Cowboy Charming

by Dylann Crush

  “Hey, Fireball.”

  She wheeled to face him. “Would you stop calling me that?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Never better. While you’ve been tossing back shots with Doc Shubert, I’ve been doing your job and mine.”

  He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. “I’m sorry, Dixie. I didn’t mean for things to go wrong.”

  “What did you think would happen? You go off trying to play hero, not thinking about the consequences.”

  He scoffed. “Damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  She put her hand to her heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it came out. It’s been a long day, and things didn’t exactly go how I expected tonight.”

  He wanted to take that opening and talk about the kiss. But he still hadn’t had a chance to process it himself. It wouldn’t do any good to botch that conversation as well.

  When he didn’t respond, she cleared her throat. “We’ve got one more band to get through tonight, and then things start up for real tomorrow. Can I count on you?”

  “Of course you can.” He meant it too.

  “That means staying until close tonight and being back here by eight tomorrow morning. No skipping out if you get a better offer or to sweet-talk some musician.”

  A spark of fight ignited in his gut. “I know what it means.”

  “Good.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He mimicked her posture. “Good. Now, can we talk about something serious?”

  “You want to talk about something serious? This ought to be good. What’s up?” She cocked a hip, waiting for him to go on.

  “Doc told me he was playing horseshoes with some guys from San Antonio. They’re up for the weekend to bid out a project on the Garcia acreage that just sold.”

  Her brows knit together. “That parcel has been sitting there for years. I didn’t even know if was for sale.”

  “It wasn’t.” Presley leaned closer. “He said somebody’s trying to put in a country and western theme park and a new honky-tonk right next door.”

  Dixie let out a laugh. “That’s crazy. Who would want to do that?”

  Presley lowered his voice. “Someone from southern California.”

  She stopped laughing. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

  “Why not? You’ve got to admit, he doesn’t look like he’s here to jump into the ‘beans or no beans’ debate. Have you asked him what recipe he’s planning on making?”

  “No, but—”

  “Well, I think you ought to find out what he’s really doing in town. My gut tells me he’s up to no good.”

  “Your gut?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you always listen to your gut?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t your gut what got you into trouble in the first place? If you’d kept your gut away from that horrible pig, I wouldn’t be doing the work of two people.”

  “It’s not my gut that got me in trouble there. I was just trying to help out Leoni.”

  “Oh, gosh”—Dixie put her hands over her eyes—“please don’t tell me another part of your anatomy was involved.”

  “Would you cut it out?” He’d hoped to get Leoni’s feedback about his latest creation. But he didn’t want to tell Dixie about that. Nobody around here expected anything from him except to be Good-Time Presley. And he’d enjoyed it. Right up until about a year ago when he’d started to think about what kind of legacy he’d be leaving behind. He was about to give Dixie a piece of his mind, but the sound of her phone’s ringtone caught her attention instead.

  “Hello?” She turned away from him and pressed a hand to her ear, probably trying to cut out the sound of the crowd around them.

  He waited, trying not to listen in on her end of the conversation. Finally, she ended her call.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Now?” Wasn’t she the one moaning to him about not following through on his responsibilities?

  “That was my dad. He needs my help at home.”

  “So you’re just going to run out on me?”

  “It’s my gram. It’s important.” The look in her eye begged him not to pry. “I just have to go. Can you lock up here tonight and I’ll shut down tomorrow?”

  “Is everything okay?” He took a step toward her, but she backed away.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just need to go.”

  Presley let his hand drop. “Okay.”

  She hobbled away in her strappy sandals, not even bothering to look back. He’d let her go tonight. But tomorrow they needed to talk. If something happened to the Rose while he and Dixie were in charge, his family would never take him seriously. And it was high time he started doing that himself.

  Chapter Six

  Dixie hobbled into the emergency room on swollen ankles. If she wasn’t careful, she’d need to be admitted as well. It was bad enough Gram had gotten involved in a fender bender. Her dad had assured her Gram was okay, but since he and her mom were having dinner with the head of their capital campaign, it was up to Dixie to step in and fetch her grandmother.

  “Can I help you?” A gum-smacking candy striper sat at the information desk, more interested in her manicure than helping Dixie locate her errant grandmother.

  “I’m looking for Eugenia Holbein. My dad said she was brought in about an hour ago.”

  Gram’s belly laugh ricocheted down the hall.

  “She’s a hoot.” The candy striper checked her computer screen. “Curtain number four. Do you want me to walk you back?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll just follow the giggles.” Dixie grimaced then moved past the desk. If Gram was laughing, odds were she wasn’t hurt too badly.

  “Why, there you are, Dixie. I’m not surprised your mother and father sent you to pick me up.” Gram sat on the edge of the bed surrounded by a handful of nurses.

  Dixie’s gaze bounced over her. No bandages, no stitches, no outward sign of any injury at all. “Are you okay?” The nurses parted, and Dixie rushed to Gram’s side. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Gram shook her head. “Just a little shaken up, that’s all. Though I wish I could say the same for Old Blue.”

  “Old Blue? Who’s Old Blue?”

  The three nurses launched into a frenzy of activity, making excuses about needing to check on other patients. Within moments Dixie was alone with Gram.

  “Gram, who’s Old Blue?”

  Gram’s mouth turned downward into a sheepish frown. “Old Blue is…well, was…Maybelle’s truck. It was her husband’s pride and joy before he died. But now, well—”

  “Maybelle was with you? Is she okay?” Dixie’s heart spiked. If something had happened to Mrs. Mitchell, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “She’s fine. Wasn’t even in the truck.” Gram patted the spot next to her. “Sit down, child. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Dixie rubbed her breastbone where her heart still beat in triple time. “Tell me what happened.” Her gaze drilled into Gram’s as she scooted her butt onto the bed. “Liza was supposed to get you back and forth to the center tonight. How did you end up in a wreck?”

  “Oh, you know your sister. One of her friends called, and she dumped me at the center and asked if I could find my own way home. I’ve had my eye on that Kermit, so I told her I’d figure out how to catch a ride. Just wasn’t sure if it would be to his place or mine.”

  “Gram!” Dixie wasn’t sure what part made her the most upset—that Liza would leave Gram stranded at the center or that Gram would be so brazen to speak so candidly about her pursuit of Kermit.

  “There may be snow on the roof”—Gram patted her white head of hair—“but there’s still a fire burnin’ in the hearth.”

  Rolling her eyes, Dixie tried to steer t
he conversation back to the events of the evening. “So you took out the truck? You know you’re not supposed to drive.”

  “I was only going down the road. If it hadn’t been hotter than Hades, I would have just walked.”

  “Why did you need to leave the center? You could have called me if you forgot something. I would have brought it to you.”

  Gram patted Dixie’s hand. “The Beer Barn isn’t but a couple hundred yards down the highway. I told Maybelle I’d bring the hooch, but I left it at home.”

  A groan escaped Dixie’s lips. “Oh no. Please tell me you weren’t going to spike the punch.”

  “It was my turn.” Gram shrugged. “You think we go to the center for the fine home cooking? I’d be better off buying one of those TV dinners.” Gram winked. “It’s the sweet tea that’s a draw. We’ve got a schedule and everything.”

  “A schedule for who spikes the tea?” With Dixie’s luck, her gram was the one who’d started it. “Please tell me this wasn’t your idea.”

  “The Senior Sisterhood prevents me from divulging that information.” Gram twisted a pretend key between her lips and tossed it over her shoulder.

  Dixie let out a long sigh. “Oh, Gram.”

  “You just wait until you get as old as me. I’m so sick of everyone treating me like a toddler. Why, even little Bea has more freedom than her great-granny.”

  “That’s not true. Mom and Dad just want to keep you safe. They—”

  “They want to keep me confined to the four walls of my house is what they want. Your daddy cares more about that capital campaign right now than he cares about his own family.”

  “Gram, that’s not fair. Dad needs the money to come through. He’s got people counting on him.”

  “That’s right. We can’t forget about the great people of Holiday, Texas, whose only hope is Pastor King.” Gram shook her head. “Your father has a good heart, honey, but he’s letting politics and red tape color his vision. Has been for the past several years. And your mama, that girl just follows blindly behind him. I thought I raised her to have a mind of her own. Don’t know where I went wrong with that one.”

  “I really don’t think we should be talking about this right now.” Dixie couldn’t fault her gram for pointing out how focused her dad had been on the capital campaign. But Dixie didn’t believe in airing her family’s dirty laundry in someplace as public as Conroe County General. “What do we need to do to get you discharged so I can take you home?”

  Gram pressed the nurse call button. Not two seconds later one of the nurses appeared. “Doctor says you’re all ready to go, Mrs. Holbein.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Gram struggled to her feet. Dixie took her hand and helped her scoot off the edge of the bed.

  “You take care now and no more driving. Doctor’s orders, okay?” The nurse parted the curtain so they could walk through.

  Gram smiled a sugary-sweet grin. “Thanks, sweetheart. You tell the doc I’ll stop driving when he pries the keys to my ’57 Chevy from my gnarled, dead hands.”

  The nurse’s eyes widened. She probably wasn’t used to being told off by someone who looked as innocent as Gram.

  Gram passed by, and Dixie paused in front of the nurse. “I’ll hide them from her, okay?”

  The nurse nodded.

  “I heard that, Dixie Mae. You can try to hide them, but you’ll have to find them first.”

  Dixie clamped her hands to her hips. Her feet hurt, her head spun with all of the information that had been dumped on her tonight, especially that unprecedented kiss from Presley, and her heart clenched as she thought about how she would explain all of this to her parents later. She took in a deep breath, fortifying her resolve for the car ride ahead. Then she half-stomped, half-limped through the sliding-glass door and into the night on the heels of a woman who clearly wouldn’t be afraid of taking on a man like Presley Walker.

  Maybe she could learn a thing or two from her dear old gram.

  * * *

  At eight o’clock the next morning Dixie resumed her position behind the competitor registration table. With the first day of the cook-off stretching ahead of her, she didn’t know what to expect. Competitors had until ten to sign in and get set up. The judges would start making the rounds at four, and the finalists would be announced before the evening concert kicked off at seven. She took a sip of her coffee and eyed a crew headed for the table. At least Presley had shown up this morning. After their exchange last night, she wasn’t sure if she’d inspired him or pissed him off. Maybe a little bit of both. Served him right.

  “Good morning.” She greeted the group sporting pig-printed aprons with a cheery grin. “Are y’all here to sign in?”

  Yes, they were. Along with the dozens of groups that came after them. By the time ten o’clock rolled around, Dixie was ready to stretch her legs and check on the rest of the items on her spreadsheet. As she stood from her seat, she saw Chandler headed her way.

  “Good morning.” He looked even better than he had the night before. A deep-blue T-shirt brought out the color of his eyes. Coupled with the snug jeans and well-worn ropers, he should have been a welcome sight. But after that kiss Presley had laid on her and the concerns he’d voiced about Chandler’s real reason for returning to Holiday, Dixie couldn’t help but view him in a more skeptical light.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “Everything go okay after I headed out of here last night?”

  Dixie shuffled her paperwork into a stack. “We had a few kinks to work out, but all’s well.” She thought about what Presley had said the night before. How could Chandler be involved in any kind of plan to hurt the Rose? He was too—she searched for the right words. Too darn nice.

  “So about that rain check.” He lifted a brow. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. There were a thousand things she should be doing over lunch. Checking in with the competitors, making sure the kitchen staff was keeping up with the lunch orders… “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’d really like to, but there’s too much to do today.”

  “That’s okay. Maybe later on tonight then?”

  Dixie’s shoulders slumped. She should be seizing the opportunity to spend more time with Chandler. It might be the only thing that would distract her from how it felt to have Presley’s lips on hers for real. But it wasn’t likely she’d be any less busy this evening. She should probably just tell him to find someone else to chat up. Between her family obligations and everything she needed to do at the Rose, she didn’t have the time or the energy to entertain a relative stranger. She peeked up at him through her lashes. Not even a handsome, interesting, kind, caring out-of-towner who had no idea she and the local men had given up on each other years ago. It’s not that she didn’t want to find someone to share her life with, but besides Presley, she hadn’t felt much of a spark for anyone else. At least, until now.

  “Or”—his lips split into a dazzling smile—“I could help you.”

  She gaped up at him, stunned by the offer. “Help me?”

  “Sure. I’ve got experience. I’m a project manager by trade. I haven’t actually organized a music festival or chili cook-off, but I’m great at managing details.”

  Oh, that was tempting. Hanging out with Chandler all afternoon would definitely make the time go by faster, not to mention raise the level of enjoyment by about a thousand degrees. Plus maybe she could get Presley off her back if she could steer the conversation toward the potential development next door. She thrust her hand toward Chandler, eager to feel his skin on hers. “You might regret this, but I’m going to take you up on your offer.”

  “If I get to work with you all day, there’s no chance of regret.” His words rolled over her as he took her hand, warming her cheeks and filling her with an almost-forgotten sense of anticipation.

  She pulled her hand back, the feel of
his touch still ricocheting through her system. “Okay then, let’s get started.”

  “What’s first on the list?”

  “The jalapeño-eating contest starts in an hour. I’d better go find Presley and make sure he’s got his checklist so we get it all set up in time.”

  “Right. That’s the illustrious pig fighter from last night.”

  Dixie giggled. A vision of Presley waving a bright-red tablecloth in front of an angry boar played through her mind. “That’s the one.”

  “Did the doctor get him all fixed up?” Chandler put his hand at the small of her back, gently guiding her through the small crowd standing at the edge of the stage.

  “As best as he could. I suppose there are some things about Presley that can’t ever be fixed.” Things like his lackadaisical attitude and his inability to commit to anything more than a day or two ahead. It was a wonder, with all of his faults, that he still managed to get under her skin and invade her dreams at night. Maybe spending time with Chandler would set her straight and flush Presley Walker out of her system once and for all.

  “Well then, the Rose is lucky to have you here to keep things going. Someone said the owner is out of town right now?”

  “That’s right. Beck had to go to New York to accept an award for the Rose’s first craft beer. He had a little trouble on the road, and Charlie flew out to help.” She leaned down to pick up a beer bottle someone had left lying in the grass.

  “They must trust you a lot to leave you in charge.”

  “I suppose.” A tiny seed of anxiety planted itself in her stomach. Were these casual questions? Could Presley’s suspicions be on point?

  “I bet this place does a ton of business.” He glanced at her face, like he wanted to gauge her reaction to the change of subject.

  “Sure. It’s been around forever.”

  “Do you get a lot of tourists in the summer?”

  She decided to keep her answers vague, wanting to see where he’d go with the conversation. “Sure.”

  “Holiday seems like it’s still got tons of charm. Would you say there’s enough to do around here?”