Done and Dusted: A Rebel Blue Ranch Novel

Crossing the threshold of The Devil’s Boot felt like putting on your favorite pair of jeans. Everything about it just…fit. It was dark, dingy, and smelled like old cigarette smoke. Smoking inside became illegal in Wyoming in 2005, but no one said anything if someone lit up in The Devil’s Boot every once in a while.

It was a complete and total dive bar, after all, lit only by a soft yellow light behind the bar, the stage lights, and a multitude of neon signs.

There was just something about a neon sign cutting through the dark.

My favorite sign was a cowboy riding a beer bottle like a bull, and it sat right above my favorite high-top table in the corner. I don’t think I’d ever seen The Devil’s Boot in daylight, and I don’t think I wanted to. Everything felt more mystifying bathed in neon.

And everyone looked better, too. That’s what got everyone inside The Devil’s Boot in trouble.

After a few steps, I felt my boots start sticking to the floor—probably getting a delightful taste of spilled whiskey from thirty years ago—as Teddy and I made our way to my neon-cowboy corner.RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

“Alright, are we doing clear or dark liquor tonight?” Teddy asked me.

“Clear,” I said, knowing that meant we had two options at DB: vodka or tequila. And there was no doubt in my mind that Teddy was going to pick Tequila.

“Tequila it is, then,” she said. Some things never change.

There was nothing like the feeling of familiarity that only being around people you love can provide, and I loved Teddy in spades.

“You just stay here and continue to look hot and mysterious, and I’ll go grab our first round,” Teddy called over the band.

“Tequila soda, okay?” Knowing if I didn’t clarify, she’d come back with two shots. Each. “Let me ease into it.”

Teddy rolled her eyes and started to walk away. “Fine. Tequila sodas. For now.”

“With an extra lime, please!” I called after her. She waved her hand back at me without turning around to let me know she heard me.

I shrugged my denim jacket off and hung it on the back of my chair before taking a seat and taking in my surroundings.

I recognized some regulars at the bar—George, Fred, Edgar, and Harvey. I think they had been coming here every night since at least the beginning of time. There used to be a fifth member of their little cabal, but Jimmy Brooks passed away a few years ago. No one ever took their seats at the far end of the bar–even Jimmy’s was still vacant. I wondered if anyone would ever have enough balls or stupidity to sit in it. The men were old, but that didn’t mean they didn’t scare the shit out of everyone.

Teddy made her way to the bar and was currently swinging her ponytail at Edgar, no doubt trying to con the old man into paying for our drinks.

The band moved on to a cover of Waylon Jennings’s “I’ve Always Been Crazy.” There was a crowd of people at the front of the stage scream-singing the chorus. I watched them, their unreserved joy bringing a big smile to my face.

“Emmy?” I brought my gaze away from the group of singing cowboys to the owner of the deep voice.

“Kenny, hi.” I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Kenny Wyatt—high school graduation?—but I recognized him immediately as he stood in front of me. His dirty-blond hair was cut short and he was sporting a neatly trimmed beard that I never could’ve imagined him with. Kenny was better known for being a former Meadowlark High School quarterback, but he was also a former Emmy Ryder Homecoming date.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said as I stood from my chair to give him a quick hug. He wrapped his arms around me tight and gave me a squeeze. When I pulled away, he kept one of his hands on my waist, so I kept one of mine on his shoulder. When in Meadowlark, I guess.

“Holy shit, Em. It’s been a long time. I thought you would’ve been on the WRPA tour right now.” The Women’s Professional Rodeo Association probably thought that, too.

“I’m taking a break,” I said. Starting in on the rehearsed speech I’d practice the entire drive from Denver to Meadowlark. “I’ve been racing a long time, so I figured I’d spend some time with my family for a minute. Plus, I really miss the ranch.”

He gave my waist a small squeeze. I didn’t hate it.

“Your dad and brothers are running quite the operation up there. I’m sure they’re happy to have you back.” Yeah, I’m sure they would be. Once they found out I was back. “How long are you going to be around for?” Forever, probably, I thought to myself, considering I couldn’t even bring myself to get on a horse at this point.

For someone who had spent her entire life riding horses, not being able to get past the mental block of an injury that happened on horseback was a nightmare. I knew that if I wanted to get back on a horse, even if it wasn’t to race, Meadowlark and Rebel Blue were the places to start.

“For a few months, at least,” I said, trying to keep my voice enthusiastic, but not enough that it would sound forced. “It’s good to be home.”

Kenny smiled at me. A big, warm, genuine smile. “It really is good to see you, Emmy. You look good, too. Real good.” I felt my cheeks start to turn a deep shade of crimson. Kenny had always been a smooth-talker. The way he was looking at me, like he’d been waiting for me all this time, in addition to the sincerity behind his words, made me want to run and hide.

Instead, I responded with a smile of my own, and said, “It’s good to see you, too, Kenny.”

“While you’re here, we should see more—” Kenny’s words were cut off by the band sloppily halting their performance of “Good Hearted Woman.” A confused silence fell over the bar as everyone waited for their next move.

After a few seconds, the steel guitar player played the opening bars of—oh god, no—“Oh My Darlin’ Clementine.”

There were only two people who thought it was funny to torture me with that song every time I came into a room. One of them was my oldest brother, Gus, but I knew he currently wasn’t even within Wyoming’s state lines. That could only mean one thing. He was here.

I angrily scanned the bar, looking for him. That fucker. The Devil’s Boot patrons started to sing and sway, a lot of them throwing goofy smiles in my direction. This song was basically a town-wide inside joke at this point, and right now, I was laser-focused on finding the joker.

I didn’t see him, but he had to be here somewhere. Why was he even at The Devil’s Boot? Didn’t he have beer can towers to make in his living room? Whiskey bottles to shoot at?

If he was able to convince the band to stop playing their set, he was probably near the stage. Without thinking, I started in that direction. I continued scanning the bar as I walked. Bad idea for the girl who is only coordinated when she’s on the back of a horse.

I tripped over my boots and ran into something hard.

A chest.

A man chest.

The man chest.

I looked up at its owner, who had a shit-eating smirk on his face.

It was him.

Luke Brooks.