And just like that, I’m sucked into a dinner of hearty home-cooked food, friendly taunting, and comfortable laughter.
Even Rhett lightens up now that it’s not just us, but he still avoids looking at me throughout the meal.
6
Summer
Willa: I miss your face already. Have fun playing Hell on Wheels?
Summer: What?
Willa: Your cowboy. I looked him up. He looks like the hot guy from Hell on Wheels. You know, the one with the long hair? Did you know they filmed that show out there?
Willa: You should bang him.
Summer: No.
Willa: Want me to print you a picture of him for your wall?
Summer: I don’t miss you at all.
Rhett and I drive in utter silence, which is fine. It gives me the opportunity to get acquainted with everything out the window.
“Turn here.” One small turn takes us to a dead-end side street, at the bottom of which sits The Railspur.
The pub is not what I was expecting from a small town. In fact, Chestnut Springs is not what I was expecting from a small town. I think my dad and I have watched a few too many old western movies, and I’m realizing that I am truly an oblivious city girl.
Because Chestnut Springs is beautiful. The main street has these adorable bricked-in sidewalks, ornate lamp posts with little town flags dangling from them, and the businesses down here have maintained the historic facades while modernizing or adding on to the rest. Old brick buildings with dramatic archways or charming colorful awnings line each side of Rosewood Street, the main thoroughfare in town.
And the pub is not some small-town dive either. It’s like . . . cowboy chic.
“Is this an old train station?” I ask as I roll into the parking lot that Rhett just silently pointed to.
“Yup.”
“I guess the name should have been clue enough,” I say, mostly to myself since Rhett seems limited to grunts and one-word answers, before pulling to a stop in a space not too far from the door.
He grunts.
And I turn to him as he flings off his seatbelt, like he can’t get away fast enough. “Are you always this monosyllabic? Or is this special just for me?”
“I don’t need this,” he mutters just before he slams the passenger door in my face and storms toward the bar.
I flop back against my seat and blow a raspberry out through my lips.
I ask myself what I always do.
If this were my last moment alive, how would I want it to be?
My eyes flutter shut, and I suck in a deep breath, like that might help me grow some extra patience to deal with the big asshole bull rider assigned to me. Because in my last moments, I’d want to feel happy. If I step out of this car and get run down, I want to go out feeling good, not pissed off at some long-haired, broad-shouldered, round-assed cowboy.
That is not how Summer Hamilton goes.
Not today, Satan.
Then my door is wrenched open. “Are you having a stroke?” Rhett peers down at me, lips curving toward the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask, brows knitting in confusion. I thought he’d stormed into the bar.
“Opening your door for you. Now get out.”
My lips tug up and a silent giggle fills me as I realize he’s trying to be gentlemanlike while also being a grumpy dick. And with that, I step out of my SUV, patting the hood on the way past with a quiet, “Sorry.” Because that dick slammed her door way too hard.
We don’t look at each other as we walk, but he touches my shoulder gently and gestures me across his body. He moves me to the opposite side of him before taking up position by the road.
This man gives me whiplash.
He tugs the bar door open by grabbing one of the long brass pulls that stretches almost the full length of the wood frame. Once I pass through, Rhett is gone without a word, and I’m left admiring the interior of the pub.
Inside there’s a long bar that runs the full length of the left side of the building and high-top tables dot the main area. Further back, I can see a slightly raised section with a pool table, burgundy leather couches, and a fireplace.
Rhett clearly made a beeline for the bar, and a few locals have cornered him. There are back pats and handshakes exchanged between the men, but there’s also a tension to the greeting, and I can’t help but wonder what they’re saying to him.
Beau was stopping to pick up a friend and is a few minutes behind us, so I opt to do a walk-by behind Rhett and see if I can overhear anything before heading to the ladies’ room to burn some time before people who actually acknowledge my existence arrive.
I’m still wearing my favorite skin-tight skinny jeans and white eyelet blouse. I even paired the outfit with a pair of super-cute booties that seem a tad country to me. Minus the heel, but whatever.