“This is a come-to-Jesus moment, which means it’s confession time,” she said.

“Forgive me, darlin’, for I have sinned, but they tried to ruin our date, and they shouldn’t have brought us into their shitty old pig war to begin with. And I’m not really sorry for a bit of it.” He bowed his head and looked up at her with a broad grin and mischievous eyes.

“What are you two talking about?” Gladys asked.

“We’re talkin’ about roses, Chicken Chips, and pork rinds,” he said.

“And you did all of that, didn’t you?” Verdie asked.

“Guilty. But we didn’t ask to be kidnapped, have to sleep in a barn, or ride home in a wagon. We didn’t ask to be surrounded by them at the movies or for them to try to ruin our dinner. They deserve payback,” Jill said.

Gladys clucked like a hen gathering in her chicks before a storm. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her bibbed overalls and hit two buttons. “Mavis, honey, I don’t think you need to send Leah to a convent just yet. I’m not at liberty to say who sent the flowers, but they are not from Tyrell or any other Gallagher. They were sent to stir you up. No, I don’t care what you say. I won’t tell you how I found out or who they are from.”

A pause while she stared at the ceiling.

“No, they aren’t from Tanner, either. I believe you done stirred in the wrong shit pile and upset some folks. Now that’s all I’m saying. Why don’t y’all call a truce? The church party is Friday night. Be nice if the feud was over by then, wouldn’t it?”

No one had to strain to hear Mavis’s answer. “Call a truce? Are you bat-shit crazy, Gladys Cleary? The Gallaghers stole my hogs, and there will be no truces. And you tell those smart-ass informants of yours that if I find out who they are, they are dead.”

“Guess we’d better dig the foxhole a little deeper,” Sawyer said.

“Their bark is a lot worse than their bite, but I don’t reckon there’s going to be a truce before Valentine’s Day,” Verdie said. “I’m going home now unless y’all want to have a dominoes game at Polly’s house.”

“Give me a bottle of that Jack Daniel’s,” Polly told Sawyer. “And, Jill, it don’t matter how many people are in here tonight. You turn off the jukebox and the lights at eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll do it,” Jill said.

“And just for the record, that was funny as hell.” Verdie chuckled. “That’ll teach them to keep their feudin’ at home and not involve other folks in their battles.”

“Shit, Verdie! Whole town has been connected one way or the other since the damn thing started. Let’s go play dominoes and drink Jack Daniel’s. It’ll get even funnier in an hour or two,” Polly said.

They hadn’t been gone more than a few seconds when Jill’s phone rang. She whipped it out of her hip pocket and said, “Hello, Callie.”

“I just heard what happened yesterday. Need some help tonight at the bar? I’ll leave the kids with Finn and bring my six-guns,” she said.

“I might take you up on that if it gets too rowdy. Keep your phone on and your boots ready. Don’t have to tell you to keep your guns loaded,” Jill said.

“You do not. If they want to bitch and bite, they can do it, but they’d best leave the O’Donnells alone.”

“I’m a Cleary,” Jill said.

“Hopefully not for long. I’ll be ready if you need me.”

The call ended, and Jill held it out, staring at it until Sawyer’s arms wrapped around her from behind and he kissed her on the neck. “Bad news?”

“I don’t think so. I reckon it could have even been good news. We’ll just have to see what Callie meant. She did offer to bring her six-guns to the fight if things got out of hand here in the bar tonight.” Jill eased around and rolled up on her toes for a real kiss.

His tongue teased her mouth open, and his hands dropped to cup her rounded butt. His belt buckle pressed into her stomach, but she didn’t care. Her hand tangled itself into his thick dark hair, holding his head steady so she could deepen the kiss even more. His hands circled her waist, and her feet left the floor as he sat her on the workstation behind the bar. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist and held him tight.

They both heard the truck doors slamming outside at the same time, and she dropped her hands and her legs, slid off the bar, and set about refilling the red-cup dispenser. Sawyer threw two meat patties on the grill, along with a double handful of chopped onions.

Everything but their speeding heartbeats was normal when the door flew open and more than a dozen folks from Wild Horse Ranch claimed either bar stools or tables.

“Man, I miss the days when all I did was ranch and worry about new baby calves or whether the hay crop would be good,” Jill said.

“Me too,” Sawyer said. “Come spring, I vote we hire help for the bar.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“I do. My cousin Rhett is lookin’ to get away from Comfort. He’s a damn fine rancher, but he’s single, and I don’t think he’d mind workin’ the bar. We’ll have to talk to Gladys and Polly though.”

“Does he look like you?” Jill asked as she filled pitchers with beer and took money.

“You can tell we’re cousins, but he’s a wild cowboy, not a tame one. He’s got a ponytail, rides a motorcycle, and has a longhorn tat across his shoulders.”

“You think you’re a tame one?”

“Compared to Rhett, I am.”

“Hey, Sawyer, I disagree with that,” Betsy said from the end bar stool.

“With what?” Jill asked.

“I think with the right cowgirl, Sawyer could be one wild ride,” she said.

Jill ignored the remark. “What are you drinking?”

“We need two pitchers of beer and six cups over at our table. Sawyer, we’ll take six cheeseburger baskets with extra fries,” Betsy said. “And, darlin’, anytime you want to quit all this extra-duty shit and just ranch to your little old cowboy heart’s delight, you jump the fence over onto Wild Horse, and I promise you can ranch all you want to.”

Jill set the pitchers on the bar and made change for the bills Betsy handed her. It would have been so easy to accidentally knock the beer over in her lap, but Jill figured between her and Sawyer, they’d meddled enough. Let the chips fall where they would; she was done with the whole lot of the pig war. What was it Granny used to tell her?

Oh, yes. She shuddered as she remembered the quote. Those who stir in the shit pot should have to lick the spoon.

“Poor old Rhett,” Sawyer mumbled.

“What about Rhett?”

“I just feel sorry for him if he does come to Burnt Boot. He won’t have a pretty little redhead to watch his back. He’ll be on his own with these women swooping down on him like buzzards after roadkill,” Sawyer said.

“Maybe Betsy will be his pretty little redhead.”

Sawyer shook his head emphatically. “They’re too much alike. They’d kill each other in an afternoon.”

The bar was surprisingly Brennan-free all evening. There were plenty of Gallaghers and other folks to keep it busy for a Monday night, enough that Jill was dragging when she got back to the bunkhouse that night. Sawyer sank down on the sofa, and she joined him. Piggy and Chick came out from under the kitchen table where they’d been putting the fear of two kittens into a rolled-up ball of socks. She picked them both up and handed the yellow one to Sawyer.

“They need some attention before we fall asleep,” she said.

Sawyer scratched the kitten’s ears. “Let’s put up a sign that says the Gallaghers can come in the bar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The Brennans can do business with us on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Same with the store.”

“For that, we do hereby, being sane of mind and too tired to screw each other’s brains out tonight, shall promise that we will stay away from Wild Horse and River Bend. If they shall, being almost sane of mind, do hereby promise to never kidnap or flirt with us again, we will give our solemn word before God and both these kittens to never delve into retail therapy in retaliation again, heretofore and all that bullshit. Signed Jillian Cleary and Sawyer O’Donnell.”