Page 17 of Live, Ranch, Love

Cherry answers before Wyatt can, hooking her arm through mine and guiding me towards the door. “It used to be his grandfather’s, who he was named after. When he passed and Duke took the bar over, he decided to change the name in his grandfather’s memory.” She quickly adds on with a nervous smile, “I work here when I’m back from college, so I know the whole backstory.”

“You’re allowed to work here when you’re under twenty-one?”

“Oh yeah.” She waves it off. “The bartending age is eighteen here. But we keep any drinks I’m served on the down low, obvs.”

When I glance back to Wyatt, I can’t read his expression as his eyes are trained on our linked arms. But I don’t miss the way his whole body relaxes and his face lights up at the sound of people cheering when we head through the swinging doors. I almost have to do a double take at the grin that’s taking up his face, bringing out the dimples properly now.

Really cute dimples, actually.

Wyatt bustles forward, received by a group of three guys at the bar—all just as tall and broad as him. They clap hands and pull each other into hugs. Cherry releases me and skips forward, also being pulled into the embrace. Though, the guy who’s wearing a black shirt and trousers seems to make his hug brief with her.

Now they all turn to me, and I swear the bar goes silent.

Because I’m a fish out of water.

Muscle clad in denim and wearing an off-white T-shirt that is tight in all the right places, a guy with sandy blonde hair and tanned skin steps forward. His twinkling brown eyes remind me of a golden retriever—energetic and eager for my attention—flicking between my outfit and face excitedly.

“And who do we have here?” His country drawl is thick, voice deep and inviting. “A friend of Cherry’s?”

“Rory Jones.” I smile, aware that other people in the bar are also staring at me now. I might have dressed the part, but my accent gives me straight away.

The guy’s eyes immediately light up and he bounces on the spot, flashing his grin back at Wyatt. “Oh, you’re the British girl we’ve heard so much about.”

Wyatt stares at the floor when I glance at him, slightly concerned what exactly they’ve been told. But before I know it, the guy strides towards me and wraps me in a hug.

“Nice to meet you, Red. I’m Sawyer—Wyatt’s best friend.”

“Actually.” The other guy with pale skin, messy brown hair, and a short beard shoves Sawyer out the way once he releases me, then also draws me into a loose hug, giving me a pat on the back. “I’m Wyatt’s best friend, Wolfman.”

I’m not going to pretend I don’t enjoy the amount of muscles I’ve had pressed against me already tonight.

“Did you get that from Top Gun?” I ask.

“No, obviously I’d be Maverick.” He furrows his brow, like I should know that, but still grins.

A hand lands on Wolfman’s shoulder, tugging him back to make space for the last guy. His presence is too quiet for how gorgeous he is—dark skin, broad shoulders, closely shaven black hair, and umber eyes that glisten when his soft smile charms his high cheekbones.

“He’s called Wolfman because he’s the hairiest guy you’ll ever meet. Like a werewolf.”

Wolfman howls, making plenty of customers turn around. To be fair, his chest hair is peeking out the top of his green shirt. “Name’s also Miles Wolfe, so reckon that might have something to do with it.”

I nod, holding in my grin, returning to Wyatt’s last friend. “You must be the actual best friend—Duke, is it?”

Duke glances to the floor then smiles, shaking my hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you, Rory. If you need anything just let me know. I’ll be working tonight.” Throwing a wave to the rest of the group, Duke heads behind the bar, laying three bottles of beer on the top for Wyatt, Sawyer, and Miles.

“What’s your poison then, Red?” Sawyer asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to lead me towards the bar. I know a lot of people get thrown off by touching, but my family have always been like that, so I welcome the close contact.

“Um…” I really don’t know my answer. I’m not entirely sure if they have the same kind of fruity cocktails I occasionally drink whenever Sofia comes to visit me in London. My knowledge of alcohol has withered away recently.

Still, I’m kind of excited to let loose. Not think about everything that’s been going on. Just drink and talk and who knows.

Cherry chimes in, pushing Sawyer’s arm off me, replacing it with her own. He covers his heart, like she’s wounded him and frowns. “Do you like Pornstar Martinis? Duke makes the best cherry-flavoured ones!”

I nod, tensed shoulders releasing in relief that there are more options than whiskey and beer, like I was expecting.

Though, as I finally get a second to behold the bar, taking in all the dark polished wood, red mood-lighting and leather seats, I realise that Duke’s has a slightly more sophisticated edge to it than anticipated. The western vibe is undoubtedly infusing the decor, with the country music playing on the jukebox and framed pictures of bull riding on the walls. Yet, there’s an elegance laced through—subtle fairy lights along the rafters, candles on the tables, and glass shelves behind the bar.

Hearty laughter and clinking glasses echo throughout, adding to the feeling like this is the kind of place you make warm, unforgettable memories.

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