The bar was loud, the kind of Friday night hum where the jukebox groaned out old Merle Haggard and boots scuffed on wood floors polished more by spilled beer than any rag. Neon signs flickered over the long row of taps, and the smell of smoke, sweat, and whiskey soaked into the walls.
Colby pushed through the door with his usual swagger, Stetson tipped just right, boots clicking sharp as he followed Rip, Kayce, Ryan, and Walker inside. John had even come along tonight, a rare outing, though he kept to himself, pulling a low hat brim down like he was trying to be anyone other than John damn Dutton.
“Colby,” Rip said in that gravel-heavy tone, “don’t make me regret letting you tag along.”
“You act like I’m trouble,” Colby shot back with a grin, spreading his arms. “I’m a gentleman.”
“Gentleman my ass,” Ryan muttered. “You’ll be sniffin’ around every girl in here before I get through my first beer.”
Colby smirked, already scanning the crowd. That’s when he saw her—tucked near the end of the bar, laughing with two other women. He recognized one of them immediately: John’s girlfriend. Which meant the other was fair game.
“Don’t even think about it,” Rip warned, seeing Colby’s eyes catch.
“Too late,” Colby said, sliding past him, charm switched on like a neon sign.
He approached slow, careful not to spook her. Up close, she wasn’t just pretty; she had a spark in her eyes that made the whole room feel brighter. Visiting, he guessed, the kind of woman who didn’t belong to small Montana towns but somehow fit here anyway.
“Well, evening,” Colby drawled, leaning a forearm on the bar but keeping just enough distance to not crowd her. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
John’s girlfriend smirked knowingly, sipping her drink. “Colby, this is my friend. She’s visiting from out of state.”
Colby tipped his hat. “Visiting, huh? Means I’ve got limited time to make an impression. Better start strong.”
The girl laughed, a sound warm and clear. “That’s one way to introduce yourself.”
“I’m Colby,” he said, offering his hand like it mattered. And when she slipped her smaller one into his, he didn’t shake—just held it a beat longer, thumb brushing her knuckles before letting go.
Behind him, Walker’s guitar twang started up from the corner stage, his voice carrying through the room. Kayce and Ryan were already at a table, beers in hand, watching with smirks.
Colby leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Truth be told, I usually play the fool. Makes it easy to keep folks smilin’. But if I did that with you, I’d regret it. Feels like you deserve the real version.”
Her brows lifted slightly, surprised by the sincerity under the smoothness. She sipped her drink, studying him. “And what’s the real version?”
He smiled, softer this time. “A man who knows when somethin’ rare just walked into his night.”
For a moment, the bar noise dulled, everything else fading except the two of them and Walker’s low song threading through the air.
John’s girlfriend gave him a look across the bar, half warning, half amusement. Colby caught it and tipped his hat again, promising silently he’d behave.
The girl leaned on the bar now, mirroring him. “You always lay it on this thick?”
“Only when it matters,” he said, tone steady. “And you matter.”
She shook her head with a laugh, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Rip, from the table, muttered to John, “He’s either gonna marry that girl or get a drink tossed in his face.”
John didn’t look up from his glass. “Hell, maybe both.”
Colby straightened, offering the girl his arm. “Dance floor’s wide open. Give me one song?”
She hesitated, then slid off her stool, slipping her hand through his arm. “One song.”
And just like that, Colby’s grin softened into something else—less cocky, more real—as he led her onto the floor. For once, the ladies’ man wasn’t playing.