Trent had loved kissing Marianne even more than he’d expected. And he had equally loved watching her squirm for the hour afterward while he pretended it had never happened. He doubted either of his brothers, Trevor especially, would ever leave a beautiful woman hanging like that, but Trevor wasn't tangling with a woman like Marianne. Sure, he knew his brother's relationship with Sabrina had its own difficulties at the start, but Sabrina was the ray of sunshine to Marianne's midnight. His neighbor was disciplined, serious, maybe a little mysterious. And, Trent suspected, in over her head with the Honky Tonk—more than she realized.

That night when he went to bed, the taste of her cherry lip balm still lingered on his lips. He stared at his bedroom's ceiling and imagined the hot outline of her mouth was there with him, keeping him company. He was too hard to think about anything else after a while.

He avoided looking out the window and over the fence to see if Marianne's light was still on. If she was up and as restless as he was after their encounter, he didn't think he'd be able to prevent himself from going over and doing something about it.

She turned the tables on him. He’d left her hanging for an evening, and she stretched it out over a week. Hell, he had even invited her over for another cookout to give her plenty of opportunity to bring up their obvious chemistry. While he found himself growing to enjoy their conversations more than he had anticipated, the kiss still lingered between them, unacknowledged and—worst of all to his mind—unrepeated.

Sometimes he caught her looking at him in a way that seemed to imply a challenge. She was onto him, and she didn't want to be the first to give ground.

Well, who the hell did that benefit?

Trent's physical frustrations mounted. He looked for every excuse to drop in on Marianne at the Honky Tonk. A few times he had managed to angle himself behind her, pretending profound interest in whatever task she was engaged in, when he had really only been using it as an excuse to feel the outline of her curves pressed up against him. The way her hands paused and her breath hitched whenever he came so close taxed his self-control to its limit, but Trent was determined to wear her down eventually.

The day of the town meeting, Trevor was stuck at Wildhorse with a foaling mare that afternoon, so Trent swung by to pick up Sabrina on his way to the Honky Tonk. They pulled up just in time to claim one of the last available parking spots.

"Annie must be freaking out," Sabrina said as she hopped down out of the cab. "I don't blame her if she is. It looks like all of Lockhart showed up for this meeting, and I'm pretty sure most of them are more interested in checking out the new digs than actually discussing town business."

"Annie?" The nickname amused Trent. That was how Celia had always referred to Marianne, but he couldn't bring himself to adopt it himself. Not yet.

"We've chatted a few times on the phone. I'm getting to know her pretty well." Sabrina grinned. "She told me you’re neighbors."

"That a fact?"

"You've been holding out on me, Trent." She leaned in to nudge him with her elbow as they crossed the parking lot. "I want details from you. Because whatever's going on between the two of you, Marianne isn't sharing them."

"There's nothing going on between the two of us." To Trent's mind, this claim was unfortunately true. The disappointed expression that Sabrina pulled wasn't going to change the fact, no matter how much the both of them might like it too. He held the door open for her as they passed into the Honky Tonk.

The front room was wall-to-wall bodies; Trent could already see people resigning themselves to standing around the perimeter of the folding chairs set up for the occasion. Many gesticulated to the barren corners and svelte new lighting fixtures, their expressions notably dismayed. Trent personally liked the new amber ambience they provided, but it was as he suspected: the locals were already rejecting the changes. Only he knew that Marianne and Sabrina intended to reinstall and redecorate with a lot of Celia's touches in time for the Spring Festival.

Trent surveyed the room for a dark head of hair, a flash of blue eyes, and didn't come up disappointed. Marianne stood near the front of the chairs, shaking hands and introducing herself to as many people as she could. She looked swamped. Trent wove through the crowd of bodies, and Sabrina followed in his wake. The moment Marianne saw them, she excused herself and hurried over.

"They're asking me to do an introduction!" she hissed. In her nervousness, she barreled right into Trent's chest; he put his hands up to catch her, enjoying the feel of having her (nearly) in his arms, but Marianne seemed too preoccupied to notice.

"Well…yes." Sabrina looked puzzled. "Why wouldn't they? Everybody's dying to meet you and know more about your plans for the Honky Tonk."

"They want me to speak," Marianne insisted. "They want me to speak about it. Publically."

Sabrina may have been confused by Marianne's fright, but Trent wasn't. He had witnessed this same aversion to public speaking in his brother Trevor when the two of them had given presentations in the same class. Trevor had mostly gotten over his fear now, but he had also managed to build a life for himself where it wasn't necessary. Trent had never struggled personally, but he knew something about what Marianne was going through.

"All you have to do is introduce yourself," he said soothingly. "Nothing more." Her blue eyes flew to him; she hung on his every word. Trent wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and shield her from the danger she thought she was in, but she would have to face it sooner or later. All of Lockhart Bend was buzzing with curiosity about Celia's niece and the future of the Honky Tonk.

"You'll have to have an official opening eventually," Sabrina pointed out.

"But it doesn't have to be today," Trent insisted. "If they want her to speak, all she has to do is say who she is and thank everyone for coming."

"I appreciate your suggestions. Really, I do," Marianne interrupted. She glanced back behind her; one of the city councilwomen waved her over. "I saved you seats in front. If you want—"

"We want. We want." Sabrina pushed Trent along needlessly. They seated themselves as Marianne took the mic from the councilwoman. Her hands were shaking.

"H…hello, everyone. Lockhart Bend." Marianne swallowed audibly; the sound was louder than any of her words of welcome thus far. "Thank you all for coming. This is the Honky Tonk…but I guess you knew that already."

"Can't hear you!" a voice hollered from the back. A ripple of agreement ran through the room. Trent could have killed whoever had decided to open his mouth this early into Marianne's introduction.

Marianne blushed, and fiddled with the switch on the mic. "Is that…is that better?" she shouted. The roar of feedback that followed made several people in the front row wince.

"Who are you?" Sabrina stage-whispered from beside Trent. Trent leaned back as far as his chair would allow and crossed his arms. He willed Marianne to fix on him—to know he was there and find some modicum of comfort in his proximity—but her eyes shot every which way, bouncing frantically between faces and never settling.

"Sorry about that. Yes, hello. Welcome to the Honky Tonk. I'm Marianne Stanton. I think most of you knew Celia."

"Oh, no," Sabrina muttered. She’d been scanning the crowd behind them. "This is what I was afraid of. This whole thing is going to turn into a Q&A. For Marianne."

Trent twisted around to look over his shoulder. Someone had put up a hand.

"Um…yes?" Marianne motioned for the questioner to go ahead. Phil Hicks rose and hitched up the front of his belt, looking as self-important as Trent knew him to be.

"Yeah. I heard a rumor you're changing the name of the Honky Tonk to the Honky Tonk Brewpub," Phil stated. "What I want to know is: what was wrong with how Celia ran things?"

"Yeah! Wasn't she your aunt?" someone called from the back of the room. "She know about all the changes you're making around here?"

"First of all…Celia still is my aunt. Not 'was.' But semantics aside," Marianne hurried on quickly when the audience began to shift restlessly, "Celia didn't just entrust the Honky Tonk to me, she sold it. So the bar—former bar—does legally belong to me. Nothing I'm doing here is against my aunt's wishes or being done behind her back. The renovations are my prerogative, and they're coming out of my pocketbook."

"Your prerogative aside, what makes you think you know better than Celia?" Phil asked. His command of the room was more natural and came to him more easily than Marianne's. Guess that happens when you're a spotlight-seeking prick, Trent thought.

But why bother thinking it when he could speak up himself?

Sabrina's eyebrows shot up as Trent rose and stepped forward to join Marianne at the mic. Maybe he was only imagining it, but Marianne didn't look at all affronted by his bold move; if anything, she looked relieved to be sharing the makeshift stage.

"Marianne knows better than Celia how to run a brewpub," Trent stated. "Hell, she knows better than any of us. She came all the way down from Colorado to set up her business here, and I think it's a damn fine idea."

He let his eyes fall to every single familiar face in Marianne's audience before raising them to fix on Phil Hicks’s. Phil looked astonished that Trent had come to Marianne's defense, and Trent realized he couldn't really blame him; hell, he couldn't blame any of them. They were only voicing his own concerns, although he liked to think he had been more tactful about saying them to Marianne's face.

Maybe coming to her defense hadn't been tactful, though. He glanced at her to check her response, and Marianne returned the look with a relieved one of her own. He imaged she was too happy to have a champion to be surprised that it was him.

"You really think this is a damn fine idea, Sheriff?" Phil resumed. "Or could it be you find something else about this development 'damn fine'?"

Marianne stifled what sounded like a small groan. In the front row, Sabrina's face registered complete shock, but Trent kept his cool. "You know, Phil, I'm surprised at you. Considering the number of calls I get to come around your place, I had you pinned as a man who enjoyed his beer."

The room erupted into gales of laughter at this. Phil flushed sheepishly, but Trent's remark hadn't been aimed to humiliate. Everyone in Lockhart Bend knew about Phil's occasional episodes of drunken misbehavior; hell, Trent suspected the man himself considered it a point of pride. He watched as Phil waved off their laughter now and finally took his seat.

"I think most people enjoy their beer," Marianne joined in. "I know I certainly do. And it's not all fancy flavors, I promise you. I've made it something of my mission to come up with the best recipes that not only satisfy the taste buds, but push the limits of how much alcohol a single beer can contain. My first batch will be ready just in time for the Spring Festival. Why don’t you reserve judgment until you’ve tasted it?"

The crowd murmured approval at this. Trent glanced sideways at Marianne, but she seemed to be off and running now. When he moved to retake his seat, he felt her hand come up—behind his back and out of the audience's view—to grip a corner of his shirt and keep him in place. He stayed.

"How much alcohol is that exactly?" someone asked, and Marianne launched into a quick explanation of alcohol content levels and legal limits, one that seemed surprisingly accessible to those who didn't know the first thing about brewing.

Trent listened as Marianne fielded questions. Every successful answer seemed to loosen her grip a little on the mic; every questioning audience face she left satisfied seemed to relax her posture just a little more.

"Will there still be live music?" someone asked.

"Hell, yes there will be," Trent interjected before he could stop himself. Marianne's boot heel suddenly found his foot and dug itself discreetly into his toe.

"Well, Sheriff Wild, I have a proposal for you," Marianne said. "Why don't we subject you to a tasting? We'll have a Battle of the Brews during the Spring Festival—we'll invite brewers from all over the county to compete! And if you can name all the flavors in the beer I present to you then, I'll let you pick what band the Honky Tonk Brewpub hosts for the Fall Festival."

"That's a great idea!" Sabrina squealed from the front. Trent shot her an annoyed look, but his blood was already starting to pump at the prospect of Marianne's challenge. Not only was she offering him an opening to see his suggestions implemented, she was giving him a chance to impress her with all the brewing knowledge he might acquire in the meantime. He couldn't resist.

"You're on."

He caught her hand in his and shook on it. The room applauded their show, and the audience broke apart to chatter amongst themselves as the town council rose to set up their panel.

Marianne held his gaze as their handshake slowed. Trent felt a stirring in his loins, one that had everything to do with the way she was looking at him—and the way he was touching her. He was curious to see how far he could take it. He dropped his arm, but held Marianne's hand still clutched in his. He pulled her out of the spotlight and toward Sabrina. His brother's girlfriend had risen in the commotion and moved off to the relative privacy of the shadows behind the bar.

"Phil Hicks is a distasteful specimen," Sabrina told Marianne as soon as they pulled up.

"He's a son of a bitch," Trent confirmed. The two women laughed at his directness. Some of the tightness around Marianne's eyes softened, and she looked at him in a way that made him feel suddenly weightless—like he could do anything and would do anything for her.

"He's this way at every town hall, complaining about whatever the current topic of discussion is," Sabrina explained. "I should have warned you he might show up."

Marianne shook her head. "No. No, this is…good. For me. I've never been great at the whole public speaking thing." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a habit of hers that Trent found more endearing than he'd realized. "I guess the more curveballs I get thrown now, the better it is for me in the long run."

"You threw a few of your own up there," Trent said approvingly. "You really think you can beat me in the little challenge you've cooked up?"

"I know I can." Marianne was all confidence…until she realized that he still held her hand in his. She tugged to get away, and Trent held her fast for a moment longer, wanting her to know his strength, then he let her slip out of his grasp. He grinned as she scoffed and rolled her eyes at the little power play. His hand still tingled with the memory of her as she turned to address a smaller cluster of Lockhart locals.

"You underestimate me. I have a memory like a steel trap!" he called after her. "I've seen what you're growing out back in your garden, and don't think I missed all the little labels you had plastered onto everything in the brewing room! I'm coming for you, Marianne Stanton."

She turned her head with a defiant flip of her hair. "I'm counting on it!"