CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROMAN HAD THREE piles of work again on his desk. Stuff from his business, the ranch and Granger Western. If he dug right in, he might be finished by the end of the day, but he wasn’t digging. Not into business, anyway.
Instead, he was looking at the email from Tate.
If an email could have shrugged, that’s what this one would be doing.
It was a response to a lengthy conversation and follow-up email where Roman had said he was sorry that Tate was upset over seeing Mila cry. Hell, Roman was upset, too. But he’d tried to make sense of it for Tate by explaining that Mila was just sad because she was going to miss them once they left Wrangler’s Creek and moved back to San Antonio. It was possibly true.
Possibly an out-and-out lie.
Either way, Roman had gone on for a half hour or more talking to Tate, trying to smooth things over. When Tate had given him only shrugs and the silent treatment, Roman had written the email. Unlike the conversation, he stuck to fun stuff. Like the bronco riding lessons Tate was going to get and the cruise idea. Roman had even tossed in the possibility of Tate spending a week or two of his summer break at the ranch. The email had gone on for multiple paragraphs, had included some smiley faces, and Tate had sent back a two-word response.
Okay. Whatever.
Maybe that meant Tate was no longer so crazy about being at the ranch. Or those riding lessons. Heck, maybe Roman had undone all the good things that had been starting to happen for Tate while they’d been in Wrangler’s Creek.
“You’ve got a visitor,” Joe said, sticking his head through the doorway of Roman’s office. “It’s a strange little woman who said you were expecting her. She put an egg on my desk. Is that some kind of weird hippie business card, or is she just crazy?”
“Both,” Roman answered. “Her name is Vita and show her in.” And even though he hadn’t been expecting her today, he’d expected her. Eventually. By now, Vita had no doubt talked to Mila and wanted a word with Roman about that.
Joe disappeared, and several moments later in walked Vita.
“There’s an ill wind blowing,” Vita greeted him.
Yes, and it was coming from her. Vita smelled like a bad mix of herbs and stuff that people usually avoided. That was an improvement, though. Sometimes, she smelled like Limburger cheese.
“I’m here because of Mila,” she said.
Of course she was, and Roman tried to steel himself up for Vita to curse him—maybe literally—for breaking Mila’s heart.
“She’s not nearly sad enough,” Vita added.
Roman was certain he hadn’t heard that right. “Who’s not nearly sad enough?”
“Mila, of course. Boy, you need to get your ears cleaned out. Maybe you also need to rethink this whole notion of winning her heart.”
Roman didn’t have a whole notion about that, but even if he had, it wouldn’t have been something he wanted to discuss with Vita. “Isn’t it a good thing that Mila’s not sad?” Though he was certain he was going to regret the question.
“No. She should be missing you right about now, and she’s not. She’s not moping or anything.”
Well, that was...good. Roman hadn’t wanted her to do that. Of course, he hadn’t wanted to mope, either, but that’s all he’d been doing in the week since he’d left the ranch.
“She bought a bunch of new clothes,” Vita went on. “Not fantasy clothes junk, either. Real dresses and shoes. I was all for that, thought maybe she was just trying to cover up her moping, but then she says she’s going on a date. A real one.”
That was...good, too. Mila was moving on with her life and maybe trying to find Mr. Right. She deserved that.
Vita put her hands on his desk and leaned in. Maybe so he wouldn’t miss getting an extra whiff of the herbal cloud that surrounded her. “The date’s with your cousin Dylan.”
Well, shit. That wasn’t good. Dylan could be trying to pump her for information for Lucian to use in a future lawsuit. Yes, Lucian had said he would back off on that, but Roman didn’t trust him, and he could have sent Dylan to do his bidding.
“One more thing,” Vita said. “Condoms.”
Apparently, Vita thought Roman had been blessed with ESP because she didn’t add anything to that until Roman made a circling motion for her to continue.
“Mila bought some. A big-assed box of them.” Vita’s eyes narrowed. “Roman Granger, what kind of dark magic have you spun on her? You’ve made my daughter hot to trot, and it’s not you she’s trotting after. Now, what are you going to do about that, huh?”
* * *
MILA FIGURED NEARLY everyone in the Longhorn Bar was watching her and her date, Dylan Granger. The few who weren’t—one of the Busby boys and Mary Ellen Fletcher—were making out in the back booth, and the bartender, another Busby boy, was having a heated phone conversation with someone. But other than those three, Mila and Dylan had everyone else’s attention.
“And then a rat bit off the horse’s nuts,” Dylan said.
She frowned, her gaze zooming back to him. Not that it had to zoom far because he was seated directly across from her.
He flashed her that panty-dropping smile. “Just checking to see if you were listening.”
“Sorry.” She ran her finger around her margarita glass, gathering up some of the salt that she licked. “I’m not used to being watched like this.”
He leaned in. “Any time you show up with me, that’ll happen. Not because people can’t take their eyeballs off me but because I’m the sworn enemy of your best friend.”
At least Dylan hadn’t said that he was the sworn enemy of her ex-boyfriend. Of course, Roman would have had to be a boyfriend for him to become her ex. They hadn’t exactly reached that status. Yes, they’d had sex and then things had gone to heck and back a week ago when Tate had seen her crying. Since then she’d called Tate several times to assure him that she was okay, but she didn’t think he believed her.
That was probably because it wasn’t true.
On the surface, she was all right, and she’d told that to Sophie and her mom. But something felt off. The kind of feeling that she was forgetting something really important.
“And then the rat chewed off the horse’s butt,” Dylan said.
“Sorry,” Mila repeated, and she forced herself to look just at him.
Looking at him wasn’t a chore. Like all the Grangers, Dylan was drop-dead hot, and she should be drooling. Thankful, too, since he’d called her to go out for a drink. She hadn’t had to use the dating sites, after all.
“You know, I’m a good listener,” Dylan added.
“I’m just a little worried about my cousin Tate,” she admitted. “He got the wrong idea about me and his dad.”
Dylan had a sip of his beer. “He wanted Roman and you to get together?”
“No,” she quickly answered, but then Mila rethought that. “Maybe, but I think he was more concerned that I was in over my head.”
“Because you’re a virgin.” Dylan studied her. “Were a virgin.” He blew out a breath of relief. “It’s probably not a good thing for a man to tell a woman that he’s glad she finally had sex. Especially when that sex wasn’t with him. But going out with a virgin seems a little...”
“Daunting?” she supplied. “As if you might have to propose marriage just to kiss me?”
He smiled. “Something like that.”
“Yet you went out with me, anyway.” She paused. “Why?”
Dylan huffed. “Because you’re beautiful. Smart. Funny.” Now, he paused when she stared at him. “Sophie called and said you were down.”
Sophie? Mila would have a chat with her best friend later. Even if Sophie felt sorry for her, which she clearly did, Mila didn’t want Sophie setting her up on any more dates. Especially dates with
a Granger.
“If you hadn’t been beautiful, smart and funny, I wouldn’t have listened to Sophie,” he went on. “After all, Sophie and I aren’t exactly pals. But I listened to her because I wanted to go out with you.”
Maybe, but since it was obvious she wasn’t having a great time, Dylan would not want a repeat. And that was okay with her. What wasn’t okay was the man who came through the front door.
Waylon.
Like she had with Roman, she’d managed to avoid him and vice versa, but he wasn’t avoiding her now. He made a beeline for the booth where Dylan and she were sitting.
“I hope you’re happy now,” Waylon greeted her. “Because this is all your fault.”
Mila had to shrug. In addition to avoiding her sorry excuse for a biological father, she’d avoided the gossips, too. She hadn’t wanted to hear a rehashing of why Roman had been wearing a suit or having an argument with Tate outside her bookstore.
“What’s my fault?” she asked.
“Bernadette left me, and she took Chrissy with her. She moved back in with her folks in San Antonio. She’ll probably try to take me for half of everything I have.”
Normally, Mila wouldn’t have bothered to waste her breath to ask about that, but there was another person involved in this. “What about Arwen?”
“She’ll be around,” Waylon spat out. “Bernadette worked out something with another family so she can stay in Wrangler’s Creek. The O’Malleys.”
Mila knew them, and they were good people, but she had to shake her head. “Why isn’t Arwen going with her mother?”
“Because Arwen wants to stay here so she won’t have to change schools, and Bernadette’s going to let her. She always caters to that girl’s every whim.”
Maybe Bernadette did that because Waylon was so awful to Arwen. Still, this seemed extreme. “Won’t Arwen miss seeing her mother?”
Waylon huffed. “No. Because the O’Malleys plan to take Arwen to Bernadette every weekend.” Another huff. “Bernadette takes my Chrissy and leaves me a juvenile delinquent in the making, and it’s all your fault.”
That got Dylan moving out of the booth. He stood, facing Waylon, which meant Mila had to stand, too, because she didn’t want her date slugging this moron. Waylon wasn’t worth the sore fist that Dylan would get with the punch he was about to throw.
“I’ll bite,” Mila said. “How is this my fault?”
“Because you’re the one who brought up all of that old shit. Bernadette heard you, and she felt sorry for you.”
“Maybe your wife didn’t feel sorry for Mila,” Dylan said. “Maybe she left you because you’re a dick.”
Mila groaned and stepped between them. Of course, they were drawing a crowd. Not that they didn’t have a crowd already, but even Mary Ellen and her Busby date were looking now. That’s why Mila tried to keep down her voice.
“Why did Bernadette leave Arwen behind?” Mila asked.
“Who knows? Who gives a shit?” Waylon certainly didn’t whisper, and now that she was close enough to him, she could smell the liquor on his breath. Obviously, he’d been trying to drown his sorrows. “All I know is that brat will be right under my nose.”
“She’ll be under mine, too, and that’s where I want her,” Mila informed him. “I’ll be keeping an eye on her to make sure you don’t make her life as miserable as you’ve made your own.”
“Want me to kick his ass?” Dylan asked her.
“Like you could,” Waylon challenged.
“Yes, he can,” Mila assured Waylon, and she put her hand on Waylon’s chest to move him back.
“Don’t you touch me!” Waylon slurred. “Don’t you even think about sassing me, either.”
She hadn’t been thinking about it until he said that. Mila couldn’t think of a fast sass so she shot him the bird. Not very mature, but it made his eyes narrow.
“That’s something Roman taught you,” Waylon went on. “Because he did that to me, too.”
Good for Roman. And since it’d felt so good to do it the first time, Mila did it again. Then she moved closer and met Waylon eye-to-eye.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll announce to everyone here that you’re my father. And that means they’ll know you had sex with Vita. Is that what you want?”
“They won’t believe you,” he assured her.
“Oh, yes, they will. Because of the way you’re acting right now.”
The bits and pieces of the conversation that people had overheard wouldn’t help, either. Truth was, this would get out, and people would fill in the bits they hadn’t managed to hear. Mila was just trying to stop the gossip from including a blow-by-blow account of how Dylan had wiped the floor with her birth father, who would clearly never be anything but a sperm donor.
Maybe her words found intelligent life in his head. Or maybe the booze was wearing off. Whatever the reason, Waylon glanced around as if seeing the bar, and the other customers, for the first time. Seeing Dylan for the first time, too. All those muscles must have looked a little intimidating because Waylon dropped back a step.
“You stay away from me, bitch, and I’ll stay away from you,” Waylon declared, and he turned to leave.
Unfortunately, he ran smack-dab into Roman.
Mila hadn’t even known he was there. Or how much of this he’d heard. Enough apparently because he was no longer Roman Granger, single dad and business owner. He was badass Roman from Wrangler’s Creek.
Waylon tried to step around Roman, but Roman just blocked his path. “If you have balls,” Roman said to him, “and if you want to keep them, you will never speak to Mila like that again. Nod if you understand.”
In that moment, there was nothing on the planet that was more intimidating than Roman. That’s why it didn’t really surprise Mila when Waylon nodded. The man probably would have agreed to a lobotomy.
Despite the nod and the intimidation, Waylon wasn’t letting go of this. “Mila’s a bitch and this is her fault,” he grumbled on his way toward the door.
Dylan, however, didn’t look as if he was going to give in so easily to Roman’s scowl. “Mila and I are on a date,” he told Roman.
“I can see that, and I’m sorry to interrupt.” Roman glanced around as if trying to figure out what to do. “Excuse me a second,” he said to Mila. “I’ve decided I’m not going to let Waylon get away with calling you a bitch, after all. I’ll be right back.”
And Roman stormed off after the man.
* * *
IT DIDN’T TAKE Roman but a few seconds to catch up with Waylon. The idiot was in the parking lot pointing his keys at somebody else’s car. Judging from the confused look on his shit-faced face, he was probably trying to figure out why it wouldn’t open.
Roman took out his phone and texted Clay to come so he could make sure Waylon didn’t a) locate his vehicle and b) attempt to drive. While they were waiting, if the man did try to get behind the wheel, Roman would stop him.
Gladly.
In fact, it seemed a little like shooting fish in an itty bitty barrel, but he was going to pick a fight with him. Just as Waylon had done with Mila. And speaking of Mila, she hurried out the door of the Longhorn and ran after him.
“Just let it go,” she said to Roman. “Treat him like animal poop you might see on the side of the road. It stinks, but it’s best to leave it alone.”
Roman glanced at her, certain that he had a funny look because that wasn’t a good analogy. “Animal poop doesn’t walk into a bar and call you a bitch.”
He went toward the man just as Waylon spun around. “What the hell did you do with my car?”
“I vaporized it with my ray gun, you miserable son of a bitch.”
“There, you’re even,” Mila insisted. “He called me a bitch, and you called him an SOB.”
Th
at didn’t make it even since Waylon had started it, but when the man staggered again and dropped his keys, then fell face-first trying to pick up those keys, Roman knew he couldn’t bust the guy’s ass. Not until Waylon had sobered up, anyway.
They’d drawn an audience. Everyone who’d been inside the bar was now outside, and if there was anyone left, the sound of the approaching police cruiser would draw them out.
“He’s drunk,” Roman said to Clay the moment he stepped from his cruiser. “And he called Mila a name.”
Clay hadn’t frowned or looked disgusted until Roman added that last part. Good. They were on the same page. Now, exactly what page that was, Roman didn’t know. That’s what he’d come to find out. He hadn’t counted on getting caught up in a ruckus with a drunk turd.
Clay hauled Waylon to his feet, and Waylon made a serious mistake of swinging a punch. Probably at Clay. But it came within a breath of hitting Mila. Roman balled up his fist to hit the guy, but Mila caught on to him and pulled Roman into her arms.
“I’m in love with you. Now, stop it,” she snarled.
And yeah, everybody heard it. In fact, Mila said it in such a loud voice that maybe people in Canada had heard it. She didn’t mean it, of course. This was just her way of stopping him again. Because if Roman had punched Waylon, Clay would have had to arrest him, too.
“You’re in love with him?” someone asked.
Roman didn’t have to glance back to know it was his cousin Dylan. That probably wasn’t something a guy wanted to hear his date say to another man. Roman nearly explained why she’d done that. Nearly. But then he had come here to talk to Mila, and this might be the fastest way to do it.
“Yes,” Roman answered. “And I’m in love with her.”
A pancake couldn’t have given him a flatter look than Mila gave him. Roman just smiled at her. Two could play this dumb game. Obviously, though, it was a game with consequences. In the next thirty seconds, it would be all over town that Mila and he were in love. Someone would call Belle and/or Sophie, and they would start planning the wedding.
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