by Dylann Crush
“Kids pretty much have the run of the place. Wasn’t like that when I grew up here, that’s for sure.” He opened the fridge and gestured to the shelves of longneck bottles and cans. “What’s your pleasure? Dad’s a Lone Star fan, but he’s got a few local brews and the regular Coors, Bud, Miller, and Michelob.”
Beck moved closer to the refrigerator. “I’d love to try something local.”
“Here, try this one.” Presley handed him an oversized can.
“Cactus Juice Brewing?” Beck studied the label.
“Good stuff.” Presley popped the cap off his own bottle and took a seat on a stool. “So what are your plans for the Rose?”
Beck rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin. He usually couldn’t stand to go a day without shaving, but somehow keeping a day or two of growth on his chin made him feel more like one of the rugged cowboys he served at the bar. “Not sure yet. I’ve got a lot to think about, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, and a lot of asses to kiss if you want to stick around.”
He winced. “I know. Your sister didn’t look like she was up to hearing an apology yet.”
“Oh, it ain’t just her I meant. That kid you tossed out of the pigpen last night is some senator’s son from Austin. I hear his dad’s not too happy this morning. He ripped Charlie a new one over the phone.”
Beck closed his eyes for a long blink and took in a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. “Got any advice on how to suck up to your sister? Flowers? Chocolates? Champagne?”
“You’re on your own with that one.” Presley nodded toward the pool table. “You play?”
He’d have to ask Emily to send something down when he got back to his office tomorrow. She’d know what to do. “I’m not very good.”
“Great. Then it’ll be easy to take you for say, twenty bucks?”
“Sure, why not?” At least a game of pool would keep his mind off of Charlie and give him an excuse to stay out of the kitchen. He stepped to the rack of cue sticks and hefted one, trying to get a feel for the weight and balance while Presley gathered up the balls.
“Hell, Pres, can you at least let the man break bread with us before you swindle him out of his hard-earned paycheck?” A short, balding man entered the room and thrust his hand at Beck. “Tom Walker. Glad to meet you, son.”
“Mr. Walker, it’s my pleasure. Thanks so much for having me over for dinner.”
“The missus woulda skinned me alive if she found out you were in town and we didn’t invite you over. It’s a damn shame about your grandfather. He was a good man.”
Why did everyone have to keep telling him that? According to his dad, his grandfather was a hermit who kicked him out for no good reason and couldn’t hold a conversation with a cow. Where was the major disconnect? Instead of asking for clarification, Beck just nodded. No need to argue or give the Walker family any additional reason to want to run him out of town.
Tom went to the fridge and pulled out a Lone Star. “A beer sure tastes good on a day like today. What’s the weather like in New York City? I bet you’re not used to dripping with sweat the second you climb out of the shower.”
Beck smiled. Yeah, that’s pretty much what had happened, even with the window unit blasting cool air into his room at the historic B and B.
“Folks up north want radiant heat on their floors,” Tom continued. “I’d give my left nut for a radiant floor cooler.”
“No one wants your left nut, Mr. Walker.” Ann entered the room and pressed a kiss to her husband’s temple. “Supper’s ready. Come on before it gets cold, y’all.”
Beck followed Presley to the kitchen where a line of Walkers snaked through the kitchen and the smell of a perfectly cooked steak greeted his nose. His mouth watered as he identified the source—a platter of rib eyes took up a corner of the island. Side dishes of every color covered the rest of the counter space. Ann rattled off the options…fried okra; homemade bourbon-and-brown-sugar baked beans; creamy, whipped coleslaw. He could get used to this.
Everyone stepped back when Tom came in. He took a plate and made his way through the line first. Waylon gestured for Beck to go next, so he picked up his plate and started looking over the choices. When he’d piled his plate as high as he could without anything falling off the edge, he took a spot where Tom directed him at the long dining room table.
As if by some unspoken plan, Charlie was the last to the table and had to take the one empty seat…which just happened to be on Beck’s right. From the way she stared straight ahead as she slumped into the chair, she didn’t seem too happy about it.
“What’s wrong, Baby Sis? You want to trade spots?” Presley teased from the other end of the table.
“Oh, shut up.” She stuck her tongue out at him like they were still in elementary school.
“Or maybe you’d be more comfortable at the kids’ table,” he joked.
“Presley, kiss my ass and go to hell.”
Darby snorted. Tom clenched his jaw. Statler laughed.
“Aunt Charlie owes the curse word jar,” one of the girls called out from where the kids were eating in the kitchen.
“Cash, why’d you have to go start that with her? You trying to get us all to finance her college education?” Charlie glared at her brother across the table.
“At the rate you’re going, you just might do that all by yourself,” Cash said with a wink.
“Are y’all done yet?” Tom glanced around the table, silencing his offspring with just a look. Charlie and Presley dropped their gazes into their laps, apparently chastised by their father.
Beck would have to make peace, and fast. But not until after he got to sink his teeth into that steak.
Tom waited until silence descended before they all joined hands. Charlie put her hand out, and Beck had no choice but to clasp it for the blessing. The men had removed their hats, and Beck glanced around the table when everyone bowed their heads.
Family dinners for him had consisted of a reservation at one of his dad’s favorite four-star restaurants and a stuffy three-course meal. And that was if they even happened. Usually his dad and whichever wife or girlfriend he had at the time would leave Beck with the nanny and go out on their own. When he finally got old enough not to need a babysitter, he preferred to stay home by himself. Sitting around an enormous table with two dozen relative strangers both intimidated him and piqued his curiosity. Was this how all big families did things?
Tom wrapped up the blessing with a thank-you for having Beck join them for dinner and ended with a group chorus of “Amen.” Forks clinked on plates, the salad dressing was passed, and the kids’ table erupted in giggles and snorts. Beck felt like a welcome guest and an intruder at the same time. Charlie passed him the basket of flaky buttered biscuits, and their fingers brushed. He didn’t acknowledge the spark that passed between them.
“Thanks.” He set a biscuit on his plate and passed the basket on to Tom. “I take it you didn’t know I would be here today?” Beck muttered under his breath.
She turned her head. Their gazes met for a moment before she focused her attention on slicing into her steak. “We always end up with a few extras at Sunday supper.”
“Can we talk after dinner, in private?”
“No need. Statler, can you pass the salt?”
Beck sighed, then took a gulp of iced tea. Her family may have been as warm as the bright rays of sun filtering through the huge picture windows, but Charlie seemed to have erected an icy wall between them. Good thing he was used to the cold. He had no doubt he’d be able to find a way to get through to her. All he needed was a plan. And he’d start thinking about it…right after he enjoyed his first home-cooked meal in as long as he could remember.
* * *
Charlie’s stomach had turned itself inside out the moment she sat down next to Beck. Her skin felt like it had been charged w
ith static electricity, just like when she used to try to shock her siblings on purpose by rubbing her socks on the carpet. But instead of expelling the static on her brothers, this time, she didn’t have an outlet. What was it about the man sitting next to her that kept her revved up? Hopefully he wouldn’t stick around long enough for her to find out.
Conversation flowed around them, leaving her and Beck a silent island in the middle of her talkative relatives. She pushed a bite of homemade macaroni and cheese—her favorite side dish—around on her plate, waiting for the uncomfortable meal to come to an end.
“Beck, what are your plans? Have you decided what to do with the Rambling Rose?” Ann asked the question everyone at the table had been wondering. Leave it to her mom to go there. Charlie frowned at the wide-eyed, feigned innocent interest reflected in her mother’s face. Her mother was anything but innocent. She always had an agenda.
Beck cleared his throat, and his leg brushed against hers as he shifted in his seat. She jerked away, and his knee bumped the underside of the table, causing his plate to clatter as it settled in front of him.
“Everything okay over there?” Statler arched a brow. “Nothing kinky going on under the table, is there, Char?”
Her face flamed, and a rash of heat crept across her chest and up her neck, flooding her cheeks with angry pinpricks. She gave her brother her best eat-shit-and-die look, then took a savage bite of roll.
“Sorry about that—you just caught me off guard.” Beck met her mother’s gaze. “To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to give it a ton of thought yet. I didn’t know anything about my grandfather or the bar until last week.”
Ann nodded. “I’m sure it came as quite a shock. Your dad didn’t mention it at all?”
“Not really. I knew he was from some town in Texas, but he never wanted to talk about it.”
Tom snorted, earning him a disapproving glance from Ann before she turned her full attention back to Beck. “Your dad was quite a character.”
“You know him?” Beck’s voice held an underlying edge of hope.
“Well, I knew of him. He was two years ahead of me in high school. Same class as Tom. They used to hang out and get in all kinds of trouble together, didn’t you?”
Charlie hadn’t heard about her dad being close friends with Sully’s son. Why didn’t people around here like to talk about him much?
Her dad wiped his mouth with a blue bandana that her mom liked to set out for napkins and leaned back from the table. “Yeah, Beckett and me used to raise a ruckus every now and again. Those were good times. Before the…well, before he left.”
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking—Mr. Hill said my dad and Sully had some sort of falling-out, but Dad never talked about it.” Beck’s hand hovered, a bite of steak on his fork, frozen in midair.
“I think you’d best ask your dad about that. It’s his story to share, son. Now, who’s ready for dessert and coffee?” Her dad pushed back from the table, picked up his plate, and headed to the kitchen. Her mom followed, leaving the kids and grandkids to fend for themselves.
“Another biscuit, Beck?” Darby held the basket out.
“No, thanks. I can’t eat another bite.” He clasped his hands together over his stomach.
“Nothing like a Sunday supper at the ranch. I’ll take another biscuit.” Presley held out his hand, and Darby passed him the basket. “Char, you going to finish your steak? No sense in wasting a good cut of beef.”
“Have at it.” She stood and handed her plate across the table. How was it her brothers could put away three huge meals a day and never seem to gain a pound?
“What’s for dessert?” Cash asked.
“Peach cobbler. Want me to bring you a plate?” Charlie paused on her way into the kitchen.
“Sure. Cup of coffee, too?” Cash winked. “You’re a doll.”
“Anyone else?” She may have been in charge at the honky-tonk, but her family home still subscribed to an outdated view that womenfolk belonged in the kitchen. It would take more than a few generations to turn that tide on the Walker homestead.
“I’ll help.” Beck pushed back and cleared his place, then picked up Waylon’s and Darby’s plates as well.
Charlie tried not to do a double take at the offer. Maybe Beck being different wasn’t all bad. “If you just set them on the counter, I’ll load up the dishwasher.”
He followed her into the kitchen, where her mother pulled a piping-hot peach cobbler out of the lower oven. “I can do it. I’m not much good at cooking, but dishes I can handle.” Beck unbuttoned the cuffs of what appeared to be another recent purchase from Whitey’s and rolled up his sleeves.
The sight of his forearms shouldn’t have made her want to fan herself, but it did. She blinked hard, attempting to erase the vision of how his muscles rippled while he worked to push the sleeves up. It didn’t work. The action had been imprinted on the back of her eyelids and played on repeat.
She jammed the stopper in the bottom of the giant farmhouse sink and flipped the faucet on. “Dish soap is under the counter. I’ll clear the rest of the table.”
He leaned down to crack the cabinet, and she ducked into the dining room, putting some much-needed distance between them. What the heck was her problem? She was surrounded by men of every age, shape, and size practically 24/7 at the bar. Quite a few of them even hit on her. At least the ones from out of town. The local guys knew better than to waste their breath. Well, except for Dwight. But he was harmless.
Something about Beck got under her skin, like a chigger bite. She needed to figure out how to dislodge whatever was going on before any feelings had a chance to set in and fester.
Charlie took another load of dishes from the dining room to the kitchen, passing her mom, who had already started delivering cobbler and coffee to the men in the other room. Beck had filled the sink with soapy water and stood scrubbing the dirty plates with a hot-pink nylon scrub pad, the kind her mom crocheted for holiday gifts. With a dish towel slung over his shoulder, he appeared to be quite at home in front of the sink. Did he host big dinner parties at his place in New York? She knew he wasn’t married thanks to the gossip grapevine that wound its way throughout Holiday, but maybe he had someone special at home, someone he’d bring back with him if and when he returned. That thought made her even sorrier that she’d responded to his kiss.
Darby set a few more plates on the counter. “Where did you learn how to scrub a dirty dish, Beck? Girlfriend back home got you trained?” Her mouth quirked up at the corner, and she shot a smug smile in Charlie’s direction.
Leave it to Darby to read her freaking mind. Torn between wanting to fake disinterest and moving closer so she didn’t miss his response, Charlie fished for the roll of foil in a drawer.
A rumble of laughter rolled from Beck’s chest. “No girlfriend at home. My nanny was German. She made sure I learned how to clean up after myself. You should see the hospital corners on my sheets.”
Darby waggled her ring finger at him. “Tempting, but I’m a married woman. Charlie here might take you up on that offer though.”
Who needed friends when she had a traitorous BFF like Darby? Charlie smacked the snitch’s denim-covered ass with the roll of foil, twisted her face into a scowl, then stormed through the doorway to the porch.
“Ouch. What was that for?” Darby followed her to the other room and ripped the foil out of her hands. “It’s true, Char. It’s about time someone invited you to check out his sheets.”
Charlie wrapped her hand around her friend’s upper arm and growled, “Would you be quiet? I don’t need you trying to fix me up. Especially in front of my whole family—”
Darby wrenched her arm away. “Nobody heard me.”
“Especially not with him.” Charlie put her palms flat on the pool table and looked out the huge window. Her parents stood on at the edge of the giant drivewa
y with her brothers, watching the kids climb over the four-wheelers. Thank God they were outside. Except for Beck. Her stomach rolled around, twisting and turning like Baby Back when let loose in a puddle of mud.
“I’m sorry. What’s wrong with the gorgeous man scrubbing dishes in your mama’s kitchen? Do you know how many times Waylon has helped me clean up?” When Charlie didn’t answer, she held up a hand and counted off her fingers. “Once, before we got married, he helped with Thanksgiving dishes. And then when I was pregnant, he actually loaded the dishwasher when we had everyone over for Easter. That’s it.”
“There’s more to being attracted to someone than how well he knows how to make soapy water.”
“Agreed. That’s why I up and married your brother anyway.”
Charlie cleared her throat. “Uh, you married him because he got you knocked up with my adorable nephew.”
“Well, there was that,” Darby said. “But I’ve seen the way that man looks at you, and it’s not like he wants to run his soapy hands all over your mama’s everyday Corelle.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re going on eight years without a fling.”
“That’s not true. I almost slept with that guy from Austin six years ago.”
The sound of something clunking to the kitchen floor made her look at the doorway inside where Beck leaned over to pick up a container of margarine he must have dropped while putting it away in the fridge. Darby covered her giggle with a hand and turned her back to Charlie. Great, just great. With her cheeks burning like she’d just seared them on the grill, she stepped past Beck and headed for the front door, grabbing her purse on the way.
“Charlie, wait.”
She turned to watch Beck hobble across the foyer. New boots could have that effect on a guy when not broken in properly. “What?”
“We need to talk. Can we go somewhere?”
“What do we need to talk about?”
“Well, the Rose for one. I’m going to need your help. Last night was, well, it was an eye-opener. I’ve got to go back to New York tomorrow to take care of a few things and clear my schedule. I know Sully counted on you to pretty much run the place. Is that something you’d be willing to do for me?”
