All-American Cowboy

by Dylann Crush

  Beck backed away, palms up. “Hey, I’m not trying to change things. I’ve barely been here twenty-four hours. Just trying to figure out why you keep a swine on staff.”

  The rain had slowed to a sprinkle but left the dirt parking lot a mess of mud. Charlie stomped over to a shed and came out with a bucket of grain. She climbed onto the fence and dumped it into a feed trough. “Not that it makes any difference to you, but people like her. She’s got her own fan club on Facebook. I bet you don’t have a mascot at your gastrointestinal nightclub.”

  “It was a nightclub and a gastropub. Separate businesses.” Why he felt the need to explain himself, he wasn’t sure. Neither one of those places even slightly resembled the kind of unique community Charlie and Sully had created in the Rose.

  “The kids like her, too.” Charlie towered over him, her feet still on the bottom rail of the fence as a dark shape moved toward the food, snorting and squealing along the way.

  “And you serve a lot of kids here?” Beck asked. From what he could tell, the clientele consisted mainly of cowboy-boot-wearin’, attitude-totin’ adults.

  “More than you might think.” Charlie reached over the fence and snagged an empty bucket then walked over to a hose and filled it with water. “We’ve got a kid’s open mic once a month, and we serve a family-style brunch on Saturday mornings.”

  Come to think of it, he had seen quite a few kids when he first arrived that morning. This place was turning out to be so much more than just the two-seater bar his dad had led him to expect.

  Charlie heaved the bucket of water up to the fence.

  “Let me help you with that.” Beck took a step toward her and made a grab for the bucket.

  “No, I got it.” She struggled, not wanting to let the handle go.

  “It’s heavy. Let me help you.”

  “I said I got it.” She jerked on the handle as he relented.

  The edge tilted toward her as if in slow motion. Beck tried to make a grab for it, but the water splashed over, drenching the front of her shirt.

  She dropped the bucket to the ground and glared up at him. The fire in her eyes burned hotter than a bonfire. A bonfire with gasoline poured over it.

  He winced. “Charlie, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t need your help. You want to be in charge? Go ahead. I’m going home to get out of these wet clothes and take a Saturday night off for the first time in five years. Have fun tonight, Beck.”

  Oh no. “Wait.” He followed her retreating backside across the mud pit that had been a parking lot a couple of hours before.

  She waved a hand over her head without turning around. “Enjoy being in charge.”

  Beck raced to catch up with her, sinking his foot into a giant puddle of mud as he dashed across the parking lot. He took two steps forward then stopped when he realized he’d lost his shoe a step back.

  “Dammit.” He whipped around, hoping to see his loafer sitting behind him. No luck. He half hopped with one shoe, one sock, slipping and sliding through the puddles. “Wait, Charlie. Let’s talk about this.”

  She climbed into her truck and backed out of her parking spot. He almost caught her bumper, but then the tires spun, flinging mud and water and God only knew what else. By the time he wiped the muck out of his eyes, she was gone.

  He turned back to face the honky-tonk. The hot-pink building loomed over the rapidly filling parking lot. A line of customers snaked along the front porch, working their way through the doorman… What was his name again? Didn’t matter. He was sure the guy was another relative of Charlie’s. She seemed to be related to the whole town. With a groan, he glanced down at the mud covering another one of his brand-new outfits. Did he have time to run back to the B and B to change? Probably not.

  Dammit. She knew he wasn’t ready to handle a night on his own. Probably couldn’t wait for him to fail so she could laugh about him with the whole town. Maybe she’d even planned this as a setup.

  Beck groaned. No, not Charlie. She wasn’t the get-even type. Didn’t have it in her.

  She was probably flat-out exhausted from trying to keep things going on her own. Beck hobbled toward the back door. He’d check in with the staff, make sure everything was on track, and then step out to clean up. How hard could it be to keep the place going for one night? From what he’d seen, the Rambling Rose practically ran itself.

  He could do this—with or without Charlie Walker’s help.

  * * *

  Charlie fishtailed out of the parking lot, putting as much distance between herself and the know-it-all jerk as quickly as possible. She hadn’t cried when Sully died, hadn’t shed a tear while she watched them lower his coffin into the ground. And now, twice within twenty-four hours, she’d lost control of her emotions and had to fight back a breakdown.

  It was Beck.

  How dare he strut right in and start questioning the way she did things? Sully had trusted her for the past eight years to single-handedly run the place. Once she’d taken over and he’d been satisfied she knew enough to get the job done, he’d stepped back and let her take charge. What had he been thinking, leaving the fate of the Rambling Rose to a grandson he’d never even met?

  And that kiss. She didn’t want to admit it, but that kiss had rocked her world, lifted her off her feet, twisted her around, and set her down again, feeling like she’d been left upside down and inside out.

  She’d been a fool to leave him alone on a Saturday night, but she’d had to get away from him. Still, what if things got out of control? What if Billy Ray and Presley didn’t make good on their truce and resorted to another fistfight between sets? No, they wouldn’t dare. But something else could go wrong. There were always little things she had to take care of.

  She almost turned around, even slowed down at the turnoff to the back pasture. But she stopped herself before she pulled off the road. Shep was there. Between him and Angelo, Beck wouldn’t be able to mess things up too much. And while he was learning the ropes the hard way, she could take the chance to put a little distance between them. She needed to be able to clear her head if she wanted to help him succeed.

  Because no matter what her conflicted feelings about Beck were, Sully’s dying wish came first. She’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t give it her all and try to keep the Rose in the Holiday family. She’d start fresh tomorrow. Tonight she needed a break. The past few days had been too much. Too much pressure, too much waffling, too much Beck.

  She wiped her arm across her nose, smearing mud and snot over her cheek. Dang it. Why did she have to be such an ugly crier? She couldn’t go home like this—her folks would see her headlights when she drove past the main house, and they’d know something had happened. Before she reached the turnoff to her family ranch, she swerved into Waylon and Darby’s long drive. If anyone could make her feel better right now, her best friend could.

  Five minutes later, she’d been ushered into the house, wrapped in a hug, and handed a tall glass of sweet tea. Thank God for family and friends. Although Charlie would shrivel up like a roly-poly bug if Waylon found out why she was here. Thankfully, Darby had sent him up to the main house for dinner with the kids.

  “Now, get out of those wet clothes and tell me what’s going on.” Darby handed her a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt.

  Charlie stepped into the half bath and left the door open a crack while she changed. “It’s Sully’s grandson. He’s absolutely unbearable.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Darby stood just outside the doorway. “What happened?”

  “He’s questioning everything. From how many kids we serve to why we keep Baby Back around.”

  “It’s a tradition.”

  “That’s what I told him!” Thankful for the dry clothes, Charlie rolled her wet things into a ball and tucked them into a plastic bag she fo
und under the bathroom sink before rejoining Darby.

  “Come on, let’s spike that tea—then you can sit a spell and tell me what’s really going on.” Darby linked her arm through Charlie’s and tugged her to the kitchen, where she added a liberal pour of vodka to each of their glasses. “Let’s sit out on the porch, and you can fill me in on how much you hate poor Beck Holiday.”

  Charlie grabbed her drink from the counter. “The third.”

  “The third what?” Darby asked.

  “He’s a third. Beck Holiday the third. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

  Darby shook her head. “Guess not.”

  “Doesn’t that sound so pretentious? Who wants to be the third of something?”

  “Honey, sit down.” They’d reached the front porch, and Darby patted the cushion next to her on the big swing.

  Charlie sighed, then slumped onto the seat and began to move the swing back and forth.

  Darby pulled Charlie’s head down onto her shoulder. “You know I love you more than anything, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then listen close when I tell you to get your head out of your butt and don’t let that man intimidate you.”

  Charlie straightened, her jaw dropping like someone had just oiled the hinges. “Wha… Just wait a sec… I don’t—”

  Darby shook her head back and forth. “You’re scared, Char. This man can take everything away from you.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’ve poured your heart and soul into the Rose. For the past eight years…weekends, holidays, twelve- to fourteen-hour days. I know. I was there. And if Beck decides to keep it, there’s a chance he might not want your help.”

  The jaw snapped shut, and Charlie clenched her teeth together. Sometimes it downright sucked having someone who knew her so well always around. She took a deep breath. “I just don’t want Sully’s memory, well, for lack of a better word…sullied.”

  Darby smiled, the kind of smile that did a piss-poor job of covering up the pity she must have felt. “Sweetie, ever since Jackson—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, D.”

  “It’s been eight years. Sully was a saint to give you that job back then. But maybe it’s time for a backup plan—”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Charlie sprang from the swing and paced the porch, her bare feet slapping on the smooth floorboards.

  “Honey, you never want to talk about it. But think about it. Beck is threatening the safety net you built for yourself. If he decides he doesn’t need you, what are you going to do?”

  Charlie spun around, her heart skittering and trying to find its groove like an old 45 record with a deep, long scratch. “I came here thinking you’d make me feel better, not worse.”

  Darby stood and made a move toward her, but Charlie rocketed off the porch and toward the truck. “Charlie, come back. Let’s talk about this.”

  She climbed in the truck and hightailed it out of there while Darby stood on the porch shaking her head. They’d be fine. It would take more than an uncomfortable conversation to put any strain on the ties that bound them together.

  It hurt to admit it, but Darby was right. Charlie’s whole life was wrapped up in the Rose. It had saved her, and she couldn’t let it go without a fight. Not unless she knew it would be in good hands. As far as she could tell, the only thing Beck’s hands were good for didn’t have anything to do with managing a rough-and-tumble honky-tonk.

  Sully may have wanted to keep things in the family, but she was more of a family to him than his own grandson had ever been. She’d do her best to help the guy out of love for his grandfather, but she’d be darned if she’d let him take the whole town down with him.

  And that had nothing to do with the way he made her feel inside. She hadn’t unlocked that part of her heart since fate had taken a hacksaw to it. Eight years might seem like a long time to her friends and family, and she’d been told on more than a few occasions that she was wasting her life and needed to get on with things. She knew Jackson wouldn’t want her to spend the rest of her life mourning him. If roles had been reversed and she’d been the one who’d had to leave this good earth too soon, she’d want him to go on. To find someone who could make him smile, who could do all the things they talked about when they spent long afternoons down by the creek.

  But roles weren’t reversed. He was gone, and she was stuck navigating a life she never wanted all on her own. Instead of getting married and traveling the world with the man she loved, she’d made sure she built another kind of life. A life that would never require her to leave the safe confines of her small hometown. There was no way she’d let Beck threaten that now. What had happened between them was the result of hormones. Purely a physical release. She vowed to spend more time with her battery-operated boyfriend so she could avoid something similar in the future. Maybe even starting tonight.

  She promised herself that she’d enjoy her night off. Take a long bubble bath, pop in a chick flick, and get a good night’s sleep. The Rose wasn’t open on Sunday, so she’d be able to avoid seeing Beck again before he left town.

  After spending one night on his own with the locals, he’d get a taste of what it took to run the place. Maybe then he’d be a little more willing to take the advice she offered. She could secure her place at the Rose, and her life could stay the same. That would be smart. That would be best. That would be safe.

  Chapter Eight

  Back in middle school, Beck’s dad had taken him on one of his business trips to Vegas. They spent an entire evening meeting with a potential client at a country-themed bar and restaurant. Holiday had tossed back shots and harassed the pretty cowgirls. Beck had sat quietly on a barstool at the end of the bar, soaking in the ten-gallon cowboy hats and the way the dance floor shook when the majority of the diners took to the tiny parquet square during a well-known tune.

  That memory came up in black and white compared to the living color of his first night on his own at the Rambling Rose.

  Presley and Billy Ray alternated sets. The crowd didn’t seem to care who was onstage as long as the music kept playing. The walls vibrated, the floor pulsed, and the thunderous echo of hundreds of pairs of boots slamming into the dance floor ricocheted through his head. He sat back and watched for a while. The whole place operated like a well-oiled machine. So when he stepped behind the bar and tried to help Shep handle the mass of bill-waving customers waiting to order a beer, he wasn’t sure if he was being helpful or getting in the way.

  “I can’t serve this—look at the head on this pour.” The mug he’d just filled reappeared in front of him, the foamy top cascading over the edge of the glass.

  “Sorry, I’m still learning the ropes.”

  At the sound of Beck’s voice, the redheaded waitress spun around. “You’re not Shep.”

  “No.” Beck smiled, already refilling another mug.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re Sully’s grandson, aren’t you?” Her eyes went wide, and a flush spread over her cheeks.

  “That’s me. Beck Holiday. Nice to meet you…uh…” He slid the mug across the bar, waiting for her to introduce herself.

  She didn’t move. One hand balanced the full tray. The other splayed across her chest like she’d just had the shock of her life.

  “You are?” He ignored the guy leaning over the bar who was trying to get his attention by waving a twenty-dollar bill in his face.

  “Dixie!” She sprang back to life, snagging the beer and finding a spot to set it down on the overcrowded tray. “I’m so sorry. Like I said, I thought you were Shep.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He waved his hand, trying to downplay the exchange as she disappeared into the crowd.

  “Well, that’s gotta be a first.” Dwight slid onto a stool in front of him.

  “What?” Beck moved to grab two longnecks out of the cooler
and fumbled with the bottle opener attached to the bar.

  “I ain’t never seen Dixie rendered speechless. That gal’s always got somethin’ to say, even if it ain’t worth hearing about.” Dwight pointed at the tap. “How about a beer on the house tonight, seein’ as how we’re friends and all?”

  “Sure. First one’s on me. As long as you do me a favor?” Beck slid another foamy beer across the bar.

  Dwight squinted at his mug. “Tilt the glass while you fill it. You’ll get less head that way.”

  “Thanks.” It had been a long time since Beck had been on the serving side of anything, much less an ancient walnut bar in a honky-tonk in the middle of freaking nowhere. “Can you tell me how many employees they have here?”

  Dwight took a swig of his beer and wiped the foam away on the sleeve of his checkered shirt. He must have traded in his coveralls for a big Saturday night out. “You met Shep, right?”

  Beck nodded and listened while he tried to keep up with the demanding drink orders on the other side of the bar.

  “So he’s the main bartender. Angelo runs the kitchen. Dixie and Charlie work the floor. They’ve got some part-time gals who help with the weekends. Like Brittany—she’s Charlie’s cousin, y’know, and was up for Junior Miss Texas a while back. Watch out for her. Oh, and watch out for Dixie, too.”

  “Oh yeah, why?”

  “Her daddy’s the preacher.” Dwight cupped his hand to his mouth like he was about to divulge a classified secret. “Rumor has it she’s saving herself, if ya know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows, apparently thinking Beck needed the extra emphasis to decipher what that implied.

  Beck cut his eyes toward the redhead across the room. Yep. Everyone’s business was everyone’s business around here, that was for sure.

  “Oh, and lemme tell ya about Billy Ray. Back in high school he got wasted one night and they found him with Mrs. Martinez’s goat—”

  Beck thrust a palm toward Dwight, the universal sign to shut up. “I don’t need to know any more.”