel light-headed and bolder than usual? Or was it the wild drumbeat of the music pulsing inside her like a second heartbeat?
    â€œWait!” Rasa yelled.
    Amy couldn’t believe Rasa. She was too much. When the tall, dark cowboy didn’t answer the impossible girl or turn around, Rasa strolled back to Amy’s table with his hat, her pretty mouth petulant.
    â€œHe’s leaving! I can’t believe your hot-to-trot cowboy is galloping for the hills! You’d better get up and take him his hat, baby.”
    Amy jumped up and then forced herself to sit back down.
    She wanted to run after him.
    The evening was definitely out of control, and that scared Amy, who was into