Tyrell slid onto a stool and crooked his finger at Jill. “A double shot of whiskey, darlin’. You are a feisty one. You really don’t want Betsy for an enemy.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if she’s my friend or my enemy. She’s not tearing up the bar. It’s neutral, just like the store,” Jill said.

Sawyer poured up a shot of whiskey and set it on a paper coaster in front of Tyrell.

“Thank you,” Tyrell said, but his dark eyes were on Jill, not Sawyer or the whiskey. “Jill, darlin’, did I tell you that I’m named after the best-lookin’ Sackett brother that Louis L’Amour wrote about? Only my mama put two L’s in my name so I’d be twice the lover, but I ain’t nothing but a rough old cowboy. I do like my whiskey neat and my women beautiful, and you, darlin’, are the prettiest thing I’ve laid eyes on in years. Please don’t be mad at me for fighting in the store or at my cousin for fighting in the bar tonight. I’m sure they’ll have to call the undertaker to come haul me out of this bar feetfirst if you break our date.”

“I’d hate to see someone as full of shit as you die in Aunt Polly’s bar, so I will go to supper with you tomorrow night.”

“I will knock on your door promptly at five with roses in my hand.”

“And now, Mr. Tyrell Gallagher, named after the famous Tyrel Sackett, only with two L’s in his name, I must get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked back at Sawyer. Both dark-haired. Both with brown eyes. Both cowboys. What made the difference in the way they affected her? Could it be that one was full of bullshit and the other was honest?

Tyrell picked up the whiskey and downed it in one gulp. “I believe I’ll live to dance another day with that shot and the promise of spending time with the gorgeous Jill Cleary tomorrow night.”

“Be sure to get her home before midnight. She turns into a rabid coyote when the clock strikes twelve.” Sawyer moved on down the bar to fill a pitcher with beer.

“That true, darlin’?” Tyrell asked.

“Got to take the bad with the good,” Jill answered.

* * *

The jukebox played its last song a few minutes before eleven. The grill was cooling. Beer and margarita pitchers were in the dishwasher.

“I’ll sweep if you’ll wipe down the tables, and then we’ll be done,” Sawyer said.

Jill picked up the spray bottle filled with cleaner, and a couple of bar rags, and went to work. Sawyer grabbed a broom.

He’d known her for twenty-four hours. They’d started off arguing, but had quickly worked things out until they were like old friends now. He leaned on the broom handle and stared at her, careful to go back to his job when she straightened up to go on to the next table.

She turned the chairs upside down on the table after she’d wiped them all down, so he could have easy access for sweeping. “Better hurry up and stop taking breaks if you want to get me home by midnight, so I don’t turn into a rabid coyote.”

“I was trying to help you out there, woman.”

“I know that. I wish we could both go back to yesterday and undo tomorrow. I dread it.”

“Then be a rabid coyote so neither one of them will like you,” he said.

“Might be an idea. If you work faster, you’ll get home to that apple pie quicker. It’s cool by now, and there’s ice cream in the freezer to go with it.” She straightened up and rolled her neck to get the kinks out.

He made a big show of sweeping faster. “Work, good woman. Work fast and hard. I’d forgotten that pie and chocolate cake await us at home. You might have to bake something more on Monday morning.”

She flipped two of the three chairs upside down on the last table and sank into one of the remaining ones with a long sigh. “I can’t wait until Monday gets here, because then all this Sunday shit will be done with. Hell, I can’t even remember their names most of the time. What if I call a Brennan by a Gallagher’s name, or vice versa?”

“Say the name three times and picture an animal to go with the name, so you don’t call him by the wrong feuding family name. Quaid looks like big old Angus steer to me, so picture a bull. Now the other one, Tyrell, is a wolf for sure, so picture him as that, and you’ll never forget his name.” Sawyer leaned the broom against the jukebox, sat down in the remaining chair, and propped his feet on the table.

“Quaid the bullshit cowboy. Tyrell the hungry wolf cowboy. You’re getting my table all dirty,” she said.

“I’ll wash it. My feet are tired. At least you are getting red roses. I’m not taking roses or any other kind of flower to Betsy or to Kinsey. Maybe they’ll take that as a slight and leave me alone.”

She tucked a few strands of flaming red hair behind her ear. “I don’t even like roses. I said that so he wouldn’t know my favorite flower and bring them. I have a problem relating flowers to people or events, and I damn sure don’t want my favorite ones ruined by a one-date cowboy.”

“And the favorite ones are?” Sawyer asked.

“Daisies. They outlast roses, and they’re tough little flowers. If you tell him…”

Sawyer held up a palm defensively. “I understand. Say no more. Want my advice?”

“Hell, no! But I expect you are going to give it to me anyway.”

“Maybe you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with them, like I did,” he said. “It could be that one or both of them are really decent cowboys. Go with an open mind. Don’t think about their last name or where they live or how much money they have or how big their ranch is or even the damned feud. Just spend a little time getting to know them as the men they are, and then make up your mind which one or both or neither that you might like to see again.”

She pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “It’s going to be a long Sunday.”

“Be nice if it was only one day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Darlin’, you are the princess of the Fiddle Creek kingdom. Both of the kingdoms beside yours would benefit greatly from the water rights on your land, so they’re going to do their damnedest to get one of their knights in shining armor, or maybe its knight in shining pickup truck, to win your favor.”

“Aunt Gladys has always said that neither one of those families will ever get Fiddle Creek. Maybe that’s all I need to put out on the rumor vine, and they’ll leave me alone.”

Sawyer chuckled.

She sat up with a start and frowned at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You looked in the mirror lately?”

“Of course.”

“Enough said, then.”

“You best start explaining, or I’m throwing that pie out in the yard,” she said.

“I’m repeating myself, and I won’t do it again, so listen to me, Jill Cleary. Fiddle Creek would be a nice trophy. Whoever wins gets a woman with ranching experience that looks like a trophy wife. Quaid is going to try to woo you with his good deeds. Tyrell is going to smother you with fun and flowers. The feud is officially blown wide open right now, so everything is fair. Each side wants to win, and you are the prize. It won’t be so bad, darlin’. You’ll have a big ranch, a cowboy, and a hell of a big diamond engagement ring whichever way you go.”

“I’ll say no after tomorrow. And what about you? You’ve also got two after you,” she said.

“Quaid and Tyrell are the knights, but the whole castle on both sides, including women, kids, and even the grandmothers are probably already plotting. I’ve got a feeling I’m part of that plot. If they can put me out of the picture, that’s one less cowboy in your world. I think I already said that, didn’t I?” Sawyer said.

“How do you know so much about it?”

“You can’t be in Burnt Boot two hours without hearing feud stories.”

“Dammit!” She slapped the table hard enough that it reverberated right though his boots.

“Now you are beginning to understand. You ready to go home now?”

“I’m ready to go back to Brownsville and get a job making tacos in a fast food joint,” she said.