The Cowboy’s Socialite

by Carmen Falcone

  Her chest contracted. Would Jack have turned out differently if his mom hadn’t abandoned him? I won’t go there.

  No wonder he hated her. After losing the baby, she’d left him.

  God, he’d been so happy when she’d gotten pregnant, and now she knew why. He’d wanted a new beginning. The family he never had… but she wasn’t the one to give it to him. As far as she knew, Jack Canyon still meant trouble.

  Lola stepped out of the 1990 silver Ford truck she’d purchased in town. Slamming the dusty door behind her, she second-guessed her decision. She’d spent the whole day talking to Cody, using him just for the strictly necessary, and making calls, trying to wrap her head around the paperwork to open her B&B. Not to mention she’d cruised the internet like a madwoman to learn how-to tutorials most women her age, who hadn’t been fed with a sparkling hot pink spoon carved with diamonds knew how to do.

  A woman like Mel, the vet she’d spotted checking the animals a few times. Besides a wave from the distance, they hadn’t exchanged many words. Why would they? After all this was Jack’s friend. Oh by the way, we’re not married, but we slept together. But really didn’t mean anything. What would you say, Mel, if you knew?

  To Jack, she bet it hadn’t meant much. What about to Lola?

  She opened the door and closed it behind her with a sigh. Pepper barked all the way from the top of the stairs and ran down to greet her. She bent a bit and let him nuzzle on her face, never needing so much comfort.

  “Hi.” The deep voice made her stand up.

  Turning around, she found Jack on the couch, with his iPad in hand, wearing a shirt and lounging pants. The lack of shoes brought a scary sense of intimacy, along with his long legs crossed one over the other. The first time they faced each other, after less than forty-eight hours of the sexual setback. Just yesterday, he’d flown to Houston and apparently slept over. Maybe to avoid her.

  He tore his gaze from the screen and lifted it to meet hers, and the misleading vibe of informality died right there. Artic coldness coated his blue eyes.

  “Having fun?”

  “Business.” He tossed the tablet to the side and stood. “Earl told me you’ve met with a handyman and have been making plans to implement changes.”

  “Nothing too drastic. I’d like to make the downstairs bedrooms wheelchair accessible, and one of the bathrooms on the en suite upstairs needs updating.”

  He gave her a slow nod. “And you never considered asking me, since I own half of this place?”

  “I never knew you had a calling for interior designing.” Without waiting for his reply, she sauntered into the kitchen for a glass of water. The baked apple pie on the counter caught her attention, and she sliced a small piece. Soon, he walked into the kitchen.

  Heat coiled very low in her stomach. She and Jack, alone in the kitchen? Best not leave it to chance. Forgoing a plate and silverware, she grabbed a napkin where she placed the pie and dashed out of the kitchen.

  She turned around, and found him pacing in circles, his eyes looking somewhere beyond the walls and tacky kitchen decorations. A strong man walking in circles like a bull locked in a horse pen.

  He lifted his hand to his neck, rubbing it. “The cottage where your dad left all his stuff.” His pacing stopped and he darted his attention to her. “You should go through those boxes to see what’s worth keeping. Pretty soon, third-generation mice will carve their names on the cardboard.”

  She took the pie to her mouth, and clumsier than planned, took a bite. Heavenly pieces of crusty crumbs fell from her lips, and she slipped her tongue out to salvage the couple of crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Already on my to-do list. So now will you get off my back about the house?”

  He stared at her mouth as she took another bite. “If you turn this house into a circus, I don’t want to be the one picking up the pieces when you leave.” His eyes searched for hers, barely moving his lips to speak.

  She swallowed the last chunk of pie, pushing food past the resentment clogging her throat. “What is it going to take for you to believe in me, Jack?” she asked, hating herself for wishing he could believe her potential. Why did it matter?

  “Suppose this plan of yours works and you open your B&B. Is that what you want, to be tied up to a remote tourist destination for the rest of your life?”

  “I’m taking one step at a time. I’m not planning the rest of my life yet…” She wiped her mouth on the napkin and rolled it into a paper ball with her hand. The way he sucked his breath warned her he didn’t care for her answer. But what could she do, lie?

  “And who’s going to run it for you?”

  She clasped her hand around the now damp ball of paper. “I will. I’ll take it off the ground and make it successful. And I’ll buy your share one day and make Red Oak all mine.”

  Big arms folded, he squinted. No need to be a rocket scientist to know he challenged her every syllable. “Then what?”

  Jamming the paper in her pocket, she shook her head. A tightening claimed her chest, her stomach, her throat. What if he was right? What if her enthusiasm didn’t make up for her lack of hands-on experience? Old doubts mingling with past failures resurfaced. Still, she soldiered on. This time she would make her idea work. “To own a successful business you don’t have to sign your life away and reside in it, Jack. People who own gyms and movie theaters don’t sleep inside the buildings,” she said, her voice surprisingly assertive. Fake it until you make it.

  “Yes but you’ll need to be involved.”

  “I plan to. I’ll always be involved.”

  A strangled chuckle left his mouth. “Even when you leave?”

  Was he still talking about the B&B? “I’ll be involved even if one day I have enough profit to hire a talented manager.”

  “It’s nice to know you have it all planned out.” He opened his hands wide, mocking her. “Am I going to live with your talented manager?”

  No, because by then she would have bought the other half of the ranch. Why did this place mean so much to Jack? Daddy had even shown her an article on her estranged husband once in a magazine. Jack’s other properties were decorated in far better taste, and he could live in any of them. Yet, he chose to make this his home.

  He kept staring at her. His nostrils flared, his eyes gleaming with anger.

  She inhaled hard and strong to prevent her tired shoulders from sagging. “You’re successful Jack. Don’t you wish it for me?” she asked genuinely, willing the weight on her back to lift.

  He gave a long, frustrated sigh. “I wish for you to learn how to commit to things.”

  Commit. How many times had he used that word in their four month marriage, always asking for more than she was willing to give? Always. A bolt of bitterness shook her emotional exhaustion away and a thread of energy surged through her. “Well, lucky me I’m learning from the best. Especially how you committed to the Goody Two-Shoes Vet while you’re legally committed to me. Or how you screwed me on the stairs when she clearly has feelings for you. You’re just a wholesome wealth of good values and morals, aren’t you?”

  Chapter 5

  Jack gazed at the dog sitting on the floor, ears flattened and eyes widened. “Buck up boy, I ain’t that bad.” Am I? He glanced at the screen of his iPad. Over two hours ago, Lola stormed out of the house and ran to the cottage he’d been bugging her about.

  Fuck. A string of doubts poked him, preventing him from jetting to his room, taking a shower and going to bed. Every five minutes, he turned his head and faced the door, wondering when she’d come to her senses and return home. His home, naturally. Not hers. Nightime had fallen, and it had to be an oven inside the cottage with no air conditioning.

  Exhaling didn’t help. He surged to his feet and strode around the living room, then headed to the stairs. He caressed the stair rail, his fingers gliding over the polished oak. Pepper followed him, his paws scratching the wood floor, and whimpered. How would he be able to sleep if the damned dog scratched his door all night,
looking for its crazy owner? Or worse, continued the annoying whimpering it’d been making on and off for the past hour.

  He clasped his palm around the top of the rail. The realization that, right or wrong, she had a valid point about his behavior sank in and destroyed any possibility of a good night’s sleep. A part of him clung to the stairs, to going upward, and not looking back.

  For a while, he thought Mel would be the perfect wife for him one day. After a failed marriage, why not settle for a good woman? A woman who shared his view of the world, love of the country life, and family values? A woman who didn’t bring out the worst in him… that didn’t make his emotions overrule his good sense just because she made his pulse race. A woman who didn’t make his pulse race every god damn second.

  Emotions would never rule him again.

  Then why did the insistent throbbing in his temples tell him otherwise? He lifted both hands and massaged the problem area, seeking relief. The real relief he’d feel once the divorce papers were consensually signed, and he’d earned the right to move forward. And now… to get his guilt-free sleep, he needed Lola to return to the house.

  “I’ll get her,” he promised the dog before darting out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  During the quarter of a mile path leading to the cottage, a thread of sweat coated his forehead. The humidity didn’t help, of course, but he blamed the stakes of the impeding conversation. How was he going to talk to Lola? They’d never been good at talking. He’d never been good at talking.

  Besides, he hated to give her the upper hand. Shit. He should have thought this through. Diving head first in situations—conversations—without practice and thought was not his style. Especially where Lola was concerned.

  He reached the entrance and brushed the old door handle that was dampened by humidity. Sweat trickled from the back of his neck down his shoulders. Too late to change his mind. With frogs and crickets buzzing in the background, he swung the door open, and found her sitting on the floor, next to the wicker chair and coffee table, surrounded by dozens of boxes, big and small. Some closed, some open.

  “What are you doing here?” She rose to her feet, arms folded, determination lighting her dark eyes. A cloud of dust filtered through the air, and he coughed.

  “What the heck are you doing? It’s miserable in here.” He wiped the sheen from his forehead.

  A pattern of sweat started on her face and traveled down her neck, wetting the top of her light green shirt, and disheveling her hair. Still, she was hotter than the room temperature. But it didn’t matter. Her looks would only push him into the abyss at this point.

  “I thought I’d get started on going through Daddy’s boxes. I also couldn’t take one more moment of listening to your hypocrisy.” The pang of sadness in her voice made his chest contract.

  He stared deep into her inquisitive eyes, and a wish to shake off the sensation surging through him. The hum sweeping over him. “You just drive me crazy sometimes.” Putting it mildly.

  She shrugged.

  I suck at this.

  He scratched his head, giving his fidgety fingers something to do. The sigh he let out slowly filled the static of the room—her eyes held his, without wavering. A trace of vulnerability flicked in them, provoking a lump to grow in his throat.

  She stepped forward, letting her arms drop to her sides as if they weighed loads. “We don’t have to be at each other’s throats every second, Jack. There’s another F we haven’t tried besides fighting and fucking.”

  “What?” he managed to say casually, hiding the riling up of his nerves at the mere mention of what they’d done.

  “We could be friends.”

  “Friends,” he repeated, having a harder time pronouncing it than a foreign word.

  “Yes.” She fanned herself, the evidence she was turning into a burnt toast. “Until one of us gets their way, most likely me, we have to find a common ground and respect each other.”

  Friends. The idea sounded stupid, but he could no longer deal with the spikes in his blood pressure because of her. And like her other botched ideas, who knew how long this one would last? Just in case, and to prevent yet another fight, he decided to agree. “Okay.” He stretched out his hand, which she took without hesitation. He clasped her hand with his, and the businesslike handshake he’d planned turned into a touch searing him to the bones. She started to let go first, the tip of her fingers trembling as they glided over his skin. Until… she withdrew her hand.

  “Great.” After a snappy clap, she perched her hands on her waist. “Now that we’re friends, I might need your signature to get the zoning permit for my B&B.”

  Of course she had an ulterior motive. A cold shiver ran down his spine. The upside of her one sided friendship was he’d be remembering her manipulative personality front and center. “You mean the B&B I don’t want you to open?” He was pleased at how lighthearted he sounded. How could he not mention it though? Even if they got along— they both wanted different things. He wanted to buy her share, and she wanted to open the B&B and have a shot at buying his. If that happened, his issue of needing the river crossing this property to the other ones would still exist. Unless…

  “I mean the one you told me you’d give me a chance to try. I can’t get all the paperwork in order if both owners don’t sign.”

  He scratched his chin. “I don’t know, Lola. This so-called friendship seems a bit one sided.” He’d be damned if he gave her something without getting something in return… and he knew exactly what he wanted. “I’ll sign under one condition.”

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  She knew he coveted the divorce, but that was already part of the bargain. Lola braced herself, wished she wore a head to toe burka and not the skimpy shirt currently clinging to her sweaty skin, or the snug jeans. In all honesty, no outfit would inhibit the pulsing knot between her thighs. But at least, if she had something else on he wouldn’t be able to notice her nipples straining against her bra and shirt. Begging for release. Begging for his hands, lips, and tongue.

  In an uncomfortable silence, his gaze roamed her face and body, and she stepped back until her leg pressed against one of the bigger boxes. She chewed on her lip, unsure of what to do or say. She hoped he’d turn and walk away, because the rocket of desire had begun to self-assemble inside of her again, piece by piece, and if he showed her any inclination, she’d throw her friendship plan into space and lose herself in his scorching kisses and hard body.

  No. She cracked her fingers. His somewhat truce toward her had been the perfect opportunity for her to ask for his help without begging. She didn’t need to give him the upper hand and show him she was a dumb moron controlled by raging hormones and little less. What kind of B&B owner did that make her? Jeez.

  “If you end up winning our first deal and if one day you buy back the property, you give me your word you’ll never keep me from using the river that crosses my other properties.” His calm voice cut the charged air, and she gave a long, deep sigh.

  “Interesting. You thought I’d be petty and not let you use it?”

  He glanced down. “It has crossed my mind.”

  “You have a deal. Whatever happens, I won’t keep your animals from using the river.”

  “Good. Then, I’ll be… your friend.” The last word nearly vanished from his sentence.

  “Great.” Her lips broke into the most compromising smile she could manage.

  He shot her a charming grin. “Now can you go back? Your dog is going crazy without you.”

  “Pepper wants his late night snack.” She laughed. “I’ll finish this last box and go.” She pointed at the large cardboard stashed under the table, the remaining unopened one on the right side.

  “I’ll get it.” Bending down, he scooped it up and placed it on the round table, crowded with other things she’d found. She’d come here in the heat of the moment, wanting a good amount of distance from him. She didn’t want to worry about listening
to his footfalls going up the stairs. But what she found was… boxes and boxes filled with remains of business ideas and interests her beloved father hadn’t mastered. Amongst them, the samples of utensils from a Japanese factory, the do-it-yourself sushi idea that never took off.

  Jack ripped the scotch tape off with one swift movement, then slid the box in her direction. “There.”

  She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words got trapped in her throat as she saw the contents inside this box. Family albums, a couple of drawings from her childhood. Instantly, suffocating warmth thickened her throat and heat pricked behind her eyes. Her fingers touched the corners of a frame, where she stood smiling between her proud father and beautiful mother during a vacation. The picture was taken just before her parents’ divorce, when the world was still unthreatening and fair.

  “You were a cute kid.”

  She put the frame aside, wiped the stubborn tears from her eyes, and sucked in her breath to suppress a sniff. She finally got a hold of herself, and raised her gaze to meet his. The layers of blue around his irises had never looked brighter. Jack’s partially opened lips and relaxed stance seemed to instantly comfort her, but then he’d always been able to offer her that until they fell apart. And, fool that she was, she needed it. More than she ever imagined.

  “I was mad at him for a bit. Mad at myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t take care of himself after his first stroke,” she said, wishing she could lock away the pain and not sound like a hot mess, her voice strangled and another batch of tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. Daddy had always enjoyed his aged scotch and imported Cuban cigars, hadn’t he? Even when the doctors advised him against them. Repeatedly. “I didn’t take care of him the way I should.”