Hard Loving Cowboy--Includes a bonus novella

by A. J. Pine

  “You’re only calling to invite me to dinner. I figured you understood that no response meant no, thank you.”

  “What happened to your hand?” Jack asked.

  Walker shrugged. “Had a disagreement with a door.”

  Luke gave him a single nod. “Can’t say I haven’t been there before. You win?” The corner of his brother’s mouth turned up.

  Walker scratched the back of his neck. Enough with the games. “Either of you want to tell me what this is about, or do I need to keep spinnin’ my wheels and asking questions? Because I got better shit to do than hang around with you assholes.”

  “Assholes, huh?” Luke said. “It’s a shame you had to say that. We mighta gone easy on you if you’d been a little nicer, right, Jack?”

  Jack shook his head, a hint of a smile slipping through his stoic expression. “Now when the hell has our little brother ever been nice?”

  Before Walker had time to react, Luke stepped aside to reveal Jack shaking and then pointing what looked like a bottle of champagne at him, but he knew his brothers weren’t dick enough to spray him full of alcohol when, despite his own doubts along with everyone else’s, he’d made it—hell, how long had he made it?

  “What the—” But his words were cut off with a point-blank spray of cold, fizzy liquid right at his face. And his torso. Pretty much up and down his entire body.

  He tried to wipe his eyes, but his hands were as wet and sticky as the rest of him. So he blinked away the mess as best he could and spit out what got into his mouth.

  Grape juice. Sparkling white grape juice.

  “What. The hell. Are you doing?” He wasn’t yelling. He was too much in shock to yell. But seriously. He woke up this morning to get shit done at the vineyard, and this was the thanks he got?

  Jack stuck the empty bottle under one arm and wiped his hands on his jeans. Luke handed Walker a towel they must have had at the ready because of course this was a premeditated act. Walker just couldn’t figure out why.

  “One hundred days,” Jack said, and Walker could have sworn his oldest brother sounded choked up. This was saying a lot considering Jack was the rock. He was the one who held it together for all of them from the moment their mother’s casket was lowered into the earth all the way until now.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked. Shit, he was soaked. The towel was worthless.

  Luke grabbed the bottle from Jack and slapped it against Walker’s torso.

  “A hundred days sober, little bro.” Luke winked. “Well, until now.”

  His brothers stood there, staring at him, until it sunk in.

  Walker’s eyes had always been on making it one more day. He hadn’t thought there’d been enough one-more-days to hit any sort of milestone yet. At the same time a part of him had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to push him back over the edge. He’d flat out told Jack sobriety wouldn’t work that morning in the jail cell, and despite what he’d apparently accomplished, he still didn’t know who he was without the bottle.

  But he’d been sober for a hundred days. And after their less-than-subtle chaperoning and what he thought was an inability to trust him to make it this far, he’d proved them wrong.

  Maybe they’d believed in him all along.

  After two months of inpatient treatment, all Walker thought he’d wanted was to fly solo and stay under the radar. But maybe having these two in his corner wasn’t so bad after all.

  “You assholes have been counting?” he asked, but the anger had already disappeared from his voice. He found a rogue dry corner of his shirt and wiped it across his face.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “We’re counting, and we’re damned proud of you. But we’re also your brothers, and we don’t buy gifts and shit.”

  Walker shook his head, a devious grin spreading across his face.

  “You know what? I wanna feel the love, Jack.” He opened his arms wide. “Come give your brother a goddamned hug.”

  Jack held his hands up in surrender. “I have a meeting, Walker. I seriously do in, like, thirty minutes.”

  Walker shrugged. “And now I gotta shower before and after I do the damned cover crop. We all have to make sacrifices, big bro.”

  He barreled toward his brother, and because it was always two against one, Luke grabbed Jack from behind and pinned him in place until Walker smacked against him in a grape juice–dripping embrace.

  “Assholes,” Jack said. But he was laughing.

  And then Walker realized he and his brothers were kind of, sort of, in a group hug, which was something they hadn’t done since…ever. The situation had quickly changed from brotherly hazing to something a lot like affection, which—once again—was untread ground for all three of them.

  Most likely coming to the same conclusion at the same time, the three men broke apart as quickly as they came together.

  Walker tilted his head toward the sky and caught the clouds rolling in.

  “Looks like the rain is coming quicker than we thought,” Jack said.

  The air was thick with humidity, but any warmth he’d felt at the sun first peeking through the clouds was gone. The temperature felt like it had already dropped ten degrees. Walker knew his window for getting the tilling done was a narrow one. So he pulled off his wet shirt and tossed it over the fence.

  “No sense in going back to shower if the sky’s gonna open up on me.” Walker nodded toward both his brothers. “You’re both still assholes—but thanks, I guess.”

  He didn’t wait for them to respond, partly because he had to beat the rain and partly because he needed time to digest what had just taken place, what it meant that he’d made it this far and that the two people he thought had the least faith in him to succeed had placed their bets on him to come out the victor all along. So he lowered the roller-crimper off the truck and under the fence, hopped over it himself, then took to getting the soil’s cover crop ready for the rain.

  It was three hours later when he left the crimper under a tarp—courtesy of Luke—inside the fence. Since they’d stolen the piece of equipment from him in the first place, his brothers offered to pick it back up when one of them had the time. So Walker grabbed his shirt, now stiff with the drying juice, threw it over his shoulder, and began the walk back to the ranch.

  Of course, that was exactly when the sky decided it had held out long enough.

  A heavy, thick drop of water pelted him in the back of the neck. Then one on his shoulder. His forehead. Before he knew it, it was an all-out downpour, the grass growing slippery as soil turned to mud. He stepped quickly yet carefully, but it didn’t matter. There was no such thing as careful when the path before him was nature’s Slip ’N Slide. Soon he was flat on his back, the sticky spray of sparkling juice long washed away in the torrent, but he was far from clean.

  He hadn’t thought he’d make it a week let alone a hundred days. Maybe the guy he’d pretended to be for Violet really was him. Maybe what she saw in him was more than an act. Maybe he wasn’t the busted-up mess in the photo anymore. But he’d been too chicken shit to admit why.

  Violet. She saw in him what he never knew was there. But Jack and Luke saw it, too, now. It was about damned time Walker started seeing it himself.

  He stood up laughing, his torso and jeans covered in mud, and somehow made it the rest of the way to his truck without falling again. The vehicle might have been a hundred years old, but it still pained him to think about the work it would take to clean the upholstery after today so that he’d be able to ride in it again. But he couldn’t worry about that now. He needed to get the hell out of the rain and into a damned shower already.

  He could barely see through his windshield as he rolled down Oak Bluff Way, but he saw enough to know that parking wouldn’t be easy. It looked like every tourist and resident combined had rushed to the heart of town to escape the weather. The only spot he could find was two blocks past Lucinda’s antiques shop—his current residence—and the Oak Bluff Bed and
Breakfast.

  Of course the downpour lasted the couple of minutes it took him to drive into town and park. Once he stepped out of the truck, it had already eased to a steady drizzle, making the car he’d parked behind easier to see. A silver MINI Cooper.

  Looked like his and Violet’s paths were finally going to cross. He blew out a breath, then shook his hair out like a wet dog trying to dry off its coat and strode down Oak Bluff’s main drag in nothing but his mud-splattered jeans.

  Shop doors opened and people emerged from their shelters to get on with their days as he made his way toward the antiques shop. Some of the locals simply waved and offered a chuckle along with “Good morning, Everett,” while others stared at him like he was the Swamp Thing.

  He guessed it wasn’t that much of a shock. They’d seen him in much worse shape than this. The only difference was him being sober enough to notice their stares. A hundred days sober enough. They all probably thought he was still on a bender from the night before. Why the hell else would he be walking through town half-naked and covered in mud? He didn’t give a shit what they knew or what they didn’t. Because he knew.

  Walker stopped midstep and pushed his hands through his drenched and muddied hair. A chill ran through his body, straight to his bones. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been soaked through like this before, and the rain must have made the temperature drop another five degrees. It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered.

  A hundred days. Shit. He hadn’t had enough faith in himself to think he’d last a hundred minutes. But here he fucking was.

  “Walker?” a woman called, her voice tentative. But he knew that voice, even after days of not hearing it.

  He turned and realized he was standing right in front of the B and B. Violet was approaching the edge of the property clad in a yellow raincoat and knee-high rain boots, with a dog leash in her hand, the other end connected to the collar of Oak Bluff’s best-known German shepherd, Dixie—the second of two very important females in the life of one Sheriff Cash Hawkins.

  “You walking Dixie in the rain?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms, leash still in hand. “That’s how you greet a girl after not seeing her for four days?”

  He took a step closer, not forgetting that he was wearing a hell of a lot less clothing than she was.

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and he didn’t even try to hide the satisfaction in his smile.

  “Hello, Violet,” he said coolly. “You walking Dixie in the rain?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m walking Dixie because I wanted to get out and stretch my legs during the dry spell before the rain hit again. Been holed up with Ava all week finalizing details for the wedding, helping her put together proposed vintage lists to sell to local restaurants, and I’m on desk duty the rest of the day at the B and B, which’ll be teeming with patrons once the second wave of storms hits. Supposed to be a really wet day, so I figured I better get out while I can. Dixie wanted to tag along.”

  He looked her up and down, taking in her appearance.

  “You’re damned beautiful bundled up like that.”

  Her face was shadowed but he could still see her cheeks go pink.

  “And you’re half-naked and covered in mud,” she said. “What the hell happened to you?”

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Everything, Teach.” Then he pushed her hood down, cradled the back of her head in his palm, and kissed her right there in front of anyone who wanted to get a good look.

  All his worry about how he and Violet were supposed to act when they saw each other again fell away. He didn’t need to put a label on it or tell her it was real. All he needed was her lips on his. And from the way she kissed him back, it felt like this was exactly what she’d needed, too.

  Dixie barked, and Walker released Violet and stepped back. Her eyes were wide, her fingertips searching for something on her freshly kissed lips.

  Behind her on the front porch of the bed-and-breakfast stood Olivia Belle and Lily Green, mouths agape.

  He tipped his nonexistent hat and grinned. “Mornin’, ladies.” His eyes found Violet’s again. “And you have yourself a good walk, Ms. Chastain.”

  Dixie barked again, and Walker laughed.

  Then he strode around Lucinda’s Antiques, up the back steps, and into his apartment.

  A hundred days.

  This town and its ghosts might still have a grip on him, but maybe he wasn’t so lost anymore.

  He stood in the shower, palm braced against the tile, as steam filled the bathroom and the hot spray washed away the morning and maybe even much of the past year—at least the parts he remembered. He let the water beat down on him until it ran cool before he finally shut it off and wrapped a towel around his hips.

  He wasn’t sorry about the stunt he pulled with Violet. The second he saw her, he’d needed his mouth on hers. Based on the way her lips parted and her tongue tangled with his, he’d guessed the feeling was mutual. Eventually they’d have to address whatever it was they were avoiding, but for now he’d settle for the lingering taste of her.

  He pulled the bathroom door open as an ear-splitting “SQUAWK!” sounded from down the hall, causing him to nail himself in the temple with the corner of the door.

  “Christ,” he hissed. “Damn it, Jenna!” he yelled louder, making sure his aunt could hear him. Seemed like his apartment belonged to everyone but him. That was it. As soon as his aunt left—which was going to be very soon—he was heading to the hardware store to buy a new lock. This time he’d only make one key.

  He stormed into the kitchen to find Jenna setting the table and her so-called psychic chicken pecking around the floor.

  “Sorry!” She smiled at him nervously. “But Lucy hopped in the car with me without even asking. I wasn’t planning on bringing her. But your brothers reminded me what day it was and told me you most likely got caught in the rain, so I brought you some homemade tomato soup so you don’t catch your death.”

  He blew out a breath, his annoyance lessening. But he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being right.

  “It’s spring in California. Even when it’s cold, it’s not that cold.” He raised his brows. “And I thought that’s what chicken soup was for.”

  Jenna gasped, then reached down to cup Lucy’s—ears? Did chickens have ears? He thought maybe she didn’t because otherwise wouldn’t she know how goddamn loud she was?

  “I really hope she didn’t hear you say that.”

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Jenna…You eat meat. Chicken meat.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You better hush now, nephew. You know I’d never do such a thing with one of my own. Eggs only. And Lucy’s just—sensitive.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the soup. Suppose I better put on some clothes and eat it.”

  He was hungry. And his body was still hanging on to the chill of the drop in temperature outside mixed with the cold rain. It was probably why he hadn’t wanted to get out of the shower until the last drop of hot water fell.

  He padded back to his room and threw on a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pants. Then he joined his aunt at the small kitchen table, collapsing into the chair.

  He sighed, then breathed in the savory aroma of the not–chicken soup. His mouth watered as he eyed the hunk of French bread on a plate in the middle of the table, and he didn’t hesitate tearing a piece off, dipping it in the soup, and then shoveling it into his mouth like it was the first bite of food he’d had in months.

  He groaned with pleasure. “Jesus this is good.”

  Jenna smiled. “If you play your cards right, I’ll leave the rest for you in the fridge. I had a few too many tomatoes go ripe all at once, so I put ’em to good use.”

  He devoured the soup and almost all the bread until he realized he was very close to leaving nothing for his aunt.

  He reached for the last chunk, then looked at her sipping soup from her spoon and froze midswipe. />
  “Take it,” she said, waving him off with her other hand. “I hear you worked your ass off this morning after y’all had a little hundred-day celebration.” She gave him a wink that admitted she knew and likely approved of the brotherly ambush he’d received this morning. Only because she was Jenna would he let it slide.

  Walker had worked his ass off, covered in slow-drying grape juice. And then the rain decided to do its worst as soon as he was finally done. His muscles ached. Hell, his whole body ached. He hadn’t felt it when he’d walked through the door, but now he was bone weary. Exhausted. It had been so long since he was even able to work like he had this morning.

  “What else is on the agenda for the day?” Jenna asked.

  He’d planned on working on a few pieces of furniture that were in various stages around the house. After Sylvie the jam lady had loved the chair, she’d asked for an end table. Word had traveled fast, and he’d all but set up a booth at the farmers market out of the bed of his truck, spending the past few Sundays socking money away for his trip up north before ending each evening with Violet and her family.

  Violet. He’d been too caught up in the whole get-his-ass-out-of-his-soaked-clothes when he’d seen her—when he’d kissed her—but now it was registering. He hadn’t simply wanted to kiss her. He’d missed her. To hell with the tenets of his recovery. He was who he was today because of who she saw in him, and he was falling for the amazing woman he’d been too scared to call anything other than friend.

  His head was swimming. He couldn’t focus on work or on how to define this thing between him and Violet. After putting his body through the ringer this morning, he needed to decompress before he could wrap his head around any of it.

  “Darlin’,” Jenna said, as if reading his mind, “you look like you could use a nap.”

  He laughed. “I’m a grown man. I don’t nap.” But it wasn’t like he had anything he had to do, and Violet was tied up at the B and B for the time being. “But since you brought it up, I guess maybe an hour couldn’t hurt.”

  He stacked the bread plate on top of his bowl, but Jenna shooed him away.