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heavily open, and a swirl of music, all guitars and fiddles and drums, came out on a gust of warm air.
    “All right,” Rochelle ordered. “Shoulders back. Stick ’em out, swing your hips, and we walk on in like now we’re here and the party can start. Own it, baby. It’s your room, and they’re just visiting.”

BAD GUY OR GOOD GUY
    “Oh, holy hell.”
    Cal turned his head at the exclamation. He’d been leaning backward against the bar beside Deke Hawley, one booted foot on the rail, casting an eye over the dance floor and wishing he’d see somebody new out there, somebody who wasn’t a college girl. Wishing he was attracted to nineteen-year-old girls with fake IDs like any red-blooded thirty-two-year-old man ought to be, and didn’t just want to put his jacket on them and tell them to go on home before they got themselves into trouble.
    Another Friday night at the Cowboy Bar, in other words, and he’d been wondering why he’d come.
    Because he hadn’t wanted to face another night talking to his dog, that was why. Junior was a great listener, but lately his eyes had been looking much too weary and patient. Same old story, same old song. He was even boring the dog.
    The Cowboy Bar wasn’t much better, not until Deke busted out with his exclamation, and Cal was setting his beer down on the bar and straightening up, along with just about every other guy in the place.
    “Heard Rochelle Farnsworth was fixin’ to get single,” Deke said. “Looks to me like she’s done it, and like she’s lonely, too. Might have to do something about that. I’ve had a thing for that woman since junior high. Damn, she’s looking good.”
    “Rochelle Marks again, now,” Cal said absently. “Not a moment too soon.”
    Deke shot a look across at him. “Why? You interested? Man, I can never catch a break. How am I supposed to compete with you?”
    “No,” Cal said. “I’ve seen her a few times lately, that’s all.”
    “Then I’m going for it. Who’s that with her?” Deke asked idly, still with an eye on Rochelle, who was gliding hip-first over to a table, working that slimmer figure of hers for all it was worth, her mane of blonde hair falling down her back.
    And yeah, she looked good. But Cal’s attention was all for the woman with her. He’d always gone for the tall, long-legged ones, back when he’d been going for them at all. Before he’d found the girl he’d thought he’d keep, the one everyone had wanted. The girl he’d won, like he’d won every other prize. Then.
    Dr. Zoe wasn’t blonde, and she wasn’t tall. And those legs weren’t long, but they looked better than ever. There was something about a girl in a pretty dress and cowboy boots that did something to his . . . heart.
    She was walking like she meant business herself, pulling out a chair and shoving that mess of dark hair back from her face with the other hand, laughing at something Rochelle was saying, and despite the way their last meeting had ended, Cal’s own boots were carrying him right on over there. He was headed right smack-dab over to their table, beating out every other guy in the place, and throwing out a look along the way that told them to back off. He let Deke come along, though. Deke wasn’t after his girl.
    “Well, ladies,” he said, dropping into a chair and setting down his beer, “what a pleasant surprise. Here I was thinking this night was looking pretty boring. How you doin’, Rochelle?”
    “Oh, not too bad. Hey, Deke. This is Zoe, guys. Cal Jackson, Deke Hawley,” she said, nodding around the table. “I’m just showing her the local sights. She’s from California. Gotta keep her from getting into too much trouble, you know. Let her know that not every man wearing a hat is actually a real live cowboy.”
    “Yeah,” Cal said, sliding his eyes on over to Zoe. She was sitting up straighter now, forgetting to look sexy and just looking prim and proper instead, and damn if that wasn’t even sexier. “I’ve