Desire at Roosevelt Ranch

by Faber, Elise

  And now he sounded like Kelly again, anthropomorphizing horses.

  Though, even he had to admit that Theo had enough personality for ten people.

  Kaycee’s mom laughed and it was tinged with panic. “Great. Okay. Well . . . just great.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I . . . uh . . . should get back to the phones. Need to pick out a new one.”

  “That’s usually why people come to places like this,” he said drolly.

  She chucked again, still uncomfortable. “Okay . . . well. Bye.”

  Rex did her a favor and turned away, watching as Jeremy typed for an inordinately long time on the computer, and by the time the kid had finished with the cell, the woman was gone.

  He needed out of this town.

  But he’d been saying that for weeks, and still he’d stayed.

  Why? For what?

  Well, at least that part had now become clear. Because . . . Tilly.

  “Here you go, man,” Jeremy said, setting the phone down in front of him. “Log into the cloud and your latest backup will download. Do you need a new case?” he asked. “This one is a little . . . sticky.”

  Since it was a little sticky, Rex had Jeremy grab one along with a new screen protector. With the way Tilly was going, he thought she’d probably need it.

  Five minutes and twelve hundred dollars later, Rex was out of the store and driving back to Tilly’s house, brand new cell in hand. He parked at the bottom of the hill and walked up the winding driveway before depositing it on her porch, propping it up where it would be the first thing she’d see when she came out.

  Music blared from inside the house, something pop-tastic that he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to, but something that seemed to fit Tilly perfectly.

  And then he did something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

  Act like a pervert. Lie, but that was what he was going with.

  Rex crept forward and peeked through the window, leaning his head so he could glance through a gap of the white cotton curtains.

  The house was small, a tiny living room off to one side with the kitchen right in front of him, a narrow hall with a few doors splitting the two spaces. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Tilly standing there, a tea kettle in her hand and a towel wrapped around her head. She wore a plain gray T-shirt along with pajama pants patterned with unicorns, and he thought it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  That was the moment he really did something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

  Rex rang the doorbell.

  The peel was loud enough to cover his steps as he sprinted off the porch and hid around the corner of the house. Inside, the music stopped, and he listened to the little house creak and groan as Tilly made her way to the front door.

  Was it even safe if it made that much noise? What if the roof collapsed and Tilly—

  The front door opened. “Hello?”

  Her voice did that thing again. Feelings.

  It swung wider, and Rex was careful to keep out of sight. He heard more than saw her cross the porch, though he did catch a glimpse of her bare feet and the lilac mythical-creature-dotted pajamas.

  Still sexy.

  Still slowly losing his mind.

  But for the moment, he was just going to embrace it.

  “What?” she murmured, picking up the phone. “How?” She stood there for a long time, and Rex realized he was too damned old to be hiding along the side of someone’s house, crouched in the bushes like some sort of serial killer.

  But just as he stood up, ready to announce himself, a whistling sound rent the air. Tilly rushed back across the porch, closing the front door behind her, cutting off the sound of the tea kettle with the panel of wood. A soft click of the lock sliding home was the last thing he heard before the music turned back on.

  And Rex stood there, firmly planted on the outside of Tilly’s world, but not able to make himself so much as peer in again.

  Familiar. That feeling was so damned familiar.

  Ten

  Tilly

  She stared at the phone like it was a snake.

  First the car.

  Now the cell.

  What the hell was going on?

  Her tea was getting cold, that was what, and Rex had simply returned her phone. That was it. Simple explanation. Simple truth.

  But if it were so simple, then why didn’t he stay and tell her that? Why doorbell ditch? And how quickly had he driven away for his car to be at the bottom of her hill by the time she’d gotten to the door? It wasn’t like her driveway was short.

  It just didn’t make sense.

  Or maybe it made perfect sense. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to her. See? Simple truth. It just . . . didn’t feel simple.

  She sighed and poured herself some tea before getting out her box of essential oils and getting to work. She’d had a big order come through on Etsy that morning. One of the people she’d sold her bath products to at the county fair that summer apparently ran a B&B, and they wanted her to supply them with shampoo, conditioner, lotion, lip balm, and more than a few scented candles.

  Twelve rooms worth.

  The biggest order she’d ever sold.

  Tilly couldn’t afford to screw this up, knew that she’d lucked out with her car not actually being stolen—which was a mystery she still didn’t understand but also didn’t have the mental energy to deal with at the moment.

  Dale had fixed it.

  Why?

  And how much did she owe him?

  Shaking her head firmly to dislodge those thoughts, she got to work.

  Lip balm first because it was so easy, she didn’t understand why people would ever buy it off the shelf. Literally four ingredients and done—beeswax, coconut oil, shea butter, and whatever scent she was feeling.

  Or, because the B&B had requested her peppermint hot chocolate version, that variety.

  Her kitchen was smelling festive by the time she’d moved on to shampoo and conditioner. They always took a bit longer, as the conditioner, especially, had more ingredients, but she’d managed to knock them both out by bedtime.

  She still hadn’t looked at the cell phone.

  Lie.

  She’d looked at it because it had buzzed. Because somehow it had turned on. She just hadn’t gotten any further than the home screen, to the message displayed there:

  Found your phone, obviously. It was buzzing in my seat. Maybe not as bad off as you feared. Text me back so I know you found it on your porch.

  -Rex

  Candles.

  She needed to make the candles.

  But her fingers reached for her phone anyway, and she was surprised when it unlocked right away without FaceID or her passcode or—

  Weird.

  It prompted her to sign into her iCloud.

  Case in point, orange juice and technology didn’t mix. Tilly spent a few minutes avoiding Rex’s message, instead logging in and making sure her phone was set up just the way she liked it. Her apps and their respective folders needed to be just right, otherwise she’d go—

  Avoidance.

  She was a master at it.

  Her phone buzzed again, and she jumped, cell flying from her hands to crash to the kitchen floor.

  “Tilly Conner, you are an absolute mess,” she muttered, sending good vibes up to the cellular gods when she scooped up her phone and saw it was unscathed.

  Small miracles. Sometimes it was the small miracles in life.

  I hope this isn’t still sitting on your porch. It’s supposed to rain tonight.

  “Great.” Another mutter, this time tinged with guilt because Rex had gone out of his way for her three times now, and she’d been avoiding him. Why? Well, there was the embarrassment factor. He’d seen her at her worst twice now, three times if she counted not replying to his act of kindness of returning her phone. But while her gut was twisting with guilt, that wasn’t what was waving the caution flag in her mind.

  Rex was dangerous.

 
He’d left Kelly.

  But he’d brought back Isabella.

  He’d rescued her twice.

  Was it possible he’d changed?

  And that right there was what was giving her pause.

  Men didn’t change. Her father hadn’t. Her ex-fiancé hadn’t. Rex Roosevelt, legendary sleaze, most certainly hadn’t.

  Except, what if he had?

  Tilly sighed in irritation with herself, with the reminder of the man who was creating so much turmoil inside her—she wasn’t the type of girl who looked on the bright side, okay? She couldn’t afford to be.

  So, she bucked up and texted back.

  Thank you for dropping it by, Rex.

  There. That was good enough. A thanks, if a bit on the cool side. He had gone out of his way and—

  Buzz.

  Her eyes glanced down before she could stop herself.

  How’d you know it was me?

  Besides the fact that you signed your earlier text message like an elderly person?

  Because I saw your car at the bottom of the hill. Why’d you doorbell ditch me?

  A few seconds passed before his reply came through.

  I didn’t want to interrupt. You’d had an eventful morning.

  Her fingers flew across the screen.

  And by eventful you mean I thought my car was stolen, spent way too long attempting to wrestle an omelet away from a very persistent two-year-old and losing, then vandalized your car all before one?

  Nothing for a long moment then:

  That’s a good definition of eventful, yes.

  Before she could snarkily reply to that, her phone buzzed again.

  How’s the hair? Chive free?

  Her lips twitched.

  Yes. Though you wouldn’t believe what I have in it now.

  Barely a second before:

  Angel, you can’t say things like that to me.

  Tilly’s breath caught in her lungs.

  Wax. I was going to say wax. And stop calling me Angel. It’s kind of creepy.

  Silence in response. She started to set her phone down, knowing that her words were a conversation killer for sure, but just as her case hit the scarred wooden table, her cell vibrated again.

  We’ll circle back to why you have wax in your hair. Why is calling you Angel creepy?

  She wrinkled her nose, decided to leave the candle-making for the following night, and walked down the hall to brush said wax out of said hair.

  It just is.

  Her brush caught on the wax, and she winced as she worked it through the ends.

  At least this time she smelled like peppermint rather than chives and eggs.

  Ah. The age-old argument: It just is. I bow to your brilliance.

  Tilly rolled her eyes, set the brush on the counter with more force than necessary.

  Shut up. I’m not the one using creepy endearments with a woman I barely know.

  Buzz.

  Fair point. So, how about we solve that problem?

  She picked her brush up. Put it down again.

  Sure. It’s easy. Stop calling women Angel.

  A beat before her cell vibrated again.

  I meant the getting to know you part of your statement. Not the creep factor.

  Her lips twitched. Creep factor?

  Well, let’s just kill two birds with one stone, shall we? It’s creepy and now you KNOW I don’t like it.

  Tilly had hesitated, her phone in her hand, waiting for Rex’s reply for at least a full minute before she realized what she was doing. Waiting on a man. Again. Snorting in disgust, she dropped the cell to the counter and began deliberately brushing the wax from her hair . . . and also deliberately ignoring the message when it came through a little while later.

  But eventually she’d brushed her hair until it was wax-free, until it gleamed like one of Kelly’s horse’s tails.

  “Cute analogy,” she grumbled. “Thanks, brain.”

  She picked up her cell from the counter and strode into the bedroom, still ignoring the message, still pretending that she hadn’t just been texting with the Rex Roosevelt.

  But then she saw the words on the screen.

  You were like an angel last night.

  What the—

  Her fingers were typing out a response to that, a demand for an explanation of that bit of nonsense before she realized what she was doing. After quickly deleting the message, she sent the only thing she could.

  Thanks for returning my phone.

  Nothing then:

  Is this where we circle back to the wax in your hair?

  Tilly sighed. She knew what she needed to do, and it didn’t relate to wax at all.

  No, Rex. This is where we circle back to me saying goodbye.

  A beat.

  How about instead of goodbye, we just say goodnight?

  She found that she didn’t have the strength to reply to that. Instead, she plunked her phone into the charger, turned off her light, and burrowed under her covers.

  Unfortunately, sleep was a long time coming.

  Eleven

  Rex

  Two days later, Rex found himself doing something he’d never imagined—striding through the door to Henry’s Diner, Abigail holding his hand while Kelly corralled the twins. Justin was running late but was supposed to meet them there, and while Kel could have handled the crew of kids herself, Rex had surprised himself by offering to help anyway.

  He’d been at the ranch because it had given him an excuse to drive by Tilly’s house when Justin’s call had come, and though Kel had told her husband they would just pick another day, the under-five crew was not having it.

  Abigail demanded Bella’s French toast. The twins banged on the table for, “Muffins. Muffins!”

  And like any sane person, Kelly had relented.

  Or rather, Rex had caved, promising any manner of baked goods to get the kids to calm down. To which, Kel had sighed then left the room to grab her giant purse and car keys.

  “You’ve got a soft touch, Uncle Rex,” she’d said, though her eyes were gentle.

  They’d buckled everyone in, and he’d listened to too many renditions of Wheels on the Bus en route, and now they were in the diner. He’d stared out the window as they’d driven, pretending to take in the scenery, but really, he’d been focused on not missing their drive by Tilly’s house, or the fact that her car wasn’t in her driveway.

  Two days had felt like an eternity, which was especially ridiculous when he considered the fact that he hadn’t even known her three days before.

  If her car wasn’t in the driveway . . .

  Maybe it was parked behind the diner, in the employee lot.

  No way for him to check that at the moment, so he had to hope that she was working. Either that or just be content with enjoying some of the fabulous baked goods the kids were looking forward to.

  See? He could occasionally ponder the bright side.

  They walked over to Kel’s booth in the back. As Henry’s best friend and a former employee, she had perks, and one of those was a permanent table. Though that table was getting progressively tighter as the kids got bigger.

  Henry came over, giving him an even look—infinitely better than the death glares of earlier days, but still not remotely friendly. “Justin coming, too?”

  Kel nodded.

  “I’ll bring the usuals all around then. Rex? What do you want?”

  He had no clue, hadn’t bothered to eat here before, not when he’d had a housekeeper and cook at the ranch. But he had tasted plenty of Bella’s food. She’d taken to bringing him her “inventions” after he’d helped her get home, and they were some of the most delicious baked items he’d ever tasted.

  “Did Bella make anything fresh today?”

  Henry’s expression turned incredulous, but his lips tipped up. “Only brioche, cinnamon rolls, apple turnovers, cheese tarts, and five varieties of quiche. Any of that sound good to you?”

  All of it.

  But he settled
on a cinnamon roll and apple turnover.

  Rex would get his sugar fix at the very least.

  “Coffee?”

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  Henry left then returned a few minutes later with drinks for everyone. Kelly stopped him before he went off. “You short-staffed again?”

  “No,” Henry said. “Tilly’s just on her break now that the rush is over.”

  “Good,” Kel replied. “You need to hire someone else.”

  “I need my star waitress back,” Henry teased.

  Kel scoffed. “You mean Melissa? ‘Cause she’s a long way out from waiting tables.”

  “Considering she’s on a book tour for another hit cookbook,” Henry said, “I’d agree with you.” He grinned. “But I was referring to you, brat. Tilly’s great, but I miss you around here.”

  “She’s way better at waiting tables than me. Plus, she doesn’t puke on customers . . .”

  Rex tuned them out as they continued to banter back and forth.

  Because he’d noticed something, or rather, someone. Tilly had come up behind Henry, pad in her hand, eyes warm and smile on her face.

  “. . . but she’s not you.”

  That warmth slipped away, that smile became decidedly more forced.

  And Kelly for her part—she didn’t have a mean bone in her body, would be distraught to know that her words had hurt someone’s situation—misread the situation completely. Maybe it was Jesse almost tipping over her cup. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep.

  Regardless, she saw Tilly and instead of ending the conversation, she brought the sweet, blond angel—take that, creepy vibes—into their discussion.

  “Tilly,” Kel said. “You’ve got to convince Henry that you are a way better waitress than me.” She laughed. “I was horrible. I could mostly get the right food on the tables, but I was never like you.”

  Tilly opened her mouth.

  Henry spoke first. “You were great. I loved having you here with me.”

  Kel rolled her eyes. “You just liked having me somewhere I couldn’t get in trouble.”

  “Didn’t work out very well though, did it?” he teased. “Still, I give you my award of Henry’s Diner’s Best Waitress Ever. Right, Tilly? She’s got all the skills.”