Page 29 of Awaiting the Storm
The Soused Cow is packed wall to wall and vibrating with energy. The place smells like beer, sweat, and sawdust, and that’s before you factor in the women who’ve bathed in perfume and the men who’ve marinated in aftershave. The air’s thick and loud with the whine of a guitar being tuned onstage and the low hum of drunken flirtation, peals of laughter, and barstool confessions that won’t be remembered tomorrow.
I’m leaning against the main bar—made from what looks like reclaimed barnwood with aged splits still visible in places—nursing a longneck beer and watching the crowd spill and sway on and off the dance floor with each song from the ancient jukebox tucked in the corner that’s providing the music until the band takes the stage. Every inch of space is claimed—pool tables in the back, the dance floor up front by the stage with tables clustered around it. There’s a pair of rowdy cowboys arguing over darts in the corner, and a group of women in fringe and halter tops are screaming their cheers over a shared tray of fruity shots.
It’s Wyoming’s version of a nightclub. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kind of like it.
I notice the moment the energy shifts. It’s subtle at first, a stir near the entrance, a ripple that moves like wind through grass. Heads turn. Mine included.
And that’s when I see her.
Matty.
She walks in with her sisters and cousin, Cabe, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
She’s wearing a vintage black lace dress—sleeveless, plunging neckline, fitted, hugging her curves like it was sewn just for her. The hem hitting the top of her knees. A dark brown leather belt cinches her waist, matching the bootson her feet and the cowgirl hat tilted low over her eyes. Gold and turquoise jewelry glints at her neck and ears. Her long braid hangs over her left shoulder like a blonde rope, and her skin glows beneath the bar lights. She’s got on subtle makeup—just enough shimmer to catch the light, enough color to make her pouty mouth stand out like a damn sin.
She doesn’t look like she’s trying too hard or like she wants to impress anyone. And maybe that’s why she’s doing a hell of a job of impressing me.
It’s a sucker punch to the gut. No warning it’s coming and no chance to brace for it.
I’ve seen her fresh from the pasture—worn jeans, buttoned-up shirt, hair messy, wearing work gloves and dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes—and she was gorgeous then. But this? This is something else entirely.
Matty Storm looks like the kind of trouble I’d thank God for letting me walk into.
She doesn’t see me. Not yet. The four of them—Matty, Charli, Shelby, and Cabe—move toward a table near the front of the dance floor. One of the high-tops with a clear view of the stage and plenty of room to toss back drinks. They claim it like they’ve done it a hundred times before.
Charli splits off and heads straight for the bar.
And I know she’s coming my way before she even lifts her head.
She sidles up beside me, orders a round—three bourbons, two beers—and doesn’t even look at me when she slides a cocktail napkin in my direction.
“For the drool,” she says.
I blink. Then laugh, shaking my head.
“You don’t miss a damn thing, do you?”
Charli grins, still not looking at me. “Not when it comes to my sister.”
“She always look like that when she goes out?”
“Only when she’s not trying,” she says, tapping her nails against the bar. “That dress has been in the back of her closet forever. Shelby and I had to physically move her from the barn and into a shower just to get her here.”
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat and folding the napkin neatly, “mission accomplished.”
She finally turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “You planning on coming over to say hello? Or are you just gonna watch her like a creep from across the room?”
“I haven’t decided just yet,” I admit.
“You should ask her to dance.”
I glance at the dance floor. A couple is already spinning, fast and reckless, under the amber lights. I look back at Matty. She’s laughing at something Shelby said, her chin tilted, her braid swaying with the motion. And I want to see that laugh up close.
“I might.”
But I have a feeling she would decline.
Charli eyes me. “You know, I kinda hope you do.”
