by Carly Bloom
His gaze warmed her skin, made her head foggy, and . . . She’d come up here on a mission. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
Beau raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Did you know there is a noise ordinance in Big Verde after ten o’clock?”
Beau rubbed his chin. “No, I don’t think I was aware of that.”
Alice rose on her toes and tried to peek over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he was too dang big, and she couldn’t see who else was in the room. “You and your lady friend are keeping the entire hotel up,” she whispered fiercely.
“Me and my—” Beau’s eyebrows furrowed. Then they rose, touching a lock of hair on his forehead. Was it possible he was embarrassed? Or at least slightly chagrined? She took a step back as he moved into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. He obviously didn’t want her to know who was in there. And that was fine. Who cared? But Beau had a reputation for being a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy, and she hoped that whoever was in his bed knew it.
Of course the woman knew it. That’s how reputations worked.
Beau leaned against the doorframe with a grin. A myriad of laugh lines—another clue to distinguish him from his brother—appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Isn’t there an ordinance against quoting ordinances after midnight?”
The answer to that was a solid no, but Beau was probably trying to be funny. Giving a response would be weird, so Alice swallowed down the explanation that you couldn’t have an ordinance against quoting an ordinance because that would be an infringement of the First Amendment.
“You’re being rude,” she said. “You’re keeping the entire hotel awake.”
Beau produced a crooked little smirk that caused a dimple to appear in his right cheek. “Sorry, darlin’.”
Beau wasn’t sorry at all, and since the innocent aw-shucks routine had never worked on Alice, he figured she knew it.
He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his jeans, which he’d yanked on quickly to answer the door. He hadn’t bothered with the button, and the jeans slid lower on his hips. He started to hike them up, but then he noticed Alice’s gaze had dropped—so had her jaw—and the color in her cheeks had gone from rosy to fire-engine red.
This was interesting.
He let the full weight of his arm pull the waistband even lower—he hadn’t bothered with underwear either—and flexed his abs.
Alice’s chest rose and fell, and she brought a hand up to fan her face.
This was very interesting. Was it possible that Miss Martin was worked up? Turned on? By him?
“Cool your jets, Allie. The amorous activities are over.”
He sure as hell hoped that was true. The noisy couple next door had quieted down about thirty seconds before Alice knocked on his door. But Alice didn’t need to know that. Not while her cheeks were such a lovely shade of scarlet from irritation and . . .
Whatever it was that was making her pupils dilate.
“My jets don’t need cooling, thank you very much.”
“Well, you look pretty heated. Are you feeling okay?”
He loved ruffling her feathers. He’d been doing it since the age of nine, when his parents’ list of babysitters for him and Bryce had dwindled down to one incredibly polite hard-ass thirteen-year-old named Alice Ann Martin.
“I feel fine except for being extremely tired and unable to sleep.”
“Have you tried reading a book?” Beau asked. Because reading books was all Alice ever did.
Actually, that wasn’t quite true. She also apparently stalked hotel hallways, hoping to make a citizen’s arrest if folks were having too much fun.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Yes, and it was hard to concentrate because of all the moaning.”
She turned her little nose up, as if she knew of a specific ordinance against orgasms.
Allie loved rules. And she’d had plenty for him and Bryce when she’d been their babysitter. Luckily, once he and Bryce finished eighth grade, their parents finally decided they could be left alone without burning the house down. It was right before Alice had gone away to college. Obviously, he and Bryce had changed a lot since then. Their cotton-top heads had turned sandy blond. They were tall—he had a good foot on Alice—and hard work kept them fit.
Hell, they were buff. And until now, he hadn’t known Alice had noticed.
Her pulse pounded frantically at that sweet spot at the base of her neck.
She’d noticed, all right.
“Beau Montgomery, it’s past midnight. You’ve been disrespectful to all the guests in the hotel. You’d better keep it down, or I’ll—”
“Spank me?”
Alice pursed her lips and flared her cute little bunny nostrils. He hoped she’d go for the foot stomp. It was especially entertaining when she did that.
Her right foot—bare, with painted pink toenails—quivered. She was fighting the foot stomp. “I don’t believe in corporal punishment.”
“That’s probably a shame,” Beau said.
Alice rolled her eyes before spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs at the end of the hall. Was she really going to let him have the last word?
She stopped and turned around.
Nope.
“Beau Montgomery,” she said. “Don’t make me come back up here.”
He laughed. He should probably ’fess up about Allie having the wrong room, but she was already halfway down the stairs. Which was fine, because Alice was going to think whatever she wanted to think, which was always the worst where he was concerned.
He went back into his room, shaking his head. He should have gone home after the reception, but Jessica and Casey had paid for rooms for everyone who’d helped out with the wedding. It was a nice room, and he’d anticipated having someone to share it with. Especially since his job had been to entertain all of Jessica’s single out-of-town friends.
Just swing them around the dance floor and call them darlin’. They’re not used to real cowboys, and they’ll be thrilled!
As one of the foremen of Rancho Cañada Verde—Bryce was the other—Beau was definitely a “real” cowboy. And since he loved to dance and charm the ladies, it had seemed like the perfect assignment.
He stripped off his jeans and climbed back into bed, stretching and yawning. The night had been a total bust. He’d danced with every bridesmaid, cousin, and business associate of Jessica’s. He’d two-stepped, boot-scooted, and even whipped and nae-naed. He’d fetched drinks and paid compliments. But after all that, here he was, sprawled out in a double bed all by himself.
He’d thought things had started looking up when Jessica’s old college roommate began making some serious moves late in the evening. To put it politely, she’d been an enthusiastic dance partner. She’d probably be able to pick him out of a lineup if she was allowed to do it with her pelvis. But while her body had been all over him, her eyes kept landing on a sullen guy sitting all by himself in the corner.
“Old boyfriend?” he’d asked.
The poor woman had wilted in embarrassment. Beau could have been a dick about it, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been used to make someone jealous. He’d even helped her out by making sure the guy had a clear line of sight while he pretended to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. And judging by the sounds that had come from next door, the couple was definitely back together.
Beau rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He had to be up early to take his grandmother to church in the morning. He’d been sinning on Saturday and praying on Sunday ever since he was thirteen, which was when he’d sneaked his first cigarette, tossed back his first shot of whiskey, and started having all kinds of conflicting and inappropriate thoughts about the babysitter.
Chapter
Two
Sundays were busy at Chateau Bleu. Tourists visiting the Texas Hill Country’s many wineries, shops, and swimming holes liked to drop in for brunch, and they were often joined by locals after the churches let out. Because of the wedding gu
ests staying in the hotel, the restaurant was buzzing this morning. Luckily, Alice managed to snag a small table in the corner.
She tugged at the unfamiliar shirt riding up her midriff. When she’d woken up this morning, both her dress and Carmen were gone. A note explained that Carmen had taken the dress to have it cleaned. In its place were a pair of extremely short shorts and a pink cropped top with the image of a black cat. It said meow in glittery letters.
We’re about the same size. Wear my kitty T!
A blue head caught Alice’s attention. Carmen was darting in and out of all the tables, and when she spotted Alice, she headed right over.
She poured coffee in Alice’s cup and plopped into the other chair. “Good morning, roomie. I fell asleep before you got back to the room, and you were in a coma when I woke up.”
“Not quite a coma, but I did finally fall asleep. And, erm, thanks for the clothes?”
Carmen grinned. “You look cute.”
That was doubtful. “Did the energy drink work?”
“Who knows? I spilled it all over your dress.” She pointed at her head. “Raging headache.”
Carmen looked great, as usual. Her hair was spiked up. She had on makeup, jewelry, and her signature classic white chef’s jacket, monogrammed with a dark blue B, for Bleu, over ripped jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets. You’d never know she was hungover.
Alice had never been hungover. She had no desire to dehydrate her body, irritate her digestive tract, or cause her electrolytes to go out of whack, just to shed a few inhibitions. She was fond of many things, and her inhibitions ranked right up there with a good book and a snuggly cat.
“Well?” Carmen said. “How did the confrontation go?”
Alice poured some cream in her coffee. She doubted Beau Montgomery cared if anyone knew the noise had been coming from his room, but she wasn’t one to participate in gossip. In fact, she hated it. And it was something small towns were particularly skilled at.
“Let’s just say—”
“Dang it,” Carmen said, standing up. “I’m being summoned by the hostess. You’ll have to tell me later. Are you doing the buffet?”
“That’s my plan.”
Carmen gave her a thumbs-up. “There’s good stuff on it this morning.”
Alice didn’t doubt it, and her mouth watered as she stood and headed for the spread, where she loaded her plate with a freshly baked croissant, a slice of German sausage quiche, and select pieces of cheese and fruit. When she looked up, Maggie Blake and Claire Kowalski were waving and pointing to an empty chair at their table. Their husbands, Travis and Ford, both smiled. Ford, who held baby Rosa, was the manager of Claire’s family’s ranch, Rancho Cañada Verde. Despite the bags beneath his eyes, parenthood looked good on him, and Alice smiled back and waved. Then she had the horrible thought that maybe they’d been waving at someone else. She briefly looked over her shoulder before sighing in relief.
Of course they were waving at her.
She collected her book, keys, and cup of coffee from her little table and then joined the group.
“Have a seat,” Maggie said, pulling out a chair.
Maggie’s short blond hair was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot, and she clutched a michelada in her small hand as if her life depended on it. A michelada was similar to a Bloody Mary, and paired with menudo, it was a popular hangover remedy in Big Verde.
“These are not as good as the ones you make,” Maggie whispered. “They need more lime juice. Also, I’m digging your outfit.”
Alice yanked on the shirt again. “I borrowed these clothes from Carmen.”
“Well, you look cute! Great legs. Awesome butt. And you’re pretty in pink.”
That was the first time anyone had said she had an awesome butt. “Thanks. And don’t let Carmen hear you criticize her micheladas.”
Alice did make killer micheladas. They were popular at book club.
“What’s wrong with my micheladas?” Carmen asked, swinging by their table with a coffeepot.
Maggie shrugged uncomfortably. “They need more lime juice. You should get Alice’s recipe. Hers are the best.”
Carmen put a hand on her hip. “Oh? How much lime juice per pitcher?”
“I’d say two limes, if they’re juicy,” Alice said. “Three if they’re not.”
“I’m still getting used to the ways of Big Verde,” Carmen said. “None of my other restaurants offer hair of the dog selections on the menus.”
Carmen’s flagship restaurant was in Houston. The other was in Las Vegas. Both were named La Casa Bleu, and both were booked solid with reservations months in advance. And yet here Carmen was, holding a pot of coffee in Big Verde.
She looked at Maggie’s husband, Travis. “How’s the menudo?”
“Almost as good as Lupe’s,” Travis said.
Travis and Maggie owned Happy Trails Ranch, a small family ranch that sold directly to consumers. Lupe Garza handled shipping and booked their tours and field trips. From what Alice could tell, she was like a member of their family.
“Almost as good?” Carmen asked. “I think I need to get some hometown recipes. You locals have all the secrets.”
Maggie eyed her bowl before pushing it away. “I know it’s supposed to cure a hangover, but I’ve never been able to eat menudo. I shouldn’t have ordered it.”
Claire Kowalski held up a buttered croissant and said, “Menudo is just one of the many reasons I rarely eat meat.”
Trista Larson showed up at the table, followed by her husband, Bubba. “I can’t eat menudo. I’ve never cared much for tripe.” She wrinkled her delicate freckled nose. “Texture issues.”
Tripe was the stomach lining of a cow, and it was the main ingredient in menudo. Alice didn’t much care for it, either.
Bubba held two plates, piled high with sausage links and bacon. “You have to have the stomach for stomach, which I do,” he said. “Can I have a bowl, Carmen?”
“And do y’all have room for two more at this table?” Trista asked.
“You have the stomach for literally everything,” Travis said. “Let’s pull that table over,” he added, pointing to a newly cleared table for two.
While Bubba and Trista got settled, Travis smacked his lips. “Time to doctor this bad boy up,” he said, gazing at his bowl. He took a pinch of dried oregano from a nearby condiment bowl and followed it up with cilantro and a spoonful of raw onions and jalapeños.
Maggie made a face. “With all those onions, you can rest assured there will be absolutely no kissing—or anything else—for the rest of the day. And possibly tomorrow.”
“Well, sweetheart, after what you put me through last night, I doubt I could muster the energy.”
Maggie feigned embarrassment while everyone laughed.
“Was that you making all that racket last night?” Bubba asked.
“No,” Maggie said. “I don’t know who that was, but I’d like to meet whoever released the Kraken.”
Alice knew, but she bit her tongue.
“I thought it would never end,” Trista said. “And when it finally did, I turned to Bubba and said I’ll have what she’s having.”
“You had it plenty,” Bubba said.
Trista shook her head. “No. I don’t think I did.”
“Well, you had something,” Bubba said. “And you weren’t complaining about it.”
“Hotel sex is the best,” Maggie said. “There’s just something special about a different bed and a do not disturb sign.”
Claire sighed. “I can’t wait until Rosa is old enough for sleepovers with my folks. She sleeps with us most nights, and we’ve had to get creative.”
“Oh, please,” Maggie said. “Like y’all ever had sex in an actual bed.”
Alice sipped her coffee and listened to the easy banter. She had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Not even any facts or figures.
JD Mayes walked up, followed by his husband, Gabriel Castro. “Is there room for two more?”
Carmen came back with the coffeepot and gave JD and Gabriel each a kiss on the cheek. “You guys doing the buffet? Or are we talking hair of the dog?”
“Hair of the dog,” JD said, running a hand over his handsome, but definitely haggard, face. “Thanks, Carmen.”
Bubba dragged two extra chairs to the table as everyone shifted to make room. They ended up with four on one side and four on the other, with Alice relegated to the end.
Carmen brought two more micheladas to the table and set them in front of JD and Gabriel. “Menudo’s coming out soon,” she said, collapsing into the other empty chair on the end. “Whew! We’re short on busboys, and as you all might have heard, my manager is on her honeymoon.”
Bubba sat up straighter in his chair. “Do you need help?”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure I am. I used to bus tables at the Corner Café. My parents had all of us kids working there from the time we could walk.”
“I doubt that’s legal,” Gabriel said. “But my menudo can wait. I’m happy to help, too.”
“What do you need us to do?” Claire asked.
Carmen shook her head. “No, guys. You don’t have to—”
Bubba had spotted a bus cart in the corner and was already headed that way.
Alice smiled at Carmen. “You indicated you needed help, and now you’re going to get it.”
“Y’all are so weird in this town,” Carmen said, with a barely suppressed grin. “You help people and make direct eye contact, and I’ll never get used to it.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie said.
Carmen laughed. “Seriously, I appreciate it. The church crowd is going to roll through that door any minute, and they’re worse than my Houston A-list at nine o’clock on a Saturday night.”
“People go to dinner at nine o’clock at night?” Travis asked.
Before Carmen could answer, the door opened and a mob of ladies waltzed in, tittering and chattering in their Sunday dresses.
