Christyne Butler - The Sheriff's Secret Wife

He was watching.

“Welcome to The Blue Creek!” She addressed the crowd and they cheered. “It might be cold and snowy outside, but it’s hot in here. And while the band is taking a well-earned break, I think it’s time we raise the heat!”

Ignoring the surprised looks from her waitresses, Racy waved to the girls who made up the dance team. The cheers from the crowd grew when they joined her on the bar. “It’s time for a down-home boot stomping!”

The music started and Racy fell into the familiar steps. She dipped and stomped and grabbed Willie’s tattered straw cowboy hat, plopping it right on her head.

Exaggerating the curve of her hips, she turned to face the shadowed balcony, the hat low over her eyes to conceal the direction of her stare. The short end of the bar was hers alone and she made good use of the space.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pictured Gage’s blue eyes turning a stormy indigo like they did when he got angry. Or turned on. It was part of the ever-growing collection of memories that continued to haunt her.

One of her favorites was the two of them on the dance floor. Their bodies so close she felt the outline of every hard muscle. His hands clenched her hips as she moved against him, never breaking eye contact. Song after song, until he pulled her off the dance floor and into a dark alcove. The width of his shoulders blocked the outside world, the wide brim of his Stetson created a private canopy as he pressed her against the wall with a kiss that stole her breath.

The music ended and the bar erupted in thunderous applause. Racy bowed, and blamed the wild beating of her heart on the dancing as she handed Willie back his hat.

“Let’s hear it for the Blue Creek Belles!” She huffed into the microphone, pushing the words past her dry throat.

One down. One to go.

“Ya’ll enjoy that?” She was rewarded with cheers while her girls got down from the bar. “I bet ya’ll have worked up a mighty thirst. I know I did.”

She motioned to Jackie, who recognized the hand signal. Seconds later, a shot glass filled with a golden liquid was handed to her. To the crowd it was tequila. To Racy it was ice-cold apple juice and not nearly enough to quench her thirst.

She tossed it back, took a deep breath and, for a moment, questioned if she was doing the right thing.

But she couldn’t back out now.

Gage knew what was coming.

Hell, he was still trying to recover from her dancing. Every bump and grind of her hips brought back to life the hours he’d spent with her. The same red waves he’d buried his face in flew over her shoulders and skimmed across her naked back. The dark blue fringe of her top brushed against the toned stomach he’d covered in a trail of wet kisses.

It had been years since she’d danced with the girls, but she still had the moves. Moves he was intimately familiar with. It wasn’t until the music stopped that he managed to get his breathing under control. Now she was going to—

Racy held up the empty glass. “Anyone else want one?”

She laughed when the crowd shouted in agreement and surged forward. Gage immediately sought out his sister. Relief filled his chest when he found her against the back wall with another waitress and one of the bouncers.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Racy’s singsong voice called out over the crowd, pulling Gage’s attention back to her. “Seeing how my tip jar is getting low, I think we need a special….”

The regulars in the crowd knew what was coming and roared their approval.

Damn, it was getting warm in here. Gage yanked down the zipper of his bomber jacket, desire tightening his chest.

“Now, what I need is a very thirsty cowboy, but not just any cowboy.” I need someone with all the right moves … who is willing to part with his money!” Racy held aloft the empty shot glass. “The going rate for a Racy Special is one hundred dollars. Do I have any takers?”

Despite the absurd price, there were plenty of men willing to part with their cash. When word spread just what a Racy Special included, even more hands shot into the air.

He couldn’t believe she was still pulling this stunt.

“So many choices.” Racy dropped her voice to a throaty rumble. “The tall, dark and handsome stranger in the back.” She waved at a man who moved through the crowd toward the bar. Gage zeroed in on him, noting he was everything Racy said. “You got the cash, honey?”

The man smiled and held up a hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Gage caught something familiar in his face. Did he know this guy?

“What’s your name, sugar?” Racy asked, taking the money and making a show of tucking it into the deep V of her top.

“Chase.” The man’s deep voice carried over the microphone.

“You’re not one of our locals, Chase,” Racy said. “Don’t tell me you’re a University of Wyoming Cowboy?”

Racy’s question brought more cheers as the band broke into “Ragtime Cowboy Joe,” the university fight song. The University of Wyoming in Laramie was less than an hour’s drive south, and The Blue Creek was a favorite among the college crowd.

“It’s a few years since my college days,” the man said when Racy stuck the microphone under his nose again. “I’m from Texas.”

“Oh, Texas … love that Southern drawl.”

Gage thought he was going to puke.

“Okay, let’s give a paying customer some room.” Racy waved away the bar patrons, who moved back into the crowd, taking their drinks with them. She traded her empty shot glass for one filled to the brim, then slowly turned to face the cowboy.

“That’s it?” he asked, looking up at her on the bar.

“Oh, no, I’m not done with you yet.”

Gage’s gut tightened into a painful knot.

Racy backed up and crooked her finger, motioning the cowboy to join her. He grinned and easily climbed up on the scarred wood surface.

From this angle, Gage couldn’t see the man’s expression, but he could imagine what he was thinking with almost six feet of toned, sexy female standing right there in front of him.

“Now, sweeties, you hold on to me while I hold on to this,” Racy said, before handing off the microphone and raising the shot glass over her head.

Gage’s hands curled into fists as the crowd roared its approval when the music started again.

Racy once again put her arsenal of bumps and grinds to good use as the cowboy took her in his arms in a modified two-step. She didn’t spill a drop while they moved in a timeless rhythm that would’ve been blatantly sexual if they’d been horizontal.

A hot jolt of something he refused to label raced through Gage’s veins as he watched. A rush of pent-up air escaped his lips when the music finally ended and the crowd applauded.

Racy spoke but he couldn’t hear her words as the cheering grew louder when the cowboy nodded. She motioned to the bar where a saltshaker and wedge of lime sat on a small tray. With one hand on his shoulder, she directed the cowboy to his knees.

“Now, a Racy S-special isn’t just a s-shot of Mexican blue agave tequila reposado.”

Her voice shook as she spoke, the crowd now hushed. “To do this properly you need the right inducements.”

Gage mentally nailed his boots to the floor. It took every ounce of his willpower not to march downstairs and yank her ass off the bar. What the hell was she trying to prove? Hadn’t she learned—

Wait, did she just look up at him?

She pulled in a deep breath, her voice strong again as she swung her long curls off the face with a practiced toss of her head. “Let me demonstrate. The rest of you are welcome to watch so you can try this in the privacy of your own home.”

Taking the saltshaker from the cowboy’s outstretched hand, she raised her left wrist to her mouth. Gage could’ve sworn she was staring right at him as her tongue left a damp path on her skin. She then held the arm and sprinkled salt over the area.