"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit."

Welcome to Terrell, Texas, folks. I'm an officer of the law here, and as strange as that saying may seem to some, I hear it, like, twice daily. 

My own ass is on a barstool. I know you ain't surprised. It's probably where every lousy boondock drama begins and ends.

Everyone else in town seems to have the same idea. It's late May and hotter than heaven, even with the sun long gone for the day. It's only Thursday, but there are Friday vibes for sure.

With my second and last beer in hand—it's just the way it has to be—I swivel around, not expecting to see anything grand. If you lived in this town for as long as I have, you wouldn't either. 

Of course, it's country-line dancing night, and Saddlebrook Saloon is so crowded that it takes me a few seconds of searching to see what Knox is pointing out.

I haven't seen him blink in a good long while. Sure as sin, it's about a girl, one that I must say, looks familiar even through the stamping and twirling that makes me dizzy just watching.

Before I can confirm a damn thing, Knox ruins the suspense. "Isn't that Taryn Abernathy?"

He's got a good eye, and shit, he's right. Her sister was the singer, but Taryn was the dancer, and holy moly, it shows. She used to be this agile little tomboy—the horse-riding, tree-climbing, fence-walking, rope-swinging sort of kid. She only wiped the dirt off her face for dance class. A stiff wind would still blow her over, but she's got some length now. She's all leg, like a goddamn ballerina, and she has just enough cleavage to bounce.

It's a shocking revelation, let me tell you. Last time I saw her, she was . . . young. I'll leave it at that. And for more reasons than I can count, that thought would have never crossed my mind. Above all, her father would have shot me right between the eyes. Her sister, Quinn, was my age and that was bad enough. Taryn, on the other hand, was daddy's little girl. If she wasn't traipsing after me and Quinn, she was perched on the fence or on horseback, watching him do his thing.

My eyes linger for a moment too long. Taryn stops mid-step to look right at me. Before our eyes have a chance to lock, I duck my chin to my shoulder and practically cringe like a child who is about to get slapped. In a lousy effort to cover all that up, I swivel back toward the bar, and chug half a beer.

I was going to call it a night after this one. I hate myself for needing another one. Something stronger. It's not who I want to be anymore. Sure, I have the day off tomorrow. If I can dig up some self-control, I'll be better off than most of these fools...

With my track record and family history, it's not an excuse I should make, but I make it anyway.

I clunk my empty on the bar, and with my demanding eyes and imposing presence, I get the only female bartender to come over, and for once, she ain't smiling and leaning forward. I have that way with women lately, and quite frankly, the feeling's mutual.   

Knox is facing the opposite direction, his back to the bar, his elbows leaning on top. His pose is casual and comfortable. He has no problem staring. "Weren't you sweet on her sister for a while?"

Six years of my young life that I'll never get back...

"Jack, neat please. Make it a double," I say to the bartender.

I leave the question hanging. There's no better yes than silence anyway.

I'm surprised Knox is even asking. I thought it was common knowledge around here. Knox is a few years younger than me, though. It was all a while ago now, and he had Taryn to capture the hearts and minds of those around him. I'd be easy to lose track of, I guess. 

"I wonder what she's doing here," Knox keeps harping. The guy can't take a goddamn hint.

My shoulders flex inward. "Hell if I know!"

Their father was the only one holding that ranch together, and he died while I was still with Quinn. His horse-breeding business had been struggling toward the end of his life, and the property has been stuck in some stage of foreclosure ever since his passing. As far as I know, their farmhouse has been unoccupied for years now. The three women drifted off and haven't been seen since. Even the rumors about them are getting old, and they stopped reaching my ears. I've made it very clear to anyone who might politely inquire that I'm no authority on the matter. I don't want to know, and I don't want to care.

Knox crosses and recrosses his ankles. The whole time, his eyes are glued to the dance floor. "I thought you worked on their ranch for a while."

I take down the double and clunk the glass on the bar loud enough to turn heads. "Goddammit, Knox! Can I make it any clearer that I don't want to talk about it?"

"That's too bad. Taryn is on her way over here, and I don't think she's coming to see me."

I blink at Knox, once, twice. I don't even know what to plead for. Help? Mercy? A hasty exit? His, mine, or both? There's no time anyway...

I'm greeted with a timid, "Hey, Grady." There's just the light graze of her hand on my shoulder. The way things ended with her sister, she's wise to employ some caution, even if none of that bullshit was her fault.

I nod in acknowledgement, and before I figure out an appropriate response, she has her skinny arms draped around Knox's neck like they're old friends. And heck, maybe they are. She knows him by first and last name, she asks about his brothers and parents with admirable accuracy—stuff I don't even know, and I work with the guy—and she flashes that perfect white smile while doing so. 

I know what this is. Taryn was the shy one, but she was also the smart one and has probably seen this done a thousand times by Quinn and Mrs. Abernathy. She knows how to use that honey, and she slathers it on until she gets what she wants. If she wants to talk to me, and my guess, alone, she'll find a way to get rid of Knox, and he'll leave thinking it was his idea.

With cash in hand, I make it look like another drink is my intention, but with a sideways glance, I get more than an eyeful. The sliver of waist below her tie-front T-shirt is still resting in Knox's hands. It's all part of it, I realize, and I shouldn't let it get my boxers in a bunch, especially if she's allowing it to get to me, assuming that's even true. Knox has certainly been wrong before.

I'm not surprised when they exchange numbers. She suggests "coffee or lunch sometime." I'm even less surprised when he goes to say hello to someone else, giving me and her a chance to "catch up."

She has worked her magic, and I'm sure she expects it to work again. I may not be immune, but I'm no fool. At least I know it's coming.   

In the space Knox has vacated, Taryn tugs over a stool that she politely borrows from a table of three. Elbow room is next to nothing the closer we get to midnight. There are no stools otherwise.

While she tries to squeeze in next to me, I take my hat off to wipe my brow with my sleeve. As slender as she may be, that's not how I would describe myself. When our arms rub against each other, she seems to get a shiver, but I feel doused in heat. Yes, I'm nervous, but I'm also in shock that my night has come to this. And I'm angry. I'll just say it. Not at her. Not directly. Not for anything she did. It's for things she can't help, like who she's related to, and how nice-looking she turned out to be, beyond my wildest expectations. This is complicated enough as it is. And I haven't even heard what she has to say yet.

She nudges me to get things started. Knowing what we both know, I'm sure she doesn't want to be here anymore than I do and would want this over with as quick as possible. "You're not even going to say hi to me?"

"Hi," I parrot back the moment I flag down the bartender. "Would you like something?"

"Just a water, please," Taryn adds to my beer order. "Thank you so much." That sends the bartender, male this time, scurrying off to do her bidding. "I heard you're a cop now," she feels the need to mention once he's out of earshot.

"Yeah, what of it?" I take a sip of the bottle that's plopped in front of me, doing my best to avoid eye contact.

"Your insight..." After a tiny sip of ice water, she sets it back into its puddle on the bar. Then she pulls something from the pocket of her denim skirt and sets it in front of me. It's a light-green guitar pick that I immediately recognize. "I assume those are your initials in Quinn's handwriting?"

I stare down at the funny-looking "G" and the fancy "B." You see now, Grady Bishop, this one is yours and the blue one is mine. So don't you go trying to steal mine again. It was a particularly warm day for early spring, and Quinn said that in good fun, straddling my waist, the guitar set aside. My hands were pinned to the ground, and she was teasing and tormenting me in a bikini top that wasn't going to be around for much longer.

"I'm not the only GB in the world." I slide the guitar pick back to her.

Taryn doesn't look at the pick or make any move to put it away. She's staring at me instead and lifted an eyebrow the moment I tried to mislead her. "That's all you have to say?" When I don't answer, both her eyebrows bob up, and she gets off the stool. "I just want to know what it means. I thought you of all people would at least give me that."

"What makes you think it means anything?"

She sighs, clearly frustrated. "My sister really does have terrible taste in men. Thanks for driving that point home. Now I'll never have to wonder." She pockets the guitar pick and turns to walk away. "I'm sorry to take up so much of your precious time, Officer Bishop."

She didn't just hit me once. She hit me twice. It was below the belt both times. And what's worse, I deserved it.

I don't want to follow her. I have a seat I'll lose the moment I get up, and whatever this is about, it's not my problem. If I make it my problem, I'm not sure I can handle it, and that's not something I'd ever want her to witness.

Despite it all, I get up and put her wrist in my hand. It startles her and that startles me. Quinn had a sturdier body and presence and probably had more experience putting men like me in their place at Taryn's age. This girl may resemble Quinn, but something is wrong, and knowing what I know about Quinn and her mother, Taryn's probably all alone. And I wasn't being very nice. "Can we start over?"

Taryn flashes those stormy eyes of hers at me, tears included. It's a look that will probably haunt me for the rest of my days.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll figure it out for myself, just like I always do." She looks down at her wrist, still in my hand, and tugs it free the instant she realizes that we're still touching. "Have a nice life, Grady Bishop. I wish I could say it was nice knowing ya."

Bailey Zimmerman - Where It Ends

https://youtu.be/WVh073Yujmo