The Maverick's Summer Love

Jazzy placed her drink back on the table. “No, thanks. I just want to sit here, okay?”

Dean nodded. “Okay, but if you need someone to talk to—”

“You’re a good friend, Dean.” Jazzy leaned in close and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. “But please shut up.”

Doing as he was told, Dean leaned back in his chair, his gaze automatically going to the pretty bartender.

His brother’s words about Shelby played again in his head. There was no way those rumors could be true. Not with the way she’d dismissed him. And why did he even care that she looked at him as if he wasn’t much more than something she needed to scrape off the bottom of her boots?

Chapter Two

Typical man. Never satisfied with what’s right in front of him.

Shelby Jenkins could be thinking about any of the male patrons at the Ace in the Hole tonight, but no, the man who continued to occupy her thoughts, even a day later, was Dean Pritchett.

All because she’d caught him looking her way more than once last night.

Despite the fact he’d had a pretty girl practically sitting on his lap, kissing him. The same pretty girl he’d left with a few hours later.

Okay, so Shelby would admit she’d been looking at him first when their gazes had met in the mirror behind the bar, but only because she had finally counted the money he’d left behind on the counter when he, his brother and their friends had moved to a table.

A 100 percent tip on a bar tab for four beers?

Her first thought had been to give the cash back to him. She was well aware of the many barroom games and Shelby wasn’t interested in being a player.

Or being played.

Then again, her bank account needed every dollar she managed to squirrel away and if the handsome blond cowboy thought a hefty tip was going to score points, she had no problem letting him think that way.

Or setting him straight if he tried to use his generosity to his advantage.

Shelby looked over the dwindling Friday night crowd as closing time approached, automatically double-checking the beer taps to make sure they were shut down. Last call had been twenty minutes ago and she was already deep into her nightly routine, knowing all the necessary steps by heart.

Being eighteen and needing a job that kept her days free, she’d started working at the Ace in the Hole as a waitress. Moving behind the bar a couple of years later had been a breeze as she’d easily picked up the necessary skills watching the other bartenders and practicing after hours.

Along the way, she’d also learned a few hard lessons about hooking up with a random cowboy or two. After two attempts at human companionship failed even before the first dates ended, Shelby decided casual sex just wasn’t for her. She didn’t enjoy being a means to an end.

Besides, once they found out she wasn’t as wild and unattached as they first thought, their interest in her vanished quicker than morning dew. So, being lonely was something she’d learned to deal with.

She’d suspected the Pritchett boys had been talking about her long before the ladies joined them, especially after the way Dean had held tight to her hand when they were introduced, but she never let on. She was used to the gossip—it’d been tailing her since she was sixteen—but it made her sad that even newcomers seemed to judge her.

Then again, Dean had almost come to her rescue last night when Courtney, one of the bar’s newest waitresses and one of Shelby’s oldest enemies, had walked right into her with a tray full of drinks. She’d held her tongue when Courtney hissed the accident was all her fault. Then made it clear to the cowboy she could handle things like she always did.

On her own.

She’d cleaned up the mess, played to the crowd as expected and even smiled sweetly at the cowboys when delivering a fresh set of drinks, courtesy of the house.

She flinched remembering the hot, sweaty touch from one guy who got a little too friendly. Something one too many of her customers felt they had a right to do from time to time.

Small towns. Born, raised and vilified as one of Rust Creek Falls’ fallen angels, Shelby had just about all she could take of small towns.

Which was why her long-held goal of getting out of Rust Creek Falls had moved up from someday to as soon as possible.

“You keep rubbing the bar that way, you’re going to put a hole clean through it.” The raspy voice drifted over Shelby’s shoulder. “Or make the last few cowboys in this joint jealous.”

Realizing she’d been wiping down the same section of the scarred surface for the past few minutes, Shelby tossed the rag into the sink. “I thought you had headed home, Rosey.” She turned and eyed her boss. “Don’t you have company waiting back at your place?”

“Sam kept me waiting for the last three months. He can keep his pants zipped for a few more minutes.” The owner of the Ace in the Hole walked around the end of the bar, pausing to easily flip over a couple of the stools so that they rested upside down on the bar’s surface. “Besides, I can’t head out without the proper send-off. Just wouldn’t be right.”

A nearby table of cowboys didn’t bother to hide their obvious stares as Rosey, looking mighty fine in her tight jeans, blousy pirate-style top and cinched leather vest, walked by. With her shaggy, jet-black hair brushing her shoulders, high cheekbones and slender build, Rosey looked years younger than someone who’d recently celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday.

Still, their low groans filled the air when Rosey stopped in front of the jukebox, digging into her jeans pocket. Anyone still in the bar knew what was coming.

The musical tastes of the Hole’s clientele ran strictly country, from the old standards of Johnny Cash and George Strait to the latest hit from Nashville’s newest queen, Taylor Swift, but not Rosey. A child of the sixties, Rosey loved her golden oldies, especially the doo-wop classics.

Shelby propped her elbows on the bar and grinned. By the time her boss deposited four quarters and started punching in her choices, a group of people in one booth headed out. When the first “shoo-doop, shoo-do-be-doop” filled the air, one of two tables packed with cowboys finished the last of their beers and departed, as well.

“Really, Rosey? Must you play those old songs every night?”

The sweetness of the feminine voice coming from the corner booth didn’t hide the snarkiness that easily wiped the smile from Shelby’s face.

High school antics reared their ugly heads again.

“Nobody likes that ancient music,” the prissy blonde, sitting across from two of her friends, continued. “Except maybe for those born back in the dark ages.”

Rosey stopped by a recently vacated table and cleaned up the mess left behind. Walking past the booth, she waved an empty beer bottle in the girl’s direction. “Finish up your froufrou drinks, ladies. It’s past your bedtimes.”

The smiles disappeared from their faces and they went back to talking among themselves. Shelby took the bottles from her boss and deposited them in the nearby recycling bin, pleased that she’d somehow managed not to break a single one. “How do you do it?”

“Hey, I’ve been dealing with wiseass remarks from customers barely over the legal drinking age too long to let one that lame bother me.” Rosey leaned in close and gave her a quick bump, hip to hip. “Don’t let them get to you.”

Easier said than done. Even with years of practice.

Shelby forced a smile back to her face as she turned to her boss. “I’m barely over the legal drinking age, remember? I went to school with those girls.”

“Yes, but you’ve got an old soul. Not to mention a totally different perspective on what’s important in life. More so than that cosmopolitan crew over there.” Rosey jerked her head toward the booth. “Although they’ve been pounding the drinks pretty hard tonight. You okay closing up alone?”

This time Shelby’s smile was genuine as she leaned in and gave Rosey a quick hug. She considered her boss one part Cher, one part Betty White and 100 percent best friend despite the years separating them.

“It’s just the sorority girls and that last table of cowboys in the corner, new hires out at the McIntyre ranch.” She took a step back. “I’m sure everyone will be gone before Elvis leaves the building.” Rosey always ended her selections with a love song from the King. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ah, excuse me. Am I too late to get a beer?”

The deep male voice had Shelby spinning around.

Dean Pritchett.

He stood just inside the bar’s front door dressed more casually tonight in faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt. A ball cap that had seen better days sat perched on his head.

“I thought you might be closed,” he continued, tipping up the cap’s frayed brim as he moved farther inside a few steps. “Then I heard the jukebox and decided to try my luck.”

“Last call is done, gone and put to bed.” Shelby’s standard answer fell from her lips even as her mind registered that he was alone. No brother and no pretty blonde friend in sight. “Sorry. We’re closing in less than fifteen—”

“We-e-ell, we might be able to find a spare cold brew,” Rosey drawled, interrupting her. “That is, unless you have a problem with the music selection?”

Cocking his head to one side, he seemed to listen intently for a moment before he spoke. “How can anyone have a problem with The Tokens? ‘In the Still of the Night’ is a classic.”

Rosey’s face lit up with a bright smile as she pointed a perfectly manicured fingernail at him. “You can stay. Shelby, get this man a beer.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, don’t ‘ma’am’ me. The name’s Rosaline Marguerite Shaw with too many other former last names to get into.” The older woman stepped forward and held out her hand. “Everyone calls me Rosey.”

Shelby grabbed a cold beer from the cooler, watching as Dean shook hands with her boss and fell under her charming spell, just like every other man who met her. So why the sudden twist in her stomach?

“Dean Pritchett.” He leaned forward after ending the handshake, his forearms braced against the bar. “This is a nice place you got here, Rosey.”

“My last ex wanted his freedom more than he wanted the Hole. Sometimes I wonder who got the better end of the deal.”

Shelby plopped the icy bottle, twist cap still in place, on the bar. “That will be three bucks.”

Dean straightened and reached for his pocket.

Rosey waved off his efforts. “No need, sugar. This one is on the house.”

“Thanks, Rosey.” Dean spoke to her boss, but his deep green eyes were trained on Shelby.

His steady gaze bothered her more than she would admit. Why was he here? And coming by so late?

Not to mention he’s alone.

Shelby tried to ignore the little voice inside her that had to point out that fact. Again. It’d been years since a guy had managed to occupy any space in her head. There just wasn’t room with everything else she had going on in her life right now.

Rosey was right. For someone so young, she was an old soul and sometimes that old part seemed to reach out from deep inside her to take over every weary bone in her body.

“Shel, honey? Did you hear me?”

Blinking hard, Shelby realized she hadn’t heard a word her boss had said. Knowing Rosey, that wasn’t a good thing. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rosey’s deep red-painted lips twitched, as if she was fighting a losing battle with a grin. Oh, boy, Shelby was in trouble. What exactly had she missed? Her gaze flew to Dean, but he seemed very interested in the bowl of unshelled peanuts sitting on the bar that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

“I asked if the cash register is all set,” Rosey said.

“Oh, right. Yes. It’s ready to go.” Turning away, Shelby walked to the other end of the bar, her boss on her heels. She quickly opened the register, handing over the locked money bag knowing Rosey planned to take it home with her tonight.

Shutting the drawer with a push, she remembered something. “Hey, did you see my letter? I thought I left it tucked beneath the cash drawer.”

Rosey sighed. “I thought I told you to burn that thing after you showed it to me yesterday.”

She had, using a few colorful adjectives that were typical for Rosey. “I know, but—”

“But nothing. What did your mama say when you showed it to her?”

Shelby remained silent.

“She didn’t say anything because you never told her what you were doing in the first place.” Rosey guessed correctly. “Oh, sweetie. Why not? Your mama would have supported you.”

“I know that. She would have supported me so much that she couldn’t have kept her mouth shut about it. Everyone in Bee’s Beauty Parlor would have known and then…” Shelby’s voice faded for a moment. “I just didn’t want it to be public knowledge.”

“Look, you earned that degree the hard way. While I don’t even want to think about how it’d be harder than a whore’s heart to run this place without you, they should have considered themselves lucky to get you. Their loss.”

“They didn’t want me.” She kept her voice low. Damn, it still hurt more than it should to say those words aloud. “Even after all that volunteering I did last month with the summer school program…they didn’t want me.”

“Then they’re morons and I’m worried for the younger generation of this town.”

Shelby nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Rosey.”

“Honey, you need to get your mind off all that stuff.” She tucked the money bag beneath one arm and cocked her head toward the end of the bar. “Something tells me that hunky cowboy could assist you in that endeavor.”

Pushing the strands of blond hair away from her face, Shelby refused to look even though she could feel his gaze on her. After last night it felt…familiar. “Pass.”

“You’re alone too much.”

“I’m never alone.” Shelby reminded her. “Not for the last five years and that’s exactly how I want it.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Yes, she did. It was a heated topic of discussion they’d shared in the past, but she just wasn’t up to it tonight. “Weren’t you on your way out?”

“Yes, I am, but you play nice. I have a feeling that young man came in here for a particular reason.”

Shelby had no doubt that was true. Nipping that reason in the bud was next on her to-do list. “Have a good night, boss.”

“Oh, honey, when my Sammy’s in town, it’s always a good night.” Rosey shot her a quick wink and then disappeared into the back.

Focusing her attention on the register, Shelby pressed the sequence of buttons to run the end-of-day reports and sent them to Rosey’s computer. She then logged off and shut down the machine.

No sense in putting off the inevitable, Shelby squared her shoulders and started back to the end of the bar.

“Oh, teacher, teacher…”

Shelby froze as Darlene Daughtry’s voice rang out across the bar. She looked over at the booth, spotting both her high school nemesis’s phony expression of innocence and the folded piece of white paper she fanned herself with.

Was that her letter? No, it couldn’t be!

“Oh, my bad. I guess I should have just called for a waitress.” Darlene’s pageant-practiced smile disappeared. “And you would have come running.”

Shock filled Shelby as she realized what Darlene held in her hand. Shock that gave way to a long-familiar, burning shame.

She hated that certain people in this town still had the ability to make her feel that way, after all these years, with just a few choice words.

For all her hard work, there were some things a person never stopped paying for no matter how much time had passed.

Refusing to give Darlene the satisfaction of rushing to the booth, but determined to get everyone out of this place, Shelby set her gaze straight ahead and kept walking, grabbing a nearby tray just so she’d have something to hang on to.

First things first.

Dean looked up as she approached. She expected to see a familiar flirty gleam in his eyes, the same look she’d seen so many times from so many others. His calm and steady gaze confused her, as did the still-unopened beer bottle in front of him despite the growing pile of peanut shells next to it. “Look, I know why you’re here. Not interested.”

“Excuse me?” He tapped the side of the bottle with one finger while cracking open another shell with a simple squeeze of his fist. “I just came in here for a beer.”

“Then I suggest you drink it because the bar is shut off and so am I.” Her mind flew back to the girl he’d been with last night. “Can I say it any plainer? I have zero interest in anyone who’s obviously already taken.”

He started to speak, but Shelby kept on walking. Rounding the end of the bar, she started for the booths, but a warm hand gripped her arm.

She spun around, jerking from his hold, an unnecessary move as he’d already let her go.

“You’re wrong,” Dean said.

The story of her life. “Am I?”

He moved in closer, his work-scarred boots snugging up against the tips of her sneakers. She automatically lifted the round tray to her chest, placing it between them, almost like a shield. Dean’s gaze dropped to the tray for a moment before he took a step back.

“I’m not taken.” He pressed a hand to the center of his chest as if to emphasize his words, his voice a low whisper. “Jazzy, the girl you saw me with last night, is an old friend from back home. She was having a rough time and just needed someone to talk to.”

Shelby pulled in a deep breath through her nose, fighting for control. It didn’t work. All she did was take in the clean, outdoorsy scent that seemed to radiate from this man, a scent that managed to make its way through the typical smoky and boozy odors of most who hung out in the bar.

Suddenly very tired, she was ready for everyone to leave. Including Dean Pritchett.

Grabbing the beer bottle off the bar, she pushed it against the back of his hand, forcing him to grab it before it crashed to the ground. “Well, I need to close up. Take your beer and find somewhere else to drink it.”

She spun away from him and stalked over to the booth where Darlene and her friends sat, ignoring how her heart hitched when she heard the Hole’s front door gently bang shut behind her.

“I’m afraid it’s closing time, ladies,” Shelby said with her best phony–customer service voice. “Are you all finished?”

“Hmm, are we finished?” Darlene spoke to her friends, ignoring Shelby as she propped a bent elbow on the table, her fingers tightened around a piece of paper in her hand.

“Oh, did you see the news today?” she continued, batting her mascara-heavy false eyelashes. “Preseason football starts this weekend. Isn’t that exciting?”

The other two smirked in unison. Shelby knew what was coming. The contents of the letter were just the tip of the sword that Darlene planned to jab right through her.

As much as Shelby tried to avoid any talk of the biggest news to hit Rust Creek Falls in decades, even with the flooding last month, it didn’t work. The extensive damage to the town had stemmed the tide a bit, but now things were looking better with the reconstruction going on, and suddenly everybody was a fan of a certain East Coast professional football team thousands of miles from here.

All because of local boy Zach Shute.

The best high school football player to come out of western Montana in years, Zach had graduated from college with a stellar career and was drafted in the first round. At twenty-four, he was a little bit older than most rookies, but his college days had been delayed for almost a year.

Thanks to Shelby.

“You must be very excited about Zach’s prospects.” Darlene looked at her now. “I heard professional ballplayers make very good money.”

All three girls turned to her and waited. “I wouldn’t know,” Shelby said, forcing the words out.

“Really? One would think you’d be the first in line to hit up that poor boy for a big fat check.” Her fingers relaxed and the letter fell to the table, soaking up the moisture from their now-empty glasses. “Seeing how your career as an educator seems to be over before it even started. but is that really such a surprise? Did you really think the town would want you teaching their children?”

Shelby’s fingers itched to snatch up the letter, but she wouldn’t give her old rival the satisfaction.

Not that it mattered. The contents had been short and sweet. Just two paragraphs telling her she’d been turned down for a teaching position at Rust Creek Falls Elementary School.

Despite the loss of the building in last month’s flood, the town was still planning to hold classes any way they could and now that she had her early-childhood education degree, she’d wanted to teach. Shelby had hoped a year in the local school system would add more cushion to her savings and give her some experience to help her find a job in a new city far away from Rust Creek Falls.

She’d done her student teaching in nearby Kalispell, but when she found out the elementary school had openings, she’d jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to herself, that there was more to Shelby Jenkins than her dubious past.

None of that mattered now.

“I think it’s time for you all to leave.”

“Really?” The girl in the corner, Shelby couldn’t even remember her name, smirked. “We’re not the only ones still here, you know. What about that table of cowboys back in the corner? Why aren’t you kicking them out?”

“Probably because she wants to keep them all to herself.”

Darlene reached for her wallet and cell phone as the three of them scooted out from the booth. Shelby’s fingers gripped the drink tray so hard that she feared her bones would crack. She forced herself to take several steps back, putting as much space between her and this witch as possible without looking as if she was running away.

At one point, she’d tried to understand Darlene’s stinging malice toward her. After all, Darlene and Zach had been a steady item for two years before Shelby joined the cheerleading squad her sophomore year in high school. By the following spring Zach had ended things with Darlene right after the junior prom and moved on to Shelby, who’d foolishly thought dating the star quarterback was the answer to her dreams.

But that had been five years ago. High school should be ancient history for everyone by now. Except one of them had a daily reminder—

“Oh, here’s a tip for you.” Darlene paused, her friends already waiting at the door for her. She unzipped her wallet, yanked out a square foil packet and tossed it onto the table. “Use one of these this time, okay? I think everyone will be happier in the long run.”

All the air disappeared from Shelby’s lungs. The strength in her legs went as well, causing her to sway as Darlene brushed past her. She jutted her foot out to keep from losing her balance and Darlene’s platform sandals caught the edge of Shelby’s sneaker. Arm twirling couldn’t save her and seconds later, Darlene face planted on the floor.

Her friends gasped as she scrambled to her feet and spun around, her face contorted in an angry sneer. “You did that on purpose, Jenkins.”

Had she? Shelby wasn’t sure, but there was no way she could convince Darlene of that. Nor would she try. No, what she wanted to do was yell, to get into this evil girl’s face and tell her she couldn’t talk about the most important thing in her life… .

She turned away, her gaze drawn back to the table. The slamming of the door told her Darlene and her friends had left, but she didn’t move as everything in her line of sight faded to black except for that single item on the table.

She blinked hard, hoping it would disappear. When it didn’t, she cleaned away everything, the empty glasses, used napkins—the trash—with one sweep of her arm. Dropping the tray on the now-empty table, she leaned forward, bracing her arms to keep herself upright as she struggled to catch her breath, familiar accusations rolling through her mind.