Cowboy Charming

by Dylann Crush

  Chandler walked around the vehicle. “You want to get in and I’ll see if I can push you back over the fence?”

  “I suppose.” She clambered into the driver’s seat once more and slid the stick shift into neutral.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Dixie cringed at the fury in Presley’s voice. She looked over in time to see him closing in on the driver’s-side window. “You want to tell me how my Jeep got hung up on the pigpen?”

  “It was an accident.” She pressed her hands on her face in an attempt to put out the flames burning over her cheekbones. “I told you I didn’t feel comfortable driving your Jeep.”

  “Is there a problem?” Chandler leaned against the hood and faced Presley.

  “Hell yeah, there’s a problem. My Jeep is balancing on the rail of a pigpen.”

  “And as Ms. King said, it was an accident. Why was she driving your vehicle in the first place?”

  “It’s fine. Presley loaned me his Jeep so I could take you on that tour around town.” She didn’t want to admit that she was too embarrassed to cart him around in her hand-me-down minivan.

  “Sorry, Dixie.” Presley shook his head. “Next time we’ll practice more or find you an automatic.”

  “That sounds fair.” Chandler nodded then turned to Presley. “Now, do you want to help me get her off?”

  A naughty smirk lit up Presley’s face. Dixie shook her head in warning, willing Presley not to take that lead and run with it. He cocked a brow and shot her a devilish grin. “Usually I’d say that’s a one-man job, but I think you could use an extra hand in this here situation.”

  Dixie growled, ready to launch herself through the window to strangle him. “Presley, can you please be an adult about this?”

  He tipped the brim of his hat her way. “Your wish is my command. Now why don’t you hold on tight while we two strong, virile men get you off, Ms. King?”

  Chandler let out an uncomfortable laugh, clearly not sure what to make of the banter. Dixie white-knuckled the steering wheel, pretending it was Presley’s neck she gripped between her hands.

  Presley and Chandler put their palms on the front of the hood and pushed. The Jeep rocked backward but didn’t dislodge from the rail.

  “Let’s go again.” Presley nodded toward Chandler. “On three, okay?”

  Chandler glanced up, meeting Dixie’s gaze through the windshield. She mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” hoping he could read her lips through the now dusty, mud-splattered windshield. He grinned back at her, and her chest warmed.

  “Throw it in reverse, will ya?” Presley strained, putting all of his weight against the Jeep.

  Dixie fumbled with the gear shift. The engine groaned and screeched, metal grinding against metal, as the transmission slammed into reverse. She tried to find the balance between easing on the gas and letting go of the clutch.

  “More gas. Give it more,” Presley coached.

  She did. The engine revved. The wheels spun. The Jeep gained purchase and bounced over the fence rail. Dixie let it roll clear then put her foot on the brake and shifted back into neutral, pleased with herself for doing her part. Convinced the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere, she finally looked up, ready to celebrate their minor success. Two strangers stared back at her, covered in mud and muck. Dixie slapped a hand to her mouth to prevent desperate laughter from escaping.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Presley swiped at his face, doing more to spread the mud around than clear it away. “Nice job there, Fireball.”

  She climbed out of the Jeep, letting the door close behind her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spray you with mud.”

  “Nothing a little water won’t wash off.” Chandler didn’t look half as bad as Presley. “Good work.” He held a hand out to Presley.

  Presley shot a glance to Dixie then clasped Chandler’s hand in his. “Thanks for your help.” Presley turned toward Dixie. “Why don’t you go turn the hose on him out back while I see if I can patch up the pigpen? Y’all still have that little tour around town you wanted to take, right?”

  “I’m not sure I should try to take the Jeep again.” Dixie dangled his keys from her finger.

  “We can take my car,” Chandler offered. “Can we stop by the bed-and-breakfast so I can take a quick shower before we go?”

  “Sure. I’ll stay here and help Presley. You want to come back and pick me up—”

  “No.” Presley practically shouted. “No need to stick around. Why don’t you go back with him while he gets cleaned up and I’ll take care of things here?”

  Dixie glared at him. She didn’t need to be seen at the B and B with Chandler. Tongues would be wagging all over town if people saw her riding shotgun with Presley earlier and then caught a glimpse of her going into the B and B with the visitor from California.

  “It would save me a trip back out of town to pick you up.” Chandler shrugged. “What do you say, Dixie?”

  “She says yes,” Presley answered for her. “Now you two kids go on and have fun.”

  Dixie opened her mouth to protest as Presley walked by.

  He tucked his chin against his chest and muttered, “While he’s in the shower, see if you can find any paperwork in his room about why he’s in town.”

  Her fists flew to her hips, and she whispered, “I will not.”

  “I’ve gotta say, you’re not very good at this,” he shot back.

  “I don’t want to be good at this. I’m so far out of my comfort zone right now I feel like I’m on another planet.” Her cheeks burned. Yes, she was happy to help save the Rose. But they had absolutely no proof anything was even going on. And she wasn’t ready to compromise her morals or her dignity on a hunch. At least not any more than she already had.

  “Fine. Then I’ll have to handle things on my own.” His eyes narrowed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pigpen to patch.”

  Dixie moved out of his way.

  “We still on for that tour?” Chandler ambled over, the warm grin on his face a welcome distraction.

  “Sure. Why don’t we head to the B and B? I’ve got a few things I can take care of in town while you change into some fresh clothes.”

  “Sounds good.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and handed them to her along with his phone. “Do you mind holding onto these for me for a minute? I think I’d better find that hose Presley mentioned. I drove my uncle’s Caddy into town, and he’d kill me if I got mud all over his white leather seats.”

  “Sure, it’s just around the corner.” She pointed to the back of the building. “I’ll go grab you a towel.”

  Chandler took off around the corner of the building, leaving Dixie standing there wondering. Could the uncle he mentioned be the investor Doc had warned them about? She shook the thought out of her head almost as soon as it appeared. No. Presley had to be wrong. And she’d prove it to him.

  But how?

  * * *

  Presley stomped all the way to the pole barn the Rose used for storage. Then he stomped some more. He wasn’t sure what had him more upset—having to patch up the pigpen Dixie had crashed through, the fact she didn’t believe him about SoCal, or the realization that he’d developed a crippling case of jealousy ever since they’d locked lips.

  The guy’s sudden reappearance at the Rose after all these years couldn’t be a coincidence. He was up to something, and it couldn’t be good. There was no way he was an aspiring chili cook-off competitor. He was staying at the bed-and-breakfast, for crap’s sake. Every other competitor traveled with a trailer full of gear and had either pitched a tent or set up their camper in the back field. It was only a matter of time before SoCal revealed his true intentions, and Presley planned on being there when he did.

  But first, to secure the pig. They’d had enough trouble over the years with Pork Chop’s predecessor escaping and terrorizing Conroe County t
hat Presley knew he had to make that priority number one. If only Dixie were more willing to work with him on getting to the bottom of the potential investor scheme. He shook his head. Didn’t matter. He’d handle it on his own. He didn’t need her help.

  Fifteen minutes later he made his way back to the pigpen empty-handed. How could they not have a single piece of lumber he could use to patch up the fence? Angelo had secured a lead to Pork Chop’s collar and the other end to a fence post. That would work for about another ten minutes. Even as he stood at the fence, thinking about his options, Pork Chop nibbled on the nylon lead. Damn pig. He didn’t have time to track down a piece of wood—they had a festival to run. That left him with only one feasible option. He’d have to get the pig to his folks’ house. They had plenty of room there to pen her for a day or two until he had a chance to patch things up.

  His gaze skimmed over the parking lot. Charlie’s truck was parked back at her place, and Beck had taken the trailer with him on his road trip to New York. Sure, he could probably find someone inside who could loan him a pickup for an hour. But that would require entering the building. In his present mud-covered state, he’d prefer to keep to himself.

  “Come on, girl.” He made his way through the pen toward Pork Chop. “You want to ride shotgun in a Jeep?”

  She was surprisingly accommodating for a change, nudging her snout against his jeans, probably searching for a treat.

  “I’ve got nothing for you. But if we can get out of here without causing a scene, I promise I’ll find you something once we get you settled.”

  Pork Chop grunted, and he chose to take that as agreement. He untied the lead from the post and gave it a gentle tug. Pork Chop ambled along behind him toward the Jeep. Should he try to stuff her in the back, or would she be better off riding shotgun? Jinx had managed to cram her in the front seat of her vehicle last fall. But that was before Pork Chop had gotten so big. He eyed the small cargo area.

  “What’s your plan?” Angelo watched from the back steps of the Rose.

  “What’s it look like?” Presley reached the passenger side.

  Angelo tucked a hand towel into his waistband. “Hell if I know. You taking a new girl out on the town?”

  “Ha. That’s a good one.” He grinned and clucked his tongue. “Now get down here and help me shove this gal into the front seat, will ya?”

  “You’re joking.”

  Presley took in a breath and rose to his full height. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “You’re going to get your seats all dirty.”

  “My seat’s already full of mud. What’s a little more?”

  Angelo rounded the Jeep and cocked a brow. “You’re telling me you’re going to put that pig in your Jeep?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Dude, you are nuttier than a squirrel turd.”

  “Just hoist her up there, will ya?” Presley leaned down to get his hands under Pork Chop’s front end. Angelo shook his head but bent over to grab the back half. “On three, okay?”

  Angelo nodded, his face cheek to cheek with the business end of Pork Chop’s backside.

  “One, two, three.”

  With a grunt, they levered the pig up. She squealed as her feet left the ground and kicked out in protest.

  “Hang onto her.” Presley scrambled to retain his hold.

  The pig rose into the air. Once she had her front feet on the seat, Presley moved around back to help Angelo finish the job. Pork Chop fell into the Jeep snout first. Her head bumped the steering wheel, setting off the loud blare of the horn.

  “Dammit, get her off the horn. Everyone’s going to hear all this ruckus.” Presley tried to wedge a hand in between Pork Chop and the wheel without success.

  Angelo backed away. “Looks like you’re all set. I just remembered I’ve got some biscuits in the oven. I’d better get back inside and check on ’em.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Presley waved him on. “Go ahead.” Angelo was as likely to actually have biscuits in the oven as Presley was to be on his way to church.

  He tried adjusting the pig. She turned around, her rump bumping against the horn once more.

  “Settle down, girl.” Presley slapped his palm against the dash. “You don’t have to pitch a hissy fit.”

  By the time he got the pig buckled in, quite a crowd of onlookers had gathered on the front porch of the Rose, exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. Pork Chop had probably summoned all of them by honking the damn horn. He backed into the parking lot and turned the Jeep around.

  “What are all y’all looking at?” He gave them his best ain’t-got-a-care-in-the-world grin. “Haven’t you ever seen a pig riding shotgun?” Before anyone could give him hell, he let the tires spin in the gravel and fishtailed toward the road. Charlie had better appreciate what he was going through for her.

  His cell rang. Speak of the devil. Charlie.

  “Hey, Sis. How’s it going?” He tried to sound casual. No need to tell her he’d been skin to skin with her favorite waitress an hour ago.

  “Good. Beck’s fine, and we got Baby Back settled.”

  “How’s my nephew enjoying being on the road?”

  Charlie groaned. “Baby Sully’s just like his grandpa—he’s not enjoying being far from home.”

  “Sounds like both of his grandpas.” Presley chuckled to himself.

  “How are things going there?”

  Should he tell her he was on his way to Mom and Dad’s with her pig in the front seat? Because her employee crashed his Jeep through the pigpen? While she was trying to out an investor who had secret plans to build a country and western theme park and competing honky-tonk in their backyard?

  No. He could handle this. He would handle it. Anything he told Charlie would just get her all strung out. When there was nothing she could do about it from so far away, what was the point? He’d have to convince Dixie to take another shot at cracking SoCal for info.

  “Everything’s going great here.”

  “Are you and Dixie getting along?” Her voice dropped a notch at the end, leaving him no doubt she had no faith in his ability to work with Dixie Mae King unless she was there to supervise.

  His gut hitched into a bowline knot, and he tried to laugh off her concern. “Of course. I can get along with anyone, you know that.”

  “Presley…” She sounded way too much like Ma when she did that.

  “Honest. We’re staying out of each other’s way. It’s all good.”

  “Okaaaaaaaay…”

  Obviously she didn’t believe him. Time to change the subject. “Hey, I’m about to pull into Mom and Dad’s, so I’m going to let you go. Give Sully a big hug from me. And give your hubby a big wet one.”

  Charlie laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m serious.”

  “I will, I will. Relax and try to enjoy yourself a little bit at the award ceremony. Dixie and I have everything under control.”

  “All right. Thanks again for stepping up. I’ll check in again in a day or two. Love you, Pres.”

  “Love you too.” He ended the call. Everything was under control. That wasn’t the first lie he’d told today. His mom had always warned him telling lies was like throwing a boomerang. The better you got at it, the more likely they were to come right back at you and thump you upside the head.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dixie sat with her back pressed against the high-back chair in the formal sitting room of the bed-and-breakfast. Her toes didn’t touch the ground, and it made her feel like a child to have her feet swinging out in front of her, like she was sitting in one of those big, oversized Adirondack chairs she’d seen at a gift shop down in Galveston. She’d planned on walking down the main street to get a few errands done while Chandler got cleaned up, but then she got trapped by conversation. Mrs. Knotts smiled at her
over her glass of tea. Dixie smiled back. If she drank any more tea today, she’d absolutely explode.

  “It’s so nice of you to take Chandler on a tour of town.” Mrs. Knotts took a dainty draw on her straw.

  Dixie crossed her ankles. “It’s the least I can do now that he’s back. He seems to have grown into a nice guy.”

  Mrs. Knotts arched a brow. “And very good-looking, I might add.”

  The sip of tea she’d just taken diverted down her windpipe, and Dixie coughed. Tea sprayed from between clenched lips. She was used to people giving her a hard time about her perpetual single status at the bar. But she hadn’t expected the local lodging owner to get in on the action. While she reached for a napkin, Dixie summoned her composure.

  “Oh, honey”—Mrs. Knotts swatted at Dixie’s knee—“you know everyone around here is just pulling for you to find your own special someone.”

  Everyone around here. Since when did her love life, or lack thereof, become the preferred talk of the town? She took the high road—meaning she chose to completely ignore the comment. “He’s interested in getting reacquainted with Holiday.”

  Mrs. Knotts nodded. “It’s so nice he found his way back here after all these years. Why, he’s been full of questions since he arrived.”

  “Really? What kind of questions?” She leaned forward, eager to find out if Mrs. Knotts would say anything to add to Presley’s mistrust. Immediately, she righted herself and let her back rest against the chair. Presley had his suspicions. But what had Chandler done so far? Shown some interest in the town. That wasn’t a crime. Besides, he was the first man in quite some time to show any kind of interest in her. She wouldn’t believe the worst about him without some kind of proof.

  “He’s been asking about the tourists that come to the Rose. Whether it’s a big draw, if we’re busy year-round, if there are other lodging options around.” She set her glass down on a handmade doily, like the ones Mrs. Mitchell tried to teach Gram to make once. “I didn’t think much of it at first, but when he started asking about hotels and whether I thought Holiday could support another bed-and-breakfast, I had to bite my tongue. Jim and I have had the only B and B in town for so long. I suppose it’s not very friendly of me, but I decided not to offer him a second helping of my huckleberry cobbler.”