All-American Cowboy

by Dylann Crush

  What would she be willing to do for him? Based on the way her nervous system jacked into overdrive every time he got near her, she’d be willing to do a whole lot more than run the Rose for a few days. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Beck did seem like he was trying to do the right thing, even though he had a piss-poor way of going about it so far.

  True, he was kind of like a square peg trying to fit into a Lone Star–shaped hole, but something inside her wanted to help him. And not just because of Sully’s last wish—or because he turned her steel core to mush. That right there was the number one reason she shouldn’t help him. When and if she decided she was ready to go hunting for love again, it would be with someone close, not someone who couldn’t wait to get out of town, who’d leave her behind.

  Beck must have sensed reluctance on her part because he sweetened the deal. “I don’t know what Sully was paying you, but I’ll up it by twenty-five percent. What do you say?”

  With her future as clear as the algae-covered pond in the back pasture, she didn’t have a choice but to agree. She needed to hold on to her job as long as she could. Besides her love for the Rambling Rose and all it stood for, other employment options in Holiday were in short supply—as in nonexistent. The thought of having to drive into Austin or San Marcos for some stuffy job every day gave her the creepy-crawlies.

  For now, she’d have to take whatever offer Beck tossed her way.

  “Fine. First, let’s fix your boots. Then we can go somewhere to talk, okay?”

  Beck let out a breath he’d appeared to be holding. Did he really think she had a choice? “What do you mean fix my boots? What’s wrong with them?”

  “Sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  He slumped into a cowhide chair. Charlie lifted one of his legs and propped it on the matching ottoman. She flung one leg over his, straddling his shin, struggling to pull the boot from his foot.

  “Give me the other one.”

  Beck obliged, sliding his bootless foot out from under her and trading it for the other. She wrestled that boot off as well, then picked them both up and took them to the kitchen. If she was going to be working for the guy, the least she could do was make sure he’d be able to walk.

  Chapter Ten

  Beck swiveled on his stool and faced Charlie just as she took a sip of her beer. The neon lights behind the bar played over her skin, making it glow in shades of pink and purple. His gaze followed the path of her swallow as it passed down her slender neck. That little white tank top had been driving him crazy since he first saw her in it. With so much skin exposed, he could see the smattering of freckles across her shoulders. He’d give about anything to be able to reach out and brush the few strands of hair away from her face.

  The way she dressed, the way she moved, so natural, contrasted so much with the women in power suits he’d been dealing with for the better portion of his adult life. For the most part, he gravitated toward smart women who had a killer business sense. Charlie didn’t look the type, but she definitely had the inner makings of a tough, savvy entrepreneur.

  It hurt to admit how he’d completely botched things at the Rose the night before and ask for forgiveness. She took it better than he thought she would, especially the ass-chewing from the senator.

  “So you’re going to listen to me from now on, right?” Charlie asked, turning the full force of her icy-blue eyes on him.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And not do anything else to try to sabotage your own business?”

  “You got it.”

  The lights flashed off and on. Everyone raised their glasses, gave a shout, and took a drink.

  “What in the hell was that?” Beck asked.

  “Somebody must have gotten a strike on the bowling lanes.” She wiped a bit of moisture from the side of her mouth. “So we have a truce.” She thrust her hand out in front of him. “Let’s shake on it.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers, tamping down that same damn spark. The one that seemed to ignite in his gut every time they touched. He needed to rein in whatever attraction he had for the woman. At least the frosty wall she’d erected between them had begun to melt. Having a truce would be a welcome change. He’d worked with gorgeous women before and never mixed business with pleasure. It would have to be the same here. He’d make sure.

  “Good. Now, I don’t want to talk business anymore. I need to dance.” She slid off the stool and swayed to the rockabilly tune squawking from the antiquated jukebox in the corner. With the low ceilings and yellow-tinged overhead lights, he felt like they were in some western-themed speakeasy.

  They’d been at the bar/bowling alley/bingo hall for the past hour and a half. She’d filled his head with all kinds of info about the Rose, and he’d been making mental checklists of all the things he’d have to do to bring it into the twenty-first century and maximize the selling price.

  She tugged on his arm. “You coming?”

  “Nah, I’ll sit this one out.” And give his feet a chance to heal. Thanks to Charlie, his boots had gone from excruciatingly painful to almost comfortable. She’d held them over a pot of water for twenty minutes, and the leather had softened up enough to mold to his feet. No telling why he hadn’t thought to give his new boots a steam treatment. Maybe because in his world, footwear belonged on his feet, not suspended over a vat of boiling water.

  “Okay, but you’re missing out.” She waggled a finger at him and backed toward the dance floor.

  He twisted around so he could keep an eye on her. Charlie had told him this was the only other watering hole within thirty miles. With dark-wood paneling and a dance floor that shared space with the bingo board, it didn’t appear to be much competition. Especially since the cheers coming from the next room where a handful of bowlers manned the four lanes drowned out the music from time to time.

  Charlie wiggled her hips and kicked up her heels as she kept time with the other dancers. Slightly buzzed Charlie was fun. The couple of beers had softened those razor-sharp edges and brought out her smile more. Made him wonder what she’d be like after a shot. Right on cue, the bartender leaned over the counter and asked if he needed a refill on his club soda. Why not? Beck ordered two shots of tequila and shifted on his seat as the music came to an end.

  She climbed back onto the stool just as the bartender set the shots down in front of them. “For me?” she asked, her fingers already wrapping around the cowboy boot–shaped shaker of salt.

  “Yeah, I thought we should celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  Beck licked his hand and nodded toward the salt. Charlie shook it over the wet spot, then ran her tongue over the back of her own hand and did the same.

  “To you—for helping me out with the Rose.” Beck clinked his glass against hers.

  “All right. And to you—for not making me look for another job.”

  The lights flickered on and off again. In unison, they licked the salt off their hands, downed their shots, and sucked on one of the lemon slices the bartender had set out on a plate. The jukebox started playing another tune, and a handful of couples took to the dance floor in a two-step.

  “Come on, I know you know how to do this one.” Charlie laced her fingers with his and pulled him toward the small dance floor.

  Why not? They did deserve to celebrate. He could give the woman a dance. That wouldn’t violate his “don’t get involved” rule. He wrapped his arm around her back, and after a few awkward starts, they began to move. It felt natural holding her in his arms. But his resolve to keep things professional began to slip as his hand slid to her lower back.

  “Have you been practicing?” She leaned closer, mumbling into his neck.

  Her chest pushed against his, and he tightened his grip on the thin cotton tank. He could feel the vertebrae of her spine through her shirt, and he pulled her closer against him. She didn’t
need to know he’d been watching YouTube videos. He had a history of being successful in pretty much any endeavor he’d undertaken. Fitting in around Holiday was not going to be an exception.

  He spun her out and under his arm, then clasped her around the back and pressed her close again. “You have been practicing.” She gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes while a slight smile played across her lips.

  “Just trying to make you look good, Ms. Walker.” Not that she needed any help in that area. There was something about her that drew a man’s attention. Beyond her good looks, she had a spark, a sizzle, some crackling force that surrounded her and demanded to be noticed.

  “You’re doing a fine job of that.” She nodded to herself and leaned her head against his chest.

  He liked the way it felt, the heat from her cheek pressing against his heart. Hell, he liked the way all of her felt, nestled into his arms.

  “About earlier...can I ask you a question?” His chin rested on her hair, and he let himself breathe her in. The scent of sunshine and peach cobbler layered over something else. Something that was just Charlie.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “You’re asking because of what Darby said, aren’t you?”

  He shifted to the left, spinning them out of the way of a couple in full square-dance gear who spiraled around the small dance floor.

  “Just curious. If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Fine. For now. He wasn’t lying—he was curious. Why wouldn’t a woman like Charlie be involved with someone? She was smart and sassy as hell, had a great sense of humor and curves that wouldn’t quit.

  She wrapped her arms tighter around him, making him lose track of the simple steps he’d been counting in his head.

  He tried to recover but ended up stepping on her foot instead. “Sorry. I guess I’m still learning.”

  “Have you always been such a slow learner?” she teased.

  He’d play along. “You sure it doesn’t have something to do with the talent of my teacher?”

  Charlie’s eyes sparkled, then narrowed. “What are you trying to imply? I’ll have you know your teacher is a two-time two-stepping Texas teen champ.”

  Beck chuckled. “I bet you can’t say that ten times fast.”

  “Two-time two-stepping Texas teen champ. Two-time two-stepping Texas—”

  He laughed and covered her mouth with his hand. Her lips moved against his palm, soft and fluttery like a butterfly’s kiss. He leaned close to her ear, nestling his nose in her hair. “I was just joking.”

  She nipped at his palm, sending a charge rocketing through him. “Don’t make bets you don’t intend to pay.”

  A dangerous burn flared low in his gut. “Hey, watch it there, champ.”

  “Or what?” Rolling her eyes, Charlie added a little extra twist in her step.

  He exhaled his next words, trying to squelch the fire she’d sparked inside. “Or else.”

  She spun out and around, then resettled herself against his chest. “I’m shaking in my boots. Or else? That’s all you’ve got? I’m utterly terrified.”

  “Are you mocking me?” Damn if she didn’t get under his skin. The sass, the smiles, the way her cute Texas twang taunted and teased him.

  “What if I am?” She drew her head back and met his gaze, her mouth curved up in a grin. Their feet stopped moving, and they stood frozen, in the middle of the dance floor, the other couples swirling around them. Her arms went around his neck, and he tightened the circle of his arms around her waist. Their hips snapped together, drawn with a magnetic force. His skin crawled with anticipation, every nerve ending crackling, waiting. His eyes searched hers for encouragement. Yes? No? Did she want him to kiss her? Would it be another mistake?

  “A part of me wants to kiss you right now, Charlie.”

  Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Just a part of you?”

  “A big part,” he admitted.

  “I’m not familiar with all of your parts yet, Manhattan. What kind of part are we talking about here?” She glanced up at him through lowered lashes.

  He knew he was about to cross a line. Ironically enough, it was a line he’d put into play. The line that was supposed to keep things on a professional level. He lowered his head, his mouth inches from hers. “Do you want me to?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “What do you think?”

  He was close enough to feel the slow exhale on his chin. “I don’t know what to think when I’m around you. You rattle my brain, make my head hurt.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You’re right.” He pulled back. “We shouldn’t.”

  The confusion in her eyes didn’t match the way her hands gripped him tighter. “I didn’t mean don’t kiss me. I meant don’t think about it so hard.” Then she tilted her head up and met his lips with hers.

  Their mouths barely touching, the force of the impact rocked through him, and he fought like hell to suppress the need surging inside him.

  Her hands worked under the edge of his shirt and branded the tender skin at his waistband. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, where the taste of tequila and salt and lemon lingered. With their bodies pressed together from hip to hair, they swayed out of time to the beat of their own internal tune.

  She made him ache with a hunger so deep it bordered on painful. Lost in the whirlwind of Charlie, he didn’t come up for air until the music shifted to a fast-paced rock tune and the vibration of dozens of boots stomping on the raised floor shook him out of the stupor he’d nose-dived into.

  “You want to get out of here?” He leaned close to her ear so she could hear him.

  Her breath tickled his ear. “I don’t know. A part of me might—”

  He shook his head. “Just a part, huh?”

  She hesitated. Now she was in the hot seat. He waited, ready for a long, drawn-out explanation of why this would be a bad idea. Instead, he felt her agreement in the nod of her head. Any words were lost to the racket around them. As they passed the bar, he tossed a few bills in the direction of the bartender and pushed the door open for Charlie. They didn’t make it two feet out the front door before she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him her way. Caught off balance, he stumbled toward her and bounced off the bumper of a jacked-up pickup truck. Lips locked, they ricocheted between parked cars and trucks like two balls in a pinball machine as they stumbled toward where she’d parked.

  This was crazy. His whole body hummed. It was like she was possessed with some sort of urgency. Maybe she felt the need to move fast, before she changed her mind. Her hands ran under his shirt, blazing a trail beneath her touch, leaving a longing afterburn in their wake.

  This could make things awkward. He should stop. She’d regret this when she sobered up, and he’d feel like shit for not ending it.

  “Charlie, I—”

  Her hand slid inside the waistband of his jeans. “Yes, Beck?”

  He hissed in a breath and tried to speak between kisses. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “You’re right.” She nibbled on his bottom lip. “I absolutely agree.”

  “You’ve had a lot to drink, and I—”

  “Are you serious?” She broke the kiss, her hand still wedged into his waistband. “I’ve had two beers and one shot over the past two hours. I’m perfectly capable of consent, cowboy.” Her eyes flared as she pulled her hand out of his pants. “If you’re looking for an excuse, just say so.”

  He already missed the heat of her touch. “I’m not looking for an excuse.” He reached up to brush her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. The heat, the need, the want in her gaze pulled at him.

 
“Then what are you waiting for?” She crooked a finger and took a few steps backward. He followed, taking one long stride to every two of hers.

  They’d reached the truck. He opened the door and lifted her into the back seat, then climbed in after her. She scooted across the bench seat, her skirt splayed around her legs.

  The rational part of his brain shut down like someone had pulled the power plug. Raw physical need took over.

  Charlie leaned against the opposite door, the glow from the parking lot floodlight framing her in a silvery light. Her hair had escaped the knot she’d tied, and strands stuck out from her head in all directions. A fine sheen of sweat covered the skin exposed by her spaghetti-strap tank. So much skin. Beck wanted to run his hands, his lips, his tongue over every square inch.

  She reached out to palm the front of his jeans. A growl started in the back of his throat and rumbled through his chest, unleashing a primal desire.

  “Are we doing this?” he asked. The thought of shutting things down sent a shock wave of protest through his system. He’d gone too far for a cold shower to cool him off. If Charlie didn’t want to see this through, he’d be spending some time getting reacquainted with his right hand.

  She didn’t respond—just stared up at him in the semidarkness. Her chest rose and fell in hypnotizing breaths. Since he’d first seen her in that tank, his mind had been crammed with thoughts of yanking her shirt over her head and running his hands all over her bronzed skin.

  Hovering over her on hands and knees, he cleared his throat and lifted his head to survey the sea of parked cars. “Yeah, I figured it was—”

  A flash of white pulled his gaze back to Charlie as she whipped the tank top over her head and tossed it into the front seat. Her practical, no-nonsense, white bra pushed her breasts up like an offering, one he was all too happy to accept. He reached for her, cupping her cheek with a hand and running his finger down her jaw and along her neck, and pausing at the sweet hollow at the base of her throat.