Cowboy Charming

by Dylann Crush

  The tight-lipped smile he gave her belied the level of enthusiasm he attempted with words. “That would be great.”

  “Oh, to your right we’ve got part of the Walker ranch. They’ve got one of the largest cattle operations in the Hill Country.”

  “Walker…” Chandler’s brow furrowed.

  “Yep. Charlie Walker owns the Rose. Although she married Beck Holiday a few years ago, so she’s technically a Holiday now. And then there’s the rest.”

  “The rest?” Chandler cast a quick glance her way.

  “Poor Charlie has five brothers: Waylon, Cash, Statler, Strait, and Presley.” As Presley’s name rolled off her lips, her chest tightened.

  “Presley Walker, the local pig wrangler and pepper eater, right?”

  Dixie’s skin prickled. Why did she suddenly feel the need to defend the man she’d locked lips with earlier? She didn’t owe Presley anything, much less a loyal word, but it still chafed her that Chandler would mock one of Holiday’s own.

  “He’s much better at his real job.”

  “Which is?”

  “Liquor rep. He’s the right guy to know if you’re wondering what the most popular flavored vodka is.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He covered her hand with his on the seat between them. She waited for the same sort of tingles she felt at Presley’s touch, but the only sensation she had was the weight of his hand on hers. “What’s that over there?”

  She tore her gaze away from their hands. “Oh, that’s Kermit’s place. He’s got a Christmas tree farm on most of his land and runs a tiny conservation effort on the rest.”

  “Oh yeah. I think I remember cutting down a tree there a time or two. As I recall, a little sliver of his property runs right by the Rose.”

  “That’s right. Folks have been after him for years to sell.” Should she share her dreams with Chandler, or would he think they were silly? He said he had development experience. Wouldn’t hurt to get his professional opinion. Dixie swallowed her apprehension. This weekend was about taking chances. “I think it would be the perfect spot for a little retail place.”

  “Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?” His smile of encouragement opened the floodgates.

  “A place where local artists can work and sell their wares. Kind of a combination of studio and retail. I’ve seen that done in other towns and have always thought it would be a hit in Holiday.”

  “Are you an artist?”

  She shrugged. “Kind of. I make jewelry. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets.” She dangled her wrist in front of him. Her silver chain bracelet slid down her arm.

  “Nice. I just wonder if Holiday has the kind of traffic to support an effort like that.”

  “I’ve sold some online. But I’d love to go full time and find a way to showcase other local artists.” Dixie’s lips screwed into a frown. “Maybe it would work out, maybe not. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway since Kermit’s not planning on selling. He runs a conservation effort on the rest of his property and is pretty committed to it.”

  Chandler’s patronizing smile faded into a slight frown. “What kind of conservation effort?”

  “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She could hardly believe it herself. But a few of Gram’s friends had decided that due to the lack of eligible elder bachelors, Kermit had become target numero uno for the desperate set of older women in town. They’d been taking turns pestering him for the past six months by bringing him home-cooked meals twice a week. Gram had even joined in on the effort, and last time she went out there she spent a couple of hours hearing all about Kermit’s commitment to save the local horned toad population.

  “Try me.” He slowed the car to a crawl.

  “You asked for it.” Dixie twisted to face him. “Kermit is committed to saving Holiday’s population of horned toads.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “What exactly is a horned toad?” He didn’t look like he believed her.

  “They’re actually not a toad at all. The Texas horned lizard is the state reptile, and populations have been declining for the past several years. Kermit’s doing his best to turn that around. He’s got a good heart. I just don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep going.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  “Well, he’s had some health concerns. Nothing major, but being out on that land all by himself…traipsing through the weeds and marshes and working with those lizards can’t be easy on him.”

  Chandler tapped a finger against his lips. “Has he thought about moving into town?”

  “Kermit?” Dixie tried to picture the reclusive older man living near other people. “You’d have to drag him out of there by what’s left of his hair. Gram said Kermit will probably leave his land to the toads along with a trust to make sure they can keep up on the taxes for years to come.”

  “Oh”—Chandler shot her a glance full of concern—“we can’t have that.”

  “We can’t?” Where was this we coming from? And why the concern over what Kermit would do with his property?

  “No. Poor guy. Sounds to me like he really needs to be closer to town if his health is deteriorating.”

  “Maybe.” The skepticism she’d been tamping down bloomed in her chest.

  “How much do you think his land is worth? Maybe he could sell it, buy a nice place in town with a pond for his toads, and then you wouldn’t have to waste any more of your energy worrying about him.”

  She bit back the response that almost flew out of her mouth.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” His hand covered hers again.

  She fought the urge to give him a piece of her mind. In a voice dripping with more syrupy sweetness than her mama’s bourbon brown sugar maple brown betty, she asked, “Then how exactly did you mean it?”

  “Just that I can tell Kermit is a special member of the community. I’d hate to think concern for his welfare was causing you any kind of distress, especially since you have so many other things to keep track of…like the Rose.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Not completely sold on his flimsy explanation, Dixie tried to steer the conversation to more stable ground. “Hey, there’s something you probably don’t see in California. Up ahead on your right, we’ve got Sage’s rattlesnake farm.”

  “I don’t remember that from when I was a kid. She actually farms rattlesnakes?”

  “She breeds them. Some people like a little rattlesnake every once in a while. Plus there’s a big market for snakeskin boots.” A shiver flowed through him, all the way to where his hand still covered hers.

  “Does she ever lose track of a snake or two?”

  “You mean do any of them ever escape?” He nodded. “Rarely. But if they do, she’s usually pretty quick to track them down. You know what? We should stop in.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. Don’t you need to get back to the Rose?”

  “I’m sure Presley has things well under control. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the opportunity to hold a real live rattlesnake during your visit to Texas.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Dixie decided to push it. If Chandler wanted info on Kermit’s land so badly, this would be one way to find out. “She and Kermit go way back. I know she’s helped him with his horned toad efforts. She might have a better idea of whether he’s ever talked about moving into town.”

  “Well…” His foot eased off the gas. “For your peace of mind, it might be worth a conversation, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Dixie squeezed his hand, enjoying the almost-palpable shift in power. If Presley was onto something, this would be her chance to either prove him wrong or jump on the crazy train right behind him.

  Chandler pulled into the gravel drive leading to Sage’s place. With any luck,
the next half hour would either confirm everything Presley had been spouting off about or prove she should try to enjoy Chandler’s attention without fearing any ulterior motives. Even though she’d never been much for gambling, she hedged her bets. As far as she was concerned, all signs pointed to Chandler being just an interested tourist with a tie to the town. She envisioned how it would feel to tell Presley once and for all to lay off. Relief and a little something that felt like disappointment flitted through her gut. She shook them off. Putting Presley in his place would be oh so satisfying. She hoped that for once in her life, the stars would align in her favor.

  * * *

  Presley nursed another beer. Where the hell was Dixie Mae King? He’d tried her cell with no answer. She wasn’t responding to text messages. Boss Hawg and the Scallywags had been onstage for almost an hour. Any minute now, they’d wrap up their set and he and Leoni would meet up at the bar for their little fiddlin’ rendezvous. His pulse ratcheted up as he tried to picture her reaction to his homemade instrument. He’d gone home to grab it and had it sitting in his truck. If any of the guys around the Rose found out about his secret obsession, he’d never hear the end of it. How would it look for Holiday’s resident playboy to admit all he wanted in life was the feel of hand-hewn wood under his chin and catgut strings under his fingers? Carrying on his granddad’s vision of creating the best fiddles for the best country artists had become his dream.

  Strains from the last song faded away, replaced by the cheers of the crowd. Presley ambled onto the stage as the band filed past him.

  Leoni gave him a wink then whacked him on the ass with her bow. “I’m going to go hop in the shower. Meet you up at the bar in a few?”

  He smiled. “You bet.”

  She skipped away while he grabbed for the mic. “Thanks, everyone, for coming out. We’ve got one more band tonight. I hope you’ll all stick around for the Texas Twister Sisters. We’ll take a short break and be back with you in a few.”

  Presley stepped out of the way as the crew swapped out the set. If Dixie didn’t show up soon, he might have to postpone his meeting with Leoni. He was ready to make a move and figure out his future. With the opportunity to get some feedback from one of the best fiddle players he’d seen in his own lifetime, he couldn’t toss that away.

  Maybe Shep wanted to make his debut as the closing emcee for the festival tonight. The Texas Twister Sisters were the last act for the night. A smile played across Presley’s lips as he recalled the last time they’d been in town. Not only were they sisters, they were twins. That had been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. With a purpose in his step, he scrambled down the stairs and headed to the bar.

  A few minutes later, he’d worked his way through the crowd and stood at the end of the long wooden counter. Shep lifted his chin, acknowledging his presence. Things had picked up inside while Presley had been down by the stage. Hopefully the fire chief didn’t stop in tonight. He’d be likely to shut them down for being over capacity. Charlie would be thrilled at the turnout. He put his foot on the footrest of the stool next to him and rose up to snap a picture of the crowd to text it to her.

  As he pressed Send, an incoming text popped up on his screen. Dixie…finally.

  Dixie: Sorry for the delay. I’ll be back soon. We need to talk. I think you’re right about Chandler.

  Presley: Where have you been? I’ve got plans tonight.

  Dixie: Cancel. This is important.

  A growl rumbled through his chest. Cancel? What right did she have to make him call off what promised to be an important night?

  Presley: Not an option. Get back here and we’ll talk tomorrow.

  He tucked his phone in his back pocket, satisfied he’d told her. His phone dinged again. He chose to ignore it. Tomorrow would be soon enough to respond.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Shep finally made his way down the bar. “How are things out by the stage?”

  “Good, real good. In fact”—Presley leaned over the bar—“I was wondering if you wanted to close down the stage for me after the last set?”

  Shep barked out a laugh. “You’re joking.”

  Presley shook his head back and forth.

  “I’m not much for speaking in public, you know. You got the gift of the gab, and seems I got stuck with the gift of running up people’s tabs.” He shrugged.

  “Wow, the rhyming bartender. Seems unfair to deprive the crowd of someone with so much talent.”

  “Nice try.” Shep swatted at him with the bar towel he pulled off his shoulder. “But still…no. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got about five thousand more beers to pull before I get to go home tonight.”

  Presley’s butt dinged. Damn, Dixie. He was about to reach for his phone when he spotted Leoni. She lifted an arm and waved to him over the crowd. Maybe he could have the best of both worlds. A quick check at his watch showed he had about forty-five minutes to kill before he’d have to wrap up the stage. Plenty of time to show her his fiddle. He pushed off the bar and cut through the throng.

  As he reached Leoni, she lifted to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. She smelled earthy, like musk and something subtly sweet and seductive. Usually that would have him more interested in fiddlin’ around than showing an attractive woman his fiddle. But she was taken, and this was business.

  “My fiddle’s out in the parking lot. You ready to go take a look?” he asked.

  He felt her agreement in the nod against his chest. With his hand at the small of her back, he guided her toward the door. The air seemed to drop a dozen degrees as they pushed through the front door onto the porch.

  Cash looked up from where he was bent over an ID. “You takin’ off?”

  Presley twitched under his older brother’s gaze. “Nope. Not until Dixie gets back. Unless”—he sidled up next to Cash—“you want to close down the stage and lock up tonight?”

  Cash’s stare could have burned holes through a Kevlar vest. “I’ve got a pregnant wife and a daughter at home. I promised Charlie I’d stick around until eleven, but then I’m outta here, so don’t go getting any big ideas, okay?”

  “Just trying to give you an opportunity to connect with people in a positive way for a change.” Presley clapped his brother on the back.

  “If I decide I need your help with my public persona, you’ll be the first to know. Now get out of the way—you’re holding things up.” People were still lined up, waiting to get in. Tonight would be one for the record books.

  “Everything okay?” Leoni asked.

  “Yeah, just fine. Seems I have an obligation that will cut our time together short.”

  She smiled up at him. “That’s all right. Shouldn’t take me but a few minutes to give you an opinion.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. What do you say we head to my Jeep and check out the fiddle then?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They reached the Jeep, and Presley pulled his case out of the back. A ripple of apprehension snaked through him. What if she told him his fiddle was crap? What if he got so nervous he fumbled the bow? What if she laughed at his dream of quitting his job and working with the strings for a living?

  Only one way to find out. He set the case on the front seat and unclasped the hinge. As he took in a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lifted the lid.

  Leoni laughed.

  She hated it. Could tell it sucked just by looking at it. Presley’s eyes flew open. What the hell? His case didn’t hold a fiddle at all. Nestled inside, tucked in among the red velvet interior, sat a rubber chicken.

  “Dammit.” Presley grabbed the fake chicken by the neck and flung it to the ground.

  Her mouth quirked into a grin. “I take it that’s not what you wanted to show me.”

  He hung his head. “I�
�m sorry. Someone must have played a joke on me.”

  “If you find your real fiddle, I’ll be happy to take a look. Right now I think there’s a barstool with my name on it.” She pointed toward the porch of the Rose.

  “Yeah, sorry to waste your time.”

  She nodded as she gave his arm a squeeze then turned on her heel and stalked back toward the Rose.

  “Aw, hell.” Presley scuffed his boot, kicking up a cloud of dust in the gravel. His phone rang. What now? Wondering how the evening could get any worse, he answered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Why in the world haven’t you gotten back to me yet?” Dixie snapped through the phone. Thank goodness she was still a few miles away. If she’d been able to get her hands on Presley in that moment, she might be tempted to do something absolutely unladylike.

  “I’ve been busy handling things at the Rose. Where are you? You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

  She clamped a hand to her hip in an effort to keep her tone civil. “We’re stranded out at Sage’s. Chandler ran over a stake, and his tire went flat. I need you to come get us.”

  Presley’s tone turned patronizing. “I’m so sorry, Fireball. Doesn’t SoCal know how to change a tire? Or is he afraid he’ll get his khakis dirty?”

  “The spare’s flat too. If you could just pick us up and run Chandler back to town—”

  He interrupted her. “Excuse me, but what exactly makes you think that’s my responsibility? Call Dwight—he’s the one with the tow truck.”

  Oh, the man irritated her something fierce. “I did call Dwight. He’s about ten sheets to the wind.” She gave Chandler a reassuring smile and turned away to mutter under her breath. “And it’s your fault we’re out here anyway.”

  “My fault?” Presley asked.

  “We can talk about that later.” Dixie let out a little laugh, trying to assure Chandler all was well. “Right now we just need a ride.” Did he think she wanted to call and ask him for anything? But who else could she call this late? Not her parents. Her sister was probably sound asleep next to Bea. Gram wasn’t supposed to drive anymore, and Charlie was out of town. Besides, it was Presley’s fault she was in this predicament.