Nothing like a beer to drown a man’s disappointments—although watching a sexy chick in a corset beat up on his friends came in at a close second for Ash Carmichael.

Said chick was hella hot. Painted-on black jeans. Long, sweeping dark hair. And a roundhouse Buffy would be proud of. She’d certainly caught his friend Tyson’s eye. The damn fool had gone in for a butt-grab and found himself flying over the mechanical bull. Corset Chick had then proceeded to send a chair into the antique light fixture that had to be worth half a year’s salary.

It had made a nice crunch.

All the guys had run up to intervene. Well, all except for Ash, who’d watched the scene unfold alone from the damn booth, nursing a bottle. His ankle had been shattered as surely as that stained glass after a skydiving adventure gone wrong last week, and he couldn’t move worth shit.

Joe Walker would no doubt be pissed about the crushed glass fixture, but the owner of Everyday Joe’s wasn’t there at the moment. Wendy Farrow, Thursday night’s bartender, had called the cops as soon as Corset Chick started throwing punches.

Sure enough, Allan VonBrandt sauntered in with a couple of deputies, his damn white hat shadowing a pair of pissed-off eyes. Ash didn’t know him well—having spent most of his time away from Somewhere since his sister’s high school graduation—but the new sheriff had been a long-time fixture in town.

It’d been a while since Ash’s friends had closed down a bar or been kicked out of one. The boys all lived on extreme sports and adrenaline. These were the guys who crash-landed and hopped up ready to jump again. But if Allan’s expression was any indication, their adventure was about to come to an end.

Sure enough, the guys were led outside through the front door, and Corset Chick was escorted out the back.

Ash took another sip of his nearly empty beer and tried to remember how many he was up to…four? Five? He’d watched a woman pick up Tyson Herrick and throw him over a mechanical bull. Maybe there was something besides beer in that bottle…

But even with liquid courage, there would be no brawling for him. No trip to Montana with the guys. He’d have to stay here when they left, like they did every winter, to get their ski instructor gigs. Joe had agreed he could tend bar while his ankle healed. He was due to start next week.

The doctor had told him he was lucky he hadn’t needed surgery, but he didn’t feel lucky. He felt as trapped as a damn rabbit in a snare.

“Tyson couldn’t resist, could he?” Wendy asked, leaning her ample rack toward Ash. The pretty blonde bartender had flirted with him steadily ever since his return to town, but the bar was his back-up income and Joe had a rule about fraternization. It didn’t happen. Not if you wanted to stay employed. And while Ash didn’t particularly want the job, there was no denying he needed it.

“We’re just lucky the bar’s mostly empty.”

Her eyebrow quirked up. “Joe is gonna flip a gasket when he sees that damaged lamp. He loved that dumb thing.”

Ash nodded and his gaze dropped to the edge of her well-endowed neckline. He blinked and tore his focus away from her cleavage before speaking again. “Hit me with another beer, Wendy.”

“You look a little under already. You sure?”

“I’m good. I’m walkin’ home, so you can stop worrying.” He tapped the edge of his glass bottle and nodded toward the bar. “Pale Ale, por favor.”

“Fine,” the blonde said, a sigh slipping from her lips. Disappointment? Lust? Didn’t matter. No matter how much he wished he could climb into bed and lose himself between the legs of a pretty girl, it wasn’t gonna be this one.

She returned a moment later with another bottle. “Did I see your name on the schedule for next week?”

“Yup. I’m sticking around until my ankle heals. Joe’s little brother is my best friend. He took pity on me and let me pick up some grunt shifts.”

She straightened and took a step back from the edge of the bar, the implications of their impending co-worker status apparently dawning on her. “Enjoy your beer. I’m cutting you off after this.”

“Sure,” he muttered, grabbing the beer and taking a long sip. Cold with just the right amount of bite. He could make it last. He could also probably find a spot at a corner table and get a waitress to bring him another. The bartender might say he was done, but Ash didn’t have any intention of calling it a night just yet. It was barely after eight and his buddies were probably all getting hauled down to the drunk tank.

Alone again.

What he really needed was a girl to take home. A flapping banner over the corner stage announced that it was Ladies’ Night. Soon, hot women would be everywhere, and all the single cowboys had just been taken to jail. Fuck, yes.

The dance floor was a little sparse at the moment. A few bodies swayed to the rhythm of a two-step. No use looking there. With his foot locked in what might as well have been a concrete block, he wasn’t going to be able to use his usual charms to find a willing bedmate. If he could even get her into said bed.

Damn ankle.

“Hey, Ash, I need to take your statement,” said a familiar voice from behind him. He turned slightly and saw Eli Brice coming toward him, his deputy uniform crisply pressed. Eli leaned on the side of the booth. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t really see it.”

“You were out on the dance floor or something?” Eli’s voice carried a little laughter, but Ash didn’t feel like joining in.

“Yeah.” He clunked his boot hard on the floor and it made his ankle ache, but the ache was good. Pain was a good distraction. “I was cuttin’ up the place.”

Eli flipped his pad open. “I just need to know what happened so I can let your friends go if they didn’t do anything.”

Ash hadn’t been friends with Eli since high school, and even then, they’d only been passing acquaintances. Still, the deputy wasn’t a bad dude. Or at least he hadn’t been back in the day.

“What do you think they did?” Ash asked, taking another long pull of his beer.

“Well, according to the couple over there at the bar, Reyna was the—”

“Who’s Reyna?”

“The girl.”

Ash set his bottle down, hard. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Not even a scratch on her.”

“Good. I mean, she punched Ty out out, so she can clearly take care of herself, but still. He probably grabbed her ass unprovoked. But she also threw him over the bull and then broke the lamp.”

Eli nodded, writing notes in his little notebook. “That matches what we heard.” He pressed his lips together and glanced at the back door.

“Where’d Allan go with Cors—Reyna?” Ash pointed toward the exit as he sipped the beer. Sip, man. Slow down.

“I think he took the girl back to wherever she was staying.”

Sure he did. Ash gave the deputy a cynical smile. “Well, you can let Tyson go, unfortunately. Unless she’s gonna press charges, which…hell, she probably should. He can be a dick sometimes.”

“We’ll wait to see what Joe wants to do about this big Tiffany lamp that got shattered.” Eli shoved the notebook into his pocket. “You need a ride, Ash?”

The comment sank right through Ash’s armor. Gimp, can’t even walk home himself. That was what Eli was thinking, no doubt.

“I’ll walk.”

“With that cast?”

Ash pointed at the glass of water next to his beer. “I’ll hydrate, deputy. You’re not my babysitter.”

“Take care, man. Call if you need a ride.” Eli squeezed his shoulder, and Ash felt a sudden urge to punch him in the throat.

Not a charity case.

His ankle continued to throb and he realized he was putting a lot of pressure on it as Eli sauntered away, saluting a couple of other witnesses in the corner. Ash gripped the bottle with a hard hand and looked around the stupid bar for one of the new-on-shift waitresses who hadn’t yet talked to Wendy about him being cut off.

It wasn’t nearly busy enough for his taste. But that would change. Soon, it would hit nine or so, and the girls would start arriving. I need to get laid tonight.

Since drowning his sorrows in beer hadn’t worked, indulging in the comfort of a warm body was next on the list.