…As the crowd parted, a lane opened across the room to the end of the bar. A cowboy sat on the farthest stool, hunched over his drink. The stool beside him was empty as if his dark mood kept the revelers at arm's length. In an instant, Jana recognized Tyler Parton. Nobody else wore those retro-styled red and black shirts that had become his trademark—the ones with contrasting piping around the yokes and embroidered roses, fore and aft. Straight out of the forties. This one was black.

Gawd, he's one hot looking man. An ass to die for, too. Those tight Wranglers really showcase his buns.

Jana's lusty thoughts surprised her. Hardly typical of a prim high school librarian, her normal persona. Maybe it was the atmosphere. The musky odor of beer, hot bodies and rodeo dust would stir anyone's libido.

Better make this good, girl.

She pulled her shoulders back to tighten the glitter-splashed, cropped, black tee across her breasts and sauntered into the gap, swinging her hips.

Thank goodness for that exotic dance video. Now if I can only remember and repeat some of those moves.

She had to admit she'd learned a lot from the video. This walk was one of the best tricks—pure sex on two feet, shod in a brand new pair of scarlet boots. Her spandex jeans couldn't fit any closer if they were painted on. She looked good and she knew it. The old Jana lacked the brass to carry off this act, but maybe the new one could do it. She gave a little shiver.

Damn, I feel like everyone is looking at me and they all think I'm a hooker.

Finally reaching him, she slid onto the stool at his side. He ignored her.

"Lousy luck today." Her voice came out gritty and low, like she needed a drink.

"G'wan," he slurred. "Buckle bunnies don't hang around losers."

Somehow, she sensed he wasn't really all that drunk. "I'm not a buckle bunny and you're damn well no loser."

He turned then, raked her with a pair of pale gray eyes, every inch of her from the fire-hued Stetson with the rhinestone band to the toes of her scarlet boots. His gaze held a heated tactile intensity. God, what eyes. She went hot and cold under their steady gaze. People said he was part Apache. With that shoulder length black hair clubbed back by a rawhide thong, he looked the part.