Cowboy Charming

by Dylann Crush

  “And evidently you know all about boars now?” Dixie slammed the towels onto the desk. They landed with a soft whoosh, a far cry from the satisfying thud she would have preferred.

  “Can we not talk about boars or pigs or even peaches for that matter?”

  “You’re the one who brought them up.”

  Presley didn’t acknowledge her statement. “Is there anyone else out there who can stitch me up right quick? Doc managed to clean it up a little before he passed out. I’ve gotta introduce the first band in twenty minutes.”

  Dixie glanced to the snoring doctor. “I suppose I can see if I can get Doc Martin over here.”

  Presley tried to rise out of the chair. “The vet?”

  Shrugging, Dixie moved closer to the desk. “I’m sure sewing you up wouldn’t be any different than putting a few stitches in an altered bull.”

  “I can’t believe you even said that. Why don’t you get over here and stitch me back together?”

  “Excuse me?” She clamped her hands to her hips. “What makes you think I even know how to thread a needle?”

  He gestured to her. “Because…hell, I don’t know.”

  “Because I’m a woman? Were you about to say I should know how to sew because I’m a girl?”

  “No.” His words denied it, but the flush on his cheeks told her that’s exactly what he’d been thinking.

  She laughed. “To tell you the truth, it surprises me you’ve noticed.”

  “What, that you’re a woman?” The smile that had haunted her dreams transformed his features from sheepish to wolfish in less time than it took for her to draw in a sharp breath. “A virile young man such as myself can’t help but notice a filly in her prime.”

  “So now I’m a horse? You’re not helping out your situation here, you know.” Dixie cocked a hip. “I still don’t get why you think I should know how to sew.”

  “Hell, I don’t know. My mom sews. I guess I’ve just never had the need.” Presley set the bottle down on the edge of the desk. “It’s starting to sting. Can’t we just get this over with?”

  “I’m going to let it slide because the pain must be making you stupid. Or at least more stupid than usual.” Dixie surveyed the desktop. Doc Shubert didn’t go anywhere without his black doctor’s bag. With any luck he had something she could use to stitch up Presley’s side…and maybe his mouth too while she was at it.

  Presley reached for her hand. She drew in a breath as his fingers grazed hers. “I’m not trying to be an ass, I swear. If you manage to sew me up, I promise I’ll have my mom teach me how to sew on a button. What do you say?” He winced as he dropped his feet to the ground.

  She slid her hand out from under his, ignoring the thrum of her heart as she broke contact. Her attention refocused on the task ahead, she rummaged through the well-organized bag.

  “There.” She lifted a makeshift sewing kit out of the bag and pointed to a C-shaped needle. “This should do the trick.”

  Presley’s brows knit together. “You know, maybe we ought to wait for the doc to wake up.”

  “You sure about that? Boss Hawg goes on in just a few minutes. You looked like you were getting pretty cozy with his girlfriend.” She squirted a generous dose of hand sanitizer into her palm and rubbed her hands together.

  “Leoni?”

  Dixie squinted while she tried to thread the suture needle. “I didn’t catch her name.”

  “She’s the fiddle player. Trust me, I was not getting cozy.”

  “Whatever.” Dixie squelched the twinge of jealousy before it had a chance to settle in her gut. With the needle ready, Dixie knelt down in front of Presley. “Can you hold up your shirt?”

  He lifted the edge of his shirt. “Wait, shouldn’t we sterilize it or something?”

  “Why don’t you just douse it in whatever’s in that bottle you’ve been drinking?”

  Presley scoffed. “And waste a single malt?”

  “Suit yourself. I hear the cowgirls love a guy with a little gangrene.”

  “Are you sassing me, Dixie King?”

  “Look, do you want me to sew you up or not? I have better things to do tonight, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and opened up a search bar.

  “Just give it to me.” Presley reached for the needle and dipped it into the bottle. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.” The video began to play. Maybe she should have picked a different one. A guy on the screen showed off a six-inch gash in his leg. Then he went on to explain how he was stitching it up himself.

  “Are you watching YouTube?”

  “Thank goodness for the internet, huh?” It didn’t look too difficult. Although the guy on the video seemed much more willing than Presley. “I just want you to remember this was your idea.”

  “Just do it.” Presley lifted his shirt up and over his head.

  Dixie wasn’t prepared for the way the sight of his bare chest slammed into her like a sledgehammer to the gut. Oh my goodness. The man might irritate the heck out of her when he opened his mouth, but there was no denying God had given him the body of an archangel. She’d been around men who looked like this before—there were plenty of shirtless ranch hands working the land around Holiday, and one summer they’d received free HBO. But never so close up. The guys she typically dated were more comfortable working with a calculator than working with their hands. Even looking at him seemed like a sin.

  Presley took another swallow of liquid. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. She slid her gaze from his mouth, down his neck, over those perfect pecs, then lower still to a line of ridged abs. Her mouth went dry like it had been stuffed with cotton. Before she had a chance to think about it, she reached for the bottle. “Give me a sip of that, will you?”

  He passed it to her with a wink. “Well now, Dixie Mae. Better be careful, we don’t want people to think I’m corrupting you.”

  The burn of whiskey hit the back of her throat. Fire slid down to her chest, flooding her system with a heat she felt to the tips of her toes. Maybe that would settle her nerves. Something had to. If her hands didn’t stop shaking, she wouldn’t even be able to hold onto the needle. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  “Be gentle with me, darlin’.” He leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

  Just as well. She didn’t need the weight of his gaze pressing down on her while she tried to concentrate. Her fingers reached out, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually touch him. Why was she so nervous?

  “You need me to stick it in?” He opened one eye.

  She groaned. “Would you please stop making everything sound so dirty?”

  His teasing grin mocked her. “Who knew the preacher’s daughter had such a dirty mind? I’m just talking about the needle, sweetheart.”

  “Sure you were.” She lifted her gaze from his abs to search his eyes. Being this close to him, inhaling his scent, feeling the heat from his skin—the combination overloaded her senses.

  His eyes crinkled at the edges while his hand reached out to cup her cheek. “Anyone ever tell you your eyes are the color of a potent shot of absinthe?”

  She wanted to lean into his hand, let herself enjoy his touch. But she and Presley were like ice cream and hot sauce…just not meant to be. So she pulled back and went on the defense again. “As in the illegal alcohol people used to get high on?”

  His chest vibrated as he snort-laughed, causing his abs to roll underneath her hand. “It’s not illegal, and by the time you drank enough of it to enjoy the hallucinogenic properties you’d be dead.”

  “Great. I’ll keep that in mind.” She tried to return her attention to the task at hand.

  “You really are something, Dixie.” Presley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered. Her eyes drifted closed, relishing
his touch. “It’s amazing how we never…”

  She opened her eyes as his voice lowered to a whisper. His mouth hovered inches from hers. His hand tangled in her hair. His eyes half-closed, offered an invitation.

  “How we never what?” she whispered back.

  “How we never did this.” His hand slipped behind her neck, gently pulling her face toward his.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Closer and closer he came. Blood rushed to her face, and for a moment she wondered if she’d pass out. His mouth parted slightly. Her gaze flitted back and forth between his lips and his eyes. This is what she wanted; this is what she’d dreamed about. She braced herself, ready for his kiss.

  It wasn’t the furious, scorching kiss of her dreams. It was gentle, sweet, incredible. His tongue teased along the seam of her lips. She opened, tasting him for the first time—a hint of whiskey and something else.

  He pulled away first. If the situation had been left up to her, she could probably go on kissing him until the end of time.

  “Wow, that was—”

  “What?” Worry creased her brow. She didn’t want to be compared to the leagues of women he’d tangled tongues with in the past.

  “Nothing.” He ran a hand over his cheek. “Say, we’d better get back to the stitches. You don’t want me to bleed out, do you?”

  Nothing? Their kiss had meant nothing to him? It had been everything she’d dreamed of and more. More hurt than confused, she cocked her head. “No, we don’t want you to bleed out.”

  He cleared his throat and summoned a smile. “Right. So come on, Fireball. Give it to me.”

  Dixie gritted her teeth.

  “I know you want to.”

  Oh, she wanted to all right. With a final shake of her head, she jabbed the needle into Presley’s side.

  His hips bucked up. “Shit, that stings like a motherfucker.”

  The door squeaked open. “What the heck’s going on in here?” Dwight’s boots clomped across the floor.

  Dwight’s gaze bounced from the doc who still slumped passed out in the side chair to Presley’s naked chest to Dixie’s face, which most likely still suffered from some intense blushing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  “You didn’t.” Somehow she stumbled to her feet. Her cheeks had to be redder than a jar of her mama’s canned beets right now. “I’ve got to go. I’ll have Shep introduce the band then I’ll put a pot of coffee on for Doc Shubert. I think it’s best that he take over from here.”

  “I’m sorry, Dixie.” Presley started to get up.

  “No, just stay there. I’ll be fine. Everything will be just fine. Fine.” She backed away from the desk. Before she reached the door, her foot landed on something sharp, and she stumbled backward. Presley sprung from the desk as she hit the ground. Her shoe. She’d tripped over her own high-heeled shoe. That would teach her to try to buck the norm and pretend to be someone she wasn’t.

  “You okay?” He reached out to help her up.

  “I’ll be fine.” She had to get out of there. One more look at Presley’s tan chest and she’d probably pass out just like Doc Shubert. She only had to do two things. Number one, find Shep and have him introduce the band. Number two, get Angelo to make a fresh pot of coffee. Two things. She could handle that.

  She whirled away from Presley. Inches from the door she looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror hanging on the office wall. A stranger stared back at her. A woman with fear in her eyes and fire blazing across her cheeks.

  She needed to get herself out of any situation in which Presley was half naked. And the sooner the better.

  * * *

  He sure knew how to screw something up. That was the one thing he’d always been good at. But that kiss had changed everything. He’d meant it as a bit of a dare…setting Dixie off her straight and narrow path had always held a little bit of a thrill for him. He hadn’t expected her to kiss him back. Or to feel it straight down to his toes. His feelings about kissing usually ended up stopping around his crotch area. But Dixie’s kiss had hit him everywhere at once.

  Presley clenched his teeth as the doc tied off the last stitch and clipped the thread.

  “Be good as new in a few days.” The older man had sobered up after his short nap and half a pot of coffee. Or at least sobered up enough to close Presley’s side without any other major incidents.

  “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.” Presley watched while the doc secured a patch of gauze and bandage to his stomach. “What do I owe you?”

  “It was my pleasure, son.” The doc repacked his bag, methodically returning everything to its place after Dixie had spread the contents all over the giant desk. “You just make sure nothing happens to the Rose, and we’ll call it even.”

  “What do you mean? What would happen to the Rose?” Maybe the whiskey hadn’t quite left the doc’s system yet.

  Doc paused and peered at Presley over the top of his bifocals. “I was tossing horseshoes with some folks up from San Antonio. Said they were in town to bid out a project on the land right next door.”

  “The old Garcia land?”

  Doc nodded. “They said some investor from California was going to build—get this—a country and western theme park in the space. At first I didn’t think I heard him right. Can you imagine? Said the plans called for a honky-tonk twice the size of the Rose. Why would we need a new honky-tonk next door when we’ve got a perfectly good one right here? Isn’t that the most asinine thing you’ve ever heard? ”

  “Yeah.” Presley’s thoughts immediately went to SoCal. There was no way that guy was in town for the chili cook-off. Something else had to be going on there. “What else did they say?”

  “Oh, not much. In fact, they got a good tongue-lashing from their boss over telling me that much. They said it was all confidential and bought me a couple of shots like they wanted to buy my silence.” He zipped up his bag. “But here in Holiday we look after our own. You be sure and tell your sister to keep her eyes and ears open.”

  “I will.” The last thing Charlie needed right now was to worry about some crazy-ass developer wanting to move in on her turf. It’s not like Holiday was a tourist mecca. Sure, the Rose was the oldest honky-tonk in Texas and had put their little town on the map. But why in the world would someone want to build something like a huge theme park in the middle of nowhere?

  “Keep an eye on that wound now. I’ll want to see you in about a week to remove those stitches.”

  “Yes, sir.” Presley walked the doc to the door. “Thanks again.”

  “And go easy on that rib.” The doc paused in the doorway. “That means keeping your extracurricular activities to a minimum.”

  Presley laughed. With a tip of his hat, the doc disappeared down the hall. Presley needed to find Dixie. The two of them had been left in charge. They’d have to figure out what, if anything, needed to be done about the possible threat to their livelihood. But first, he needed a shirt. He picked up the one he’d been wearing. Too much blood. That meant he either went back out to the bar wearing nothing but his bandage or he dipped into Charlie’s stash of hot-pink Rambling Rose T-shirts she kept on hand for staff. What was that saying…real mean wear pink? He’d always thought it was his color.

  Fully dressed and somewhat cleaned up, Presley ambled back out to the bar. Business had picked up even more in the time he’d been out of commission. Shep held down the fort behind the ancient bar while a couple of waitresses threaded their way through the masses, trays held high. He scanned the top of the crowd, looking for the fire-red hair of his reluctant partner.

  “Hey, Shep! You seen Dixie around?” Presley managed to squeeze by a few people and wedge his way in next to the counter.

  Shep didn’t slow down, kept slinging bottles and pulling drafts. “She blew through here a few minutes ago. I think
she’s out back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Before Presley could get through the back door and out to the beer garden, Dwight caught up to him. “Feelin’ better there?”

  “Yeah. Doc got me all stitched up. It’s too bad that boar is a bit of a celebrity. I could go for a nice big BLT right about now.”

  Dwight chuckled. “Yeah, he got you good. Did Dixie tell you we got him over to your folks’ place? Just drove the damn trailer up to the pen and backed him in.”

  “Well, hell. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Dwight tapped his finger to his temple. “It was a flash of inspiration.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Well, that and Dixie suggested it. That girl’s tougher than I figured. Smarter too.”

  Presley nodded. That was the gospel truth. And that’s why he needed to find her. Together they’d figure out what to do about Doc’s news. “Do you know where she is?”

  Dwight pointed toward the stage. “Saw her over there a bit ago. Do me a favor?”

  “Sure.” Presley scanned the crowd spread out over the grassy area in front of the stage.

  “Give these back to Boss Hawg?” Dwight tossed a ring of keys his way.

  “You bet. Thanks, Dwight.” He clapped a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. They might be an eclectic crowd here at the Rose, but they did do one thing right. They looked out for each other. Spotting a flash of red in the sea of straw Stetsons, Presley stepped through the door. “I’ve got to talk to Dixie. I’ll catch you later.”

  Dwight nodded and turned toward the bar. Presley was surprised he’d actually left his roost. The man had a stool with his name carved on it. Charlie had given it to him as a gift last Christmas.

  The band wrapped up its set, and Dixie stepped onto the stage. That should be his job. He’d told Charlie he’d pitch in, and here he was, stitched, bruised, and failing to keep his promise. Dixie told the crowd there would be a short break while the next band got set up. That should give them a few minutes to chat. He wound through the crowd, making his way to the stage. She clambered down the steps, and he caught up to her.