Page 2 of Hard Rain Coming

There was leather-jacket guy, who thought he was in love with his girlfriend, Natalie. He wanted to put a ring on her finger because it would get his mama off his back, and maybe some extra-special loving from said girlfriend.

His pal, backward-ball-cap guy, disagreed. Vehemently. His opinion was that the girlfriend was already a nag and that if leather-jacket guy had to lie in order to have a night out with the boys, how in hell would that work?

He wasn’t wrong.

Then there was the big, burly man with a bald head wearing a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, who was trying to explain what a hobbit was to a guy who was clearly asleep on the bar.

If Vivian weren’t so damn tired, she would find it all amusing. Maybe write it down. Make a story of it. But the fact was, she was tired, and with a full belly, all she could think of was getting some shut-eye.

She checked her phone again. Still no response. With a sigh, she finished off her root beer and was about to grab cash from her bag when she noticed one of the men from the far end of the bar heading her way. He was a good-looking guy, with a headful of wavy dark hair, a handsome face, and some beef on him. The kind that spent his days outdoors. And maybe if it were another time and place, she might consider getting that itch that needed scratching, scratched. Nameless, faceless sex was in her wheelhouse, after all. But she wasn’t in the mood for this stranger. Not tonight.

She bent her head, made a show of rooting for cash, but when his boots stopped a few inches from her, she knew things would probably get ugly. She could smell the whiskey. Envision the attitude.

“Hey there, girlie.”

She didn’t bother to look up. “I’m not interested.”

“Ouch. That’s one helluva cold wind in here.”

Vivian grabbed two twenties and gritted her teeth. She looked up. “Can you move, please?”

“Sure can.” He grinned and stood to the side. She got to her feet, and when he tried to grab her jacket, she shifted a bit and shrugged into it. Great. He was the handsy type. And built like a Mack truck. This might be harder than she first thought.

“The name’s Gary. I’d like to buy you a drink.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She tried to go around him, but he grabbed her elbow.

“Come on. One drink.”

Vivian looked pointedly at her arm. “Let go of my elbow.”

“Why you being so squirrely? Let me buy you a drink.” There was an edge to his voice now.

“I don’t want a drink, but if I did, I have my own money.”

“Ah, I see,” he said with a half sneer. “You’re one of those women. I bet you get real mad when a man opens the door for you, or, God forbid, tells you you’re pretty. Does that offend you?”

This was headed south faster than she’d anticipated. Where in hell was Jenny?

“Gary, I’m asking you nicely to move.”

“You think you’re too good for me.”

“What I think is that this conversation is over.”

Vivian considered her options and decided there was only one way to handle this. She’d go for his nuts with her knee and jab him in the throat with her fist. If that didn’t work, she was screwed, because no one seemed to care that she was cornered, and he had several inches and at least one hundred pounds on her.

Gary took a step closer, his expression black, and Vivian prepared herself. A part of her liked this. Looked forward to this. The fighting. It was a flaw, to be sure, but one that had served her well many times over, especially growing up on a ranch with older brothers.

“I’d be real careful about your next move, friend.”

She froze, and time stood still for a moment.

Then came crashing down as Gary swore and turned toward the newcomer. Vivian knew the voice intimately. Had listened to it late at night when the shadows were as long as her loneliness. She glanced over to him.

Dallas Henhawk leaned against a table not more than two feet away. He was dressed simply, a plain black T-shirt, a pair of old weathered jeans, and big ass boots. His hair was a lot longer than she remembered, the ends and a good amount of length bleached blond from working in the sun, while his square chin and strong jaw sported a thick, dark beard. He’d always been a looker. His features were up there with Adonis, and in another world, he could have been a model. Or an actor. Or someone who was put on the earth to fuel the fantasies of every woman who crossed his path. He looked more like a biker than a ranch foreman, but then, he’d never cared much for convention. Dallas was tall and stood at six-foot-six. He was a mountain of a man with muscles, tattoos, a mouth made for sin, and…

He took her breath away. Literally. Vivian felt like she’d just been punched in the gut.