“TJ doesn’t keep the horses in the house,” she calls after him as I take the high chair from her.
He stops abruptly in the middle of the foyer and scans the area. “Where horsie?”
Asgard barks his answer.
“They’re in the fields until we bring them in for the night.” Which I’m sure is roughly what Asgard woofed. “Would you like see them?”
“Horsie.”
“How about we check on your mommy first?” I say. “She’s helping make dinner. Then we can go see the horses.”
Where’s Camilla and the crew? Camilla is in her room, catching up on her phone calls and emails. The only other person around from the TV crew is Craig. The rest left as soon as they finished videotaping me make the chili.
“Viewers love it when the cowboys are domesticated,” Camilla had explained earlier before disappearing into her room. And before the act of cooking dinner became a made-for-TV production.
Deacon nods so fast at my question, he could be mistaken for a bobble-head figurine. I remove his sneakers, then he and Grandma Meg follow me into the kitchen. Violet is standing next to the island sink, rinsing the spinach.
“Mommy!” The little boy rushes over to her as she turns off the water.
She scoops him up and plants a big kiss on his cheek. He giggles.
“My mommy,” he declares for my benefit.
“Is that so?” I say. “She’s a very pretty mommy.”
What I was going to say is that she’s gorgeous—as in the-star-of-my-sexual-fantasies gorgeous. But fortunately, my brain hijacked my mouth before it was too late.
A light blush sweeps across her cheeks, and she’s catapulted to a new realm of hotness.
One that my cock fully appreciates.
Until…
“Rumor has it TJ’s making his infamous chili.” The cheerful sound of Austin’s voice sends my cock into hiding.
Violet’s brother and Noah enter the kitchen.
Deacon bounces in his mom’s arms. “See horsie. See horsie.”
“I told him I’d show him the horses before dinner,” I say.
“Can I come, too?” she asks her son.
If I had my way, she’d be coming several times in my bed tonight. But instead of slipping that into the conversation, I ask Deacon, “What do you say? Can your mommy come see the horses with us?”
“See horsie.”
“I’m taking that as a yes,” I say to Violet. “Why don’t I finish making the salad? And then we can head to the paddock to see the colts.”
It takes all but ten seconds before the toddler starts squirming in her arms. She lowers him to the floor. He scampers away to join Noah and Grandma Meg at the kitchen table.
Violet hugs her brother. “I thought you were working tonight.” Which would explain why he’s wearing his uniform.
“I am. But even as sheriff, I get to have dinner. Funny how that happens.” A chime pings from his pants pocket. He pulls out his phone and reads the message.
“That isn’t a call, is it?” Violet asks.
“No, a text from a friend of mine from the SEALs. Liam and I served together until I left. Now he lives in San Francisco and owns a security and investigation firm. He’s been trying to recruit me to work as part of his team for a few months now.”
“You’re leaving Copper Creek?” She sounds as surprised as I feel. This is the first he’s mentioned it to me.
He shoves the phone back into his pocket. “I have a job here that I enjoy. So that would be a no. Although if I did, it’d only be a six-hour drive to see you and the little squirt.”
Which is better than the eighteen hours from here to LA.
“Awww,” Violet says as I pick up the small knife and begin slicing the strawberries. “Didn’t realize you missed me so much.”
“Hey, you’re my baby sister. Of course I miss you. I hate that you’re not here. At least then I can make sure you don’t hook up with any more dumbasses.”
Naturally, that would include me—if he knew how she was frequently featured in my thoughts.
His comment does, though, pique my interest about what dumbass he is referring to. Deacon’s father?
I pause, the knife blade resting on the strawberry, watching how this will play out between them. Even when we were kids, Austin took on the role of protective older brother—a role that Violet, time after time, disagreed with.
Violet rolls her eyes. “I’m a big girl now, Austin. You don’t have any say in whom I date.”
“You wanna bet?” is his muttered reply before he heads to the table.
“I didn’t know you were quite the cook,” Violet says to me as though Austin hadn’t said anything.
I lean closer to her. Close enough to appreciate her vanilla and rose scent—but not close enough to have her brother in my face. “Wanna know a secret?”
She turns around, the curve of her back pressing against the kitchen counter. And like earlier by the river, her gaze lowers to my lips, and she holds it there for a heartbeat.
Her brown eyes, with mischief dancing in them, flick up to meet mine. “I like secrets.”
For a second, I forget where I am. I just get lost in her eyes, and I’m more than happy to stay there.
Until Austin’s loud laugh booms through the kitchen, reminding me exactly where I am and what I shouldn’t be doing.
I swallow back the lust that’s eager to be my downfall. “I’m not all that good a cook. Just ask my brothers. But they aren’t much better. Chili’s about the only thing I can make well. And Sophie gave me the recipe for the salad.”
Violet laughs, the sound soft and breathy. “Why does that not surprise me?” Then after a beat she says, “She’s really nice, by the way. Sophie, I mean.”
“She is.”
She pops a strawberry slice from the cutting board into her mouth. “Have you guys dated?”
“You mean each other or dated in general?”
“Each other.”
I shake my head. “Sophie is more like a sister to me. So that would be a no.” She and Jake were friends in college before she moved to Copper Creek. He was the one who suggested we hire her—and then came up with his “No Dating Employees” rule.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Her tone is casual, like when asking someone if they prefer coffee or tea. But the same casualness is not mirrored in her eyes or her partially parted lips.
My fingers crave to pick up a strawberry slice and trace it along her plump lower lip like I crave to do with my tongue. I curl my fingers into a loose fist, reminding myself that none of it would be a smart idea.
“If I were,” I say, “I wouldn’t be doing this stupid show.”
Her eyebrows raise in question.
“I don’t think this kid is going to last much longer before you take him to see the horses,” Noah says, intruding on the moment between Violet and me. The moment between us that shouldn’t be happening.
I step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.
“He might just explode if he has to wait another second. Kaboom!” Noah’s arms shoot up for added emphasis.
Deacon copies the sound and arm actions, although his make for a much smaller explosion.
“All right, Deacon,” I say, setting the knife down. “Let’s go see those horses.”
I don’t have to say that twice. He runs over as fast as his two-year-old legs can carry him.
“We won’t be long,” I call over my shoulder. “But, Noah, if you feel compelled to finish making the salad, don’t let anyone stop you.”
This is met with a hearty laugh and a “Nice try.”
I’d like to say that Austin stays in the kitchen with Grandma Meg and Noah. But at least Craig does stay behind since there’s no point videotaping me showing Deacon the horses. It’s not allowed to be aired.
Outside, Violet helps her son down the steps, then the four of us make our way to the corral where the colts are waiting. Asgard follows us.
Curious if I have
any treats for them, the three colts trot over.
I remove an apple slice from the plastic bag I brought with me and place it on my hand, palm flat. Austin picks Deacon up, so the toddler can get a better view.
With my fingers straight, I offer the apple slice over the metal gate to a colt. He sniffs it and greedily gobbles it up. Deacon giggles.
The little boy reaches out to pat the horse, and I show him how to stroke the colt’s muzzle. The horse whinnies. That gets another giggle from Deacon.
The other two colts attempt to nudge their half sibling out of the way, annoyed that he gets to have a treat when they presumably don’t.
“Okay, Oaklie, let Max and Whiskey have their turn.” I feed them their apple slices. They then allow Deacon to pat them.
While this is going on, Violet takes photos, capturing Deacon’s pricelessly awed expression. And for the first time, ever, an image pops into my mind of a little boy watching me feed the horses. A little boy with my own dark hair.
I quickly squelch the image and step away from uncle and nephew.
“I guess this means you need to get a horse,” I say, standing beside Violet.
She keeps clicking away at the camera. “Something tells me my apartment in LA won’t allow me to keep one. They won’t even let me have a dog or a cat.”
I grunt, the noise a mix of what-the-fuck and teasing. Mostly teasing. “What kind of hellhole do you live in?”
The corners of Violet’s mouth twitch. “Welcome to apartment living. I’ll admit that’s the one thing I miss about living here. I miss having a pet.” Her parents also had a dog.
Bored of the attention and disappointed at the lack of more apple slices, the colts walk away from the fence.
“Do you want to meet my horse, Thor?” I ask Deacon. “He’s black and was named after the Norse god of thunder. And when you’re older, I’ll let you read my Thor Marvel comics and you’ll see exactly why I named him that.”
He nods, his attention still on the colts.
But instead of taking him to the field where Thor is hanging out, I lead Deacon, Violet, and Austin to my workshop. It’s located on the other side of the barn where Violet took photos of me yesterday—with Camilla and the TV crew looking on.
And where we plan to take some more after dinner.
Hopefully without Austin in tow.
“You’re taking my sister to your man cave?” Austin’s tone borders on horrified, as if I had just offered to castrate him.
“I’m making an exception. This one time.” I unlock the door and flick on the light as I enter.
Violet steps inside and I take in her expression as she scans the space: the workbench, the various tools stored on the wall, the jigsaws, power sanders, and router on the side bench, the piles of wood next to the shop vac in the corner.
“What is this place?” she asks.
“My workshop. By day, I’m a rancher—by night, I do woodwork. And more specifically, I make horses.” I stride over to where the toddler-sized rocking horse awaits.
I pick it up and return to where mother and son are standing. I set it in front of him. “Deacon, meet your very first horse.” I pat the seat that makes up the horse’s back.
The only parts of the horse that aren’t made of wood are the fake leather ears, the plastic eyes, and the mane and tail, which are made from cream-colored wool.
Deacon steps forward and looks at me. I nod, understanding his unspoken question. I assist him onto the horse and instruct him to hold on to the handlebars. Then I show him how to rock it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. He giggles the entire time.
“You made that?” Violet’s voice is low and slightly rough.
“Damn straight he did,” Austin says. “He’s been giving them away for a few years now to kids who are undergoing chemo.”
Violet crouches next to me and touches the wooden head. “This is beautiful, TJ. It looks like an antique.”
Deacon giggles again, getting the hang of rocking the horse on his own.
“Thanks. I think he likes it.”
An intoxicating warmth fills me at the happy expression on his face. This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed a child’s reaction after they’ve received one of my horses, but this is the first time I have felt this way about it.
The downside?
The pride on Violet’s face leaves me craving to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Which might have been okay if Austin wasn’t standing behind me.
“We should go back to the house for dinner,” I say while reminding myself that I’m being an idiot.
Violet isn’t interested in me that way.
I’m just her brother’s best friend.
The guy you don’t kiss.
The guy you don’t fuck.
The guy you don’t imagine naked.
But then I remember how she was looking at me in the kitchen and by the river…like she did want to kiss me, like she did want to imagine me naked, like she did want to think of me as something more than her brother’s best friend.
And I have no idea what to make of it.
10
“Well, that can’t be good.”
No five words are truer than when Grandma Meg and the co-producer of a reality show are sitting together at the kitchen table, chatting.
And based on Violet’s comment and her expression, she agrees with me one hundred and ten percent. “I told Granny to be careful what she says about you. The last thing you need is for Camilla to get any real dirt on you.”
“You mean, how I like dirty talk?” All right, that one slipped out, unabashed. Reckless.
Luckily, Austin and Deacon didn’t hear it. They’re next to the stove, checking to see if Jake and Noah have finished making dinner.
Violet’s current smile now appears at the top of my list for upcoming fantasies. There’s nothing innocent or sweet about it. Every curve is seductively shy.
“That wasn’t quite what I meant, but you have me intrigued,” she says. “Have you ever watched a reality show?”
“Do you really not remember me that well?”
“Right. Of course not. Well, if a show doesn’t have enough conflict and drama, viewers will quickly grow bored of it, and the viewership will drop. A drop in viewership means advertisers will redirect their money to other time slots for the next season. All of this is a kiss of death for the show, and it’s something producers try to avoid—especially if they want to keep from joining the unemployment line.”
“And you’re worried Camilla will dig around and find something to add conflict to the show?”
“Exactly. I mean, I’m sure they’ll find something anyway. You haven’t exactly been a perfect little angel your entire life.”
Unfortunately, Noah didn’t consider that when he submitted my name for the show.
“Is that horse for Deacon?” Grandma Meg asks, spotting the rocking horse in my arms.
Nodding, I lower it onto the floor and instantly Deacon is on it, rocking and giggling.
“TJ made that,” Grandma Meg tells Camilla. “He donates them to kids undergoing chemo.”
Camilla’s eyes widen—but not in surprise. The cogs in her head are spinning. Spinning as she plots how to use this new information. Spinning as she calculates a way it can benefit the show. “Really? How come you didn’t mention it on the application form?”
I shrug because it’s not like I filled it in. “That’s because I didn’t think it was important. Not for the show anyway. Creating rocking horses isn’t your standard cowboy duty.”
“True. But it’s a great angle to your story.”
“My story?”
She pushes away from the table and stands. “Yes, your story. It’s what makes each cowboy unique,” she says, walking toward me. “The show is more than just about hot-looking men.”
Could have fooled me, given how much she’s been pushing for me to be shirtless. And yes, she actually suggested I go shirtless when Craig
videotaped me cooking the chili.
“Do you have any more?”
I shake my head. “I usually give them away as soon as I finish making them.”
“How long does it take you to make one?”
“About two to three weeks.” Depending on how busy I am.
“Do you think you can have one ready for the next round?” she asks. “It would make a great segment to have you and Natalie present the horse to a kid in the hospital.”
“You mean if I advance to the next round.”
Camilla pats my arm in a way that I’m not sure how to read—other than it’s not seductive. “I’d bet money that you’ll make it, no problem. Of the men I’ve met so far, you’re definitely the one our audience will be lusting over. And I’m sure my fellow co-producers who have met the other contestants will agree.”
Oh, joy.
“So, can you have a horse ready by then?” Her tone is all business, further confirming my original suspicion. She’s only thinking of the show. She’s not thinking of the sick kids I make the horses for.
“Sure.” Somehow, I sound more enthusiastic than I feel. Maybe way, way, way deep inside me, there’s an actor waiting to break free.
I inwardly snort at that.
After dinner, Austin, Grandma Meg, and Deacon drive back to town.
Violet glances out the living room window. “TJ, we should head out now. The lighting will be perfect soon for what I have planned for the photos.”
“Craig,” Camilla says, standing from the couch. “We might as well join them and get footage of TJ modeling for the camera.”
Disappointment kicks me in the ass. Violet has been sending me unmixed signals, and now I want to find out if I’ve been reading them correctly. Find out if they’re what I’m hoping for.
Find out if they’re what I shouldn’t be hoping for.
But I can’t do it with Craig and Camilla tagging along.
“That’s probably not a good idea.” Violet says it a little too quickly, gaining a few surprised looks. “I mean, I’ll be shooting photos with low, directional lighting. It will look great for what I have in mind. It won’t look so hot for the video camera.” If the speed of words spoken was a rodeo event, Violet just won top prize.
Cowboy Most Wanted Page 7
