JACK CHOSE TO WAIT for Josie beside her dark green Bronco. As he leaned against the fender, cool night air blew most of the cobwebs from his brain and left him with a clear and present truth. He’d behaved like an ass tonight.

      He’d been doing that quite a bit lately, but tonight could qualify as his most spectacular display of assholeness in his entire thirty-two years. If they gave out medals for being a complete loser, he would win the gold, hands down.

      As his punishment, he would accept this ride home from Josie, because the reality was, he didn’t have a lot of choice. Rousting Gabe out of Morgan’s bed and demanding the keys to his truck would only add to Jack’s list of transgressions. Sure, he could walk home, but that would take a good hour, maybe closer to two. And besides, everyone knew cowboys didn’t walk.

      So instead he waited for Josie and stared up at the unlit sign of a cowboy on a bucking bronco, with Spirits and Spurs lettered underneath. The bar used to be called The Rusty Spur, but Josie had changed the name when she’d bought the place three years ago. Newcomers to Shoshone assumed the Spirits part referred to alcohol. A person had to stick around a while to find out that Josie considered the bar haunted. Many locals played along and called the after-hours visitors Ghost Drinkers in the Bar.

      Jack didn’t believe in ghosts. More specifically, he didn’t want to believe in ghosts. All he needed was to have his father come back from the dead and tell him he was screwing up the management of the ranch.

      He probably was. Everyone complained that he worked them too hard, that he worked himself too hard. But he was in charge of the whole operation now, and he’d be damned if the Last Chance would go in the red on his watch.

      He’d never wanted to be in charge, but his dad had assumed he would be someday. Jack hadn’t known how to tell him that he didn’t want that honor, that he’d rather have Nick or Gabe run the place. It had seemed ungrateful.

      His unspoken dream was to take over as foreman when Emmett retired. He’d intended to propose that to Jonathan eventually, but he’d procrastinated and now it was too late. He would do what was expected of him.

      Footsteps on gravel alerted him that Josie had arrived. He turned to watch her walk in his direction. Even in the dim light from the dusk-to-dawn lamp he could tell her expression was wary.

      He ached for a return to the old days, when she’d greeted him with a smile brighter than a summer morning. Those days were gone, and if he’d had any idea of recapturing them, he’d ruined that possibility by attacking her brother and making a fool of himself in the process.

      “An apology seems pretty lame under the circumstances,” he said. “But I’m offering one, anyway. I’m sorry I tried to punch out your brother.”

      Her wary expression changed and she began to laugh. “Tried being the operative word. I’ve never seen you so uncoordinated, Jack.”

      Her laughter helped ease the tension. “Good thing I wasn’t at my best, then. You’d be a lot more pissed at me if I’d rearranged his face.”

      “He also would have rearranged yours. He might be a city boy, but he’s no slouch when it comes to a fight.”

      Jack admired her loyal streak. Ten months ago, he’d been entitled to that loyalty, too. “I don’t doubt it. He’s your brother.”

      That seemed to sit well with her, and she smiled. “And he’s more protective than I remembered. He told me to mention the possibility of cement overshoes.”

      “In Wyoming?”

      She shrugged.

      “He needs to acclimate to the western way of doing things. Out here we bury people up to their necks in ant hills and pour honey on them.”

      “Duly noted.” She pulled her keys out of her jeans pocket. “Ready to go?”

      “Sure.” He would rather stand out here and talk until dawn the way they had the first time they’d recognized their mutual attraction.

      He’d never forget that spring night. He’d flirted with her at the bar and then stayed until closing. She’d walked him out to the parking lot and they’d talked until sunup. Before he’d driven away, he’d kissed her and promised that the next night they’d do more than talk. And boy howdy, had they. They’d burned up the sheets that first night, and many nights afterward.

      As he climbed into her Bronco, he realized he’d never been a passenger in her vehicle. They’d gone into Jackson a few times during the six months they’d been lovers, but he’d always driven. This reversal of roles felt weird. It threw him off his game.

      When she got in, bringing with her the scent of peach schnapps, he braced himself for the tough part—being this close without touching her. They used to ride down the road with their hands entwined. A few times they’d parked somewhere secluded and made out because they couldn’t wait for the privacy of her apartment.

      “Buckle up, cowboy.”

      “Right.” He’d been caught staring at her and reminiscing. Not cool. He latched his seat belt and took a deep breath. “Thanks for driving me home.”

      “No problem.” She started the engine. “Just where is your truck, anyway? I seriously doubt you walked into town.”

      “I rode in with Gabe. We … had an errand over at Morgan’s.”

      “Oh?” She pulled the Bronco onto the two-lane main road, which was deserted at this hour. “So where’s Gabe?”

      “Still at Morgan’s, I’m sure.”

      “Oh.” She caught the green at Shoshone’s only stoplight and headed toward the edge of town. “So they’re back together?”