Read Online Kickin' Up Dust: Operation Cowboy, Book 1 by Em Petrova - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Em Petrova
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chance, didn’t he? And she needed some fun.
Trouble was, her idea of fun had just walked out the door.
* * * * *
“Welcome home, boys.” The old guy holding down the barstool turned to salute Brodie and his friends as they sauntered up to the bar.
“Thank you, sir.” Brodie probably shouldn’t have worn his Marine Corps T-shirt. It invited conversation he didn’t want right now. Thinking of Danica at home baking Matt’s favorite cookies and trying to keep the hurt look off her face twisted Brodie up inside.
“Let me buy you boys a drink in appreciation for your service.” The old guy waved at the bartender, a slim little blonde wearing shorts and a midriff top. His ears buzzed with talk and music. He barely registered his friends telling the bartender their orders or her wide smile for him.
“Same,” he muttered. When he had his beer in hand, he made his way through line dancers to a table toward the back. He wanted to hide in the shadows and watch people have fun while he thought of how to get the same for himself.
“What crawled up your ass, Pup?” Garrett swung his chair backward and straddled it. He brought his bottle to his lips.
“Nothin’s wrong.” He drank off half his bottle at once.
His friends settled around him, staring at him as if he’d grown a spare head.
“What?” He didn’t mean for his tone to come out in that barking military command, but it was second nature.
“That bartender was crushing on you hard, Pup. Why aren’t you hittin’ that?” Garrett pivoted to look back at her. Brodie followed his gaze and sure enough, the blonde was smiling at him.
He turned away. “I’m not up for that.”
“Why the hell not? Your pecker get shot off and I didn’t hear about it?”
The guys sniggered. The familiar sound gave Brodie a measure of peace, and he found himself smiling too. He leaned his elbows on the table and turned his bottle around and around in his hands.
As they talked about what they’d been doing to help Los Vista—clearing broken trees and cleaning up collapsed buildings—Brodie’s mind kept wandering back to the Pope Ranch. He could talk about all the fence they’d fixed and how they were ready for stage two of their plan. But everything he thought to say had Danica’s name attached.
And he thought of her far too much already.
Wydell waved at a passing waitress. “Time for something a little harder. Whiskey all around.”
Brodie opened his mouth to decline, but he caught sight of the couple moving toward the dance floor.
He jerked to his feet so fast the table wobbled. Everyone stared at him, including the waitress. Ignoring them, he gawked at the familiar face. No, the stunning, breath-stealing beauty—the one with a man’s hand planted on her lower back as he steered her through the crowd.
“Two whiskies,” he grated out. He dropped back into his seat and continued to stare at Danica and the teacher. Her body was angled away from Brodie so he couldn’t see her face, but it was definitely Danica. He’d know that body anywhere.
And he knew she was wearing a sexy dark red toenail polish. She’d painted her damn toenails for a date.
“Fuck.”
His three friends riveted their attention to him as the waitress moved away.
“What the fuck are you seeing that we aren’t, man?” Garrett’s question was one he’d heard before while peering down his scope at an enemy.
He gave a swift shake of his head and gritted his teeth against the need to shout for that guy to take his hands off Danica.
Matt’s little sister.
The woman who had Brodie’s cock as hard as steel twelve hours a day.
Son of a bitch. She lied about going out tonight.
Now she was going to line-dance with him.
No. Fucking slow dance with him.
The tune changed to an old Dolly Parton ballad, and Danica was wrapped up in another man’s goddamn arms.
At that moment the waitress set two whiskies before him. “Good timing,” he drawled, gripping a glass.
The first drink
Trouble was, her idea of fun had just walked out the door.
* * * * *
“Welcome home, boys.” The old guy holding down the barstool turned to salute Brodie and his friends as they sauntered up to the bar.
“Thank you, sir.” Brodie probably shouldn’t have worn his Marine Corps T-shirt. It invited conversation he didn’t want right now. Thinking of Danica at home baking Matt’s favorite cookies and trying to keep the hurt look off her face twisted Brodie up inside.
“Let me buy you boys a drink in appreciation for your service.” The old guy waved at the bartender, a slim little blonde wearing shorts and a midriff top. His ears buzzed with talk and music. He barely registered his friends telling the bartender their orders or her wide smile for him.
“Same,” he muttered. When he had his beer in hand, he made his way through line dancers to a table toward the back. He wanted to hide in the shadows and watch people have fun while he thought of how to get the same for himself.
“What crawled up your ass, Pup?” Garrett swung his chair backward and straddled it. He brought his bottle to his lips.
“Nothin’s wrong.” He drank off half his bottle at once.
His friends settled around him, staring at him as if he’d grown a spare head.
“What?” He didn’t mean for his tone to come out in that barking military command, but it was second nature.
“That bartender was crushing on you hard, Pup. Why aren’t you hittin’ that?” Garrett pivoted to look back at her. Brodie followed his gaze and sure enough, the blonde was smiling at him.
He turned away. “I’m not up for that.”
“Why the hell not? Your pecker get shot off and I didn’t hear about it?”
The guys sniggered. The familiar sound gave Brodie a measure of peace, and he found himself smiling too. He leaned his elbows on the table and turned his bottle around and around in his hands.
As they talked about what they’d been doing to help Los Vista—clearing broken trees and cleaning up collapsed buildings—Brodie’s mind kept wandering back to the Pope Ranch. He could talk about all the fence they’d fixed and how they were ready for stage two of their plan. But everything he thought to say had Danica’s name attached.
And he thought of her far too much already.
Wydell waved at a passing waitress. “Time for something a little harder. Whiskey all around.”
Brodie opened his mouth to decline, but he caught sight of the couple moving toward the dance floor.
He jerked to his feet so fast the table wobbled. Everyone stared at him, including the waitress. Ignoring them, he gawked at the familiar face. No, the stunning, breath-stealing beauty—the one with a man’s hand planted on her lower back as he steered her through the crowd.
“Two whiskies,” he grated out. He dropped back into his seat and continued to stare at Danica and the teacher. Her body was angled away from Brodie so he couldn’t see her face, but it was definitely Danica. He’d know that body anywhere.
And he knew she was wearing a sexy dark red toenail polish. She’d painted her damn toenails for a date.
“Fuck.”
His three friends riveted their attention to him as the waitress moved away.
“What the fuck are you seeing that we aren’t, man?” Garrett’s question was one he’d heard before while peering down his scope at an enemy.
He gave a swift shake of his head and gritted his teeth against the need to shout for that guy to take his hands off Danica.
Matt’s little sister.
The woman who had Brodie’s cock as hard as steel twelve hours a day.
Son of a bitch. She lied about going out tonight.
Now she was going to line-dance with him.
No. Fucking slow dance with him.
The tune changed to an old Dolly Parton ballad, and Danica was wrapped up in another man’s goddamn arms.
At that moment the waitress set two whiskies before him. “Good timing,” he drawled, gripping a glass.
The first drink
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