Finding Her Cowboy

by Sarah Gay

  “That depends on how well I get to know you,” he said, swinging his arms. “To create paradise, I need to understand what paradise looks like to you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment as the sweet, hot cider trickled down her throat and warmed her chest. He was paradise, but she couldn’t tell him that. “I like sweet smelling flowers that bring in the honeybees. And I like the combination of purple and yellow.”

  “Honeybees and sweet scents. I love that. I can craft for you a garden that’ll bring in all the bees, but that’s not exactly what I meant,” he said, gently placing his hand on her back and widening his stance to guard her from the thickening crowd. “What are your favorite movies, books, music?”

  She touched her neck and glanced up at the clear sky. “I’ll need to think about that one.”

  “Take your time,” he said, pointing across the street. “Wanna walk the shopping district? I hear they have some new flavors at the olive oil store.”

  “Mm. Sounds delicious. Let’s go.”

  He brushed the back of her hand again. When she didn’t pull away, he linked their fingers together, causing butterflies to flitter around in her stomach. He led her toward the stoplight to cross the street. The row of culinary shops stood on the exact opposite end of the square from her shop.

  They stepped into the oil and vinegar shop to the aroma of fruity vinegar and dried herbs. Becca stopped at the first table of vinegar samples and dipped a piece of bread into a clear sample. “Peach,” she said with delight as the thick syrup coated her mouth. “That’s really sweet. Here, you try,” she said, handing Jack a disposable sample cup.

  He placed the cup to his lips and shot back the vinegar.

  Becca gasped, then whispered loudly with a hand over her mouth, “What are you doing?”

  “Ahh,” he said, opening his mouth wide as if he’d swallowed cough syrup. “I thought you said it was sweet?”

  “Sweet for vinegar,” she whispered. “We’re taste-testing vinegar and oil. You’re the one who said we should come here.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “There’s something really wrong with a person who mixes peach juice with vinegar,” he said quietly as his eyes flew to the young teenage employee.

  Becca laughed too loudly for the small shop. Regaining her composure, she pulled Jack’s arm. “You’ve got my attention. Now stop. You have no excuse for this behavior,” she said, walking out of the store. “I’m the one who grew up in a trailer, and you’re in there acting all uncultured.”

  “You were raised in a trailer?” he asked with an expression of shock, mixed with pity—a look she’d seen more times than she cared to count.

  “Yeah, I know. It was traumatizing. Not sure how I made it out alive,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

  His eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be patronizing.”

  “No worries. It builds character, right? Having to bust your butt for everything you’ve got?” Everything except my business license. Without her kind cowboy benefactor, who knows how close she would’ve gotten to realizing her goals. Every day she looked for him, in the men she passed on the street, and in the big black trucks that drove by, hoping to thank him. But she hadn’t seen his face in city hall, and Texas was filled with kind-hearted cowboys. Finding her cowboy was nothing more than a fantasy.

  Jack stopped and leaned his back against a cedar elm tree. He bent his left knee and raised his leg up, pressing the sole of his shoe into the trunk like he planned to stay there awhile in the shade. He pointed to his chest. “I’m just your average, unrefined, working-class guy. I apprenticed for my grandfather for years before I made any money. He trained me in the hopes that I’d carry on his legacy.”

  “What legacy?”

  “You really want to know?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, running her hand up his arm, which felt as sturdy as a tree trunk. “I know you’re a hard worker. I’ve seen it firsthand.” The heat rose in her cheeks, remembering how his bare chest glistened in the sun, and how his toned back and arms flexed as he pushed the lawnmower.

  He rested the back of his head against the tree and stared up at the branches. “My grandfather designed some of the best gardens in Dallas. As a kid, I’d spend my summers exploring his work sites. He got used to my company…to the point where he wouldn’t go out on a job unless I was with him.”

  “That’s so tender,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “Male bonding,” he corrected her. “My grandfather taught me to appreciate every living thing and understand the important roles each organism plays in the bigger picture. He inspired me to get my undergrad in Botany and my graduate degree in Horticultural Science and Design.”

  She waved a hand in the air in disbelief. “And you choose to mow my lawn with that degree? You should be out designing huge gardens in the city.”

  “You think?” he asked with a smile that told her he wasn’t telling her something.

  While he gazed off in the distance, in some memory with his grandfather, she studied his face to guess his secrets. His brown eyes were more honey-gold than a deep chocolate brown, like she’d originally thought, and his skin had pink undertones, not olive. His high cheek bones gave him the appearance of an elegant male ballet dancer, but his strong jaw brought his face into the perfect balance of masculine beauty. Her eyes trailed down his neck, stopping at a long scar. She breathed out a slow breath as she reached up and touched the raised skin. “What’s this from?” she asked.

  Without warning, he whipped his chin down and snapped at her fingers. She jumped back and screamed, then laughed. He chuckled at her reaction. “Shark bite.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? Seriously?”

  “No.” He shook his head with a teasing smile. “Frisco gun club.”

  She reached up, slowly this time, and touched his scar again, imagining a rogue bullet grazing his neck, barely missing his artery. She swallowed hard as she brushed her fingers down his neck. This guy had tough written all over him, and she couldn’t help but be more drawn in by his rugged constitution.

  He placed his hands on her waist, causing her to suck in a quick breath. She ran both hands around to the back of his neck, linking her fingers together at the base of his head. As he lowered his face to hers, she closed her eyes and licked her lips, smiling as the scent of peach vinegar left his mouth, floating in the space between them for what felt like an eternity before her lips lit on fire from his moist kiss.

  “Becca?” Ronny said with surprise.

  Becca pulled away from Jack, her body flooding with the prickling heat of embarrassment. She turned to face her employee, who stood in awe, his mouth fully agape. “Hi, Ronny,” she said, brushing her hair back with her fingers and standing up straight. “This is my friend, Jack. Jack, this is Ronny. He works in my shop.”

  Jack reached around Becca and shook Ronny’s hand. “Pleased to meet you Ronny. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

  Ronny looked anxiously between Becca and Jack, closed his mouth, nodded, and held up a large, brown paper bag. “I should be going. Gracie’s waiting for her lunch, and you know how she gets when she’s hungry.”

  “Right,” responded Becca, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Ronny couldn’t wait to get back to the shop to tell Gracie all about what he’d witnessed in the square. “I’ll stop in later. I took a break from unpacking to come grab some lunch as well.”

  Ronny tipped his head in understanding, then hurried off. She could tell he didn’t believe her, not completely, but she couldn’t blame him. She felt like she’d been caught skipping school by the principal.

  “I’d like to see your shop,” said Jack as he watched Ronny sprint away. “Want to head over now?”

  “After we eat. I’m starving.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm,” Jack said, offering her his arm. “Only take it.”

  She weaved her arm through his as a red leaf floated to the ground in front of them. Fall! H
er favorite time of year, with all the festive colors and holidays. “What’s Halloween like in our neighborhood? Do we get lots of trick-or-treaters?”

  He gave her arm a light squeeze. “You’ll need to get loads of candy. I went through six huge bags last year.”

  “Yay,” she said with excitement. “I’ve always wanted gobs of trick-or-treaters.”

  “And it’s not just the kids who get into it,” Jack said as they dodged a skateboarder coming onto the sidewalk from the road. “Everyone gets into it. Last year, my neighbor across the street placed a full-sized, inflatable dragon on his roof that overlooked the front door. The kids went crazy over it.” They stepped into the farm-to-table restaurant that resembled a refurbished barn.

  She furrowed her brow. “Tough act to follow.”

  “You’re not kidding. Why do you think I’m moving?”

  “Right. That,” she said with a sigh as the hostess led them to an outdoor table along the sidewalk with a full view of the square. The aroma of fried fish and vinegar chips permeated the air. “Have you signed a contract yet?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She sat and immediately took a sip of her ice water. “Why is everything so vague and mysterious with you?”

  He lifted a brow. “You think I’m mysterious?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re anything but an open book.”

  “Wait a second,” he said, pointing at her. “I told you about my grandfather and my love of gardening.”

  She couldn’t deny that he’d opened up to her, partially, but she not only wanted to know more about him; she craved information. “Alright. Tell me more. What about your parents? Where are they?”

  He tapped his water glass on the table, staring at it as he cleared his throat. “My parents divorced when I was young. They live on opposite coasts now and we don’t see them much.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching across the table and touching his hand. “My folks aren’t doing so good either. Sometimes I wish they’d called it quits years ago, but I’m not sure how I would’ve handled it as a kid. That must’ve been hard for you.”

  He nodded. “It was tough at first, but it got easier. Holidays are sort of a free for all. My brothers and I usually do something unconventional together. This year they’re going on a cruise for Thanksgiving. And for Christmas, they’re planning on running a river in Costa Rica.”

  “Sounds amazing. Why aren’t you going?”

  The waitress interrupted their conversation to take their order.

  Becca pointed to the menu. “I’ll have your crispy catfish and a Caesar salad, please.”

  “I’ll take the same,” Jack said, handing the waitress his menu. He turned his attention back to Becca. “I have too much to do here. With the new store opening in Dallas, I’ve been working insane hours to get it ready. Honestly, we need to be open before Thanksgiving because we have a boatload of Christmas trees arriving in mid-November.”

  “I understand retail and long hours. I worked in a shopping mall during the holidays to put myself through college. I’m lucky to have my shop where no one expects us to be open on holidays or late into the evening.” Guilt settled in her gut. “If you don’t have time to work on my yard, I get it.”

  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “I may need to bring some guys over with me to help clear the weeds, rototill, and enrich your soil.” He pointed at her. “And I need you to come choose your plants in the next week or two. How about next Saturday, after another turn around the market with me?”

  She tapped a fingernail on the table, trying to figure out a way to make it work. “I could do that, if we met earlier, say eight o’clock?”

  His face split into a wide grin. “You sure you’ll be awake, sleeping beauty?”

  “Only one way to find out,” she responded.

  “Works for me,” he said with a nod.

  She thrust her hand out across the table. “Here’s to a budding friendship.”

  He laughed. “I like your play on words.” He took her outstretched hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he rested their held hands on the table between them. “I don’t think we could ever be just friends.”

  She avoided his intense gaze, fearing she’d melt into her seat if he spoke to her like that again while staring into her eyes. She steadied herself until she felt strong enough to raise her eyes to meet his stare. Her head went foggy. She was headed down a road that led to nowhere but hurt. “Let’s not fool ourselves. You’re moving,” she said in a flat voice, masking her disappointment.

  “Dallas is less than an hour away. That shouldn’t even be a topic of discussion, and I won’t be moving until after Thanksgiving.”

  “And then?”

  He held his free hand in the air. “Then we figure it out. In the meantime, tell me more about you.”

  They spent the next two hours exchanging childhood stories. Most of his memories involved traipsing with his brothers or grandfather through lush landscapes or driving through sandstorms to reach deserts overflowing with wild, flowering cacti. Her memories were not as picturesque. The only real memory she had of anything green was when she’d visited the local botanical gardens on a school field trip in fourth grade. She hadn’t wanted to leave the gardens that day, begging her teacher to leave her there for her parents to pick her up later that night.

  They left the restaurant to the farmer’s market vacant and still. “What’s your favorite—” she paused when she heard someone call her name.

  Jack stared at her, confusion clouding his face.

  “Becca.” Her mother’s voice came again, slurred and slightly louder this time. Becca closed her eyes and prayed she’d heard it wrong, but the third time, her mother’s voice rang clearly in her ears. “Becca, I could use a cigarette.”

  Becca’s eyes searched in the direction of the voice to find her mother sitting at a table in the outdoor seating of the town’s trendy wine café with her hair and make-up styled to perfection. Her mama leaned her upper body against the low, black iron fence that separated the bistro table from the sidewalk, staring at Becca.

  “Mom, you quit smoking in January,” Becca said in a monotone voice.

  “I know. I really shouldn’t,” her mother said, staring down at the glass in her hand as she swirled the red wine. “Your father smokes and I can’t stand how he smells. That’s why I gave it up.”

  Becca pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she could disappear. Jack nudged her with his elbow. “Mom, this is Jack. He lives in the house that’s for sale behind mine.”

  “Jack?” her mother questioned, eyeing Jack with suspicion. “I thought you had a date with Mark tonight?”

  Leave it to her drunk mother to remind her about her impending date while she was with someone. Heat rose in Becca’s cheeks. “Yeah. I have a date tonight.” She looked over at Jack apologetically. “I’d better get home and finish unpacking before I need to head out.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” Jack said with a slight nod to her mom.

  Becca walked briskly down the sidewalk—not to rush toward her date; she needed immediate separation from her mother.

  After a few minutes of silent walking, she turned to Jack and said, “I’m so sorry you had to witness that. It looks like my mom decided to get drunk today. My parents have been going through a rough spell lately and getting sloshed is how she chooses to deal with it.” She crossed her arms and rubbed the bare skin on her upper arms.

  “That’s tough. I’m sorry,” said Jack in a tender voice. He pulled off his sweater and handed it to her. “You look cold. Take this.”

  She accepted it with a smile, immediately slipping it over her head. It retained his body heat, warming her arms instantly. She pinched the front of the sweater and brought it to her nose. Breathing in his manly scent, she tried not to moan out loud at how sexy it smelled. “Tiger grass?”

  “Centella asiatica,” he responded with a smile. “How’d you know?”

 
“It’s an herb in one of my all-natural, anti-aging soaps. Men love it when I tell them tigers have been known to roll around in tiger grass to heal their wounds.”

  He chuckled. “I’d buy it too if I thought you’d envision me as a roaring tiger after bathing in it.” His face split into a grin. “What do you think? Tiger?” he teased, pointing at his chest.

  “Stop,” she said, shoving him softly as memories of his bare chest caused her mind to fog. “I also sell it in the form of Indian Gotu Kola tea. I’ve never tried it, but I’ve heard it’s both sweet and slightly bitter. I could make you a cup.”

  “I’ll be working in your yard,” he said when they reached her driveway. “Just give me a holler and I’ll come inside and taste your tea.”

  “Okay,” she said, not sure how to end their afternoon together. Should she reach up for a kiss, or give him a hug?

  “Later,” he said with a quick squeeze of her fingertips, then he was gone, jogging down the sidewalk.

  “Bye,” she shouted, but he didn’t turn around to say goodbye to her. When she’d almost reached her door, a car slowly inched up her driveway. “Daddy?” she asked in a disconcerted voice as her daddy slumped out of his car. “You okay?”

  Physical pain soared his face. “No. Your mom and I decided to spend some time apart. Can I stay with you?”

  “Of course,” she said, stretching her arm around his back and allowing him to lean into her shoulder. He smelled like an ashtray. “But no smoking.”

  “Not even outside?” he begged.

  “What do you think?”

  His eyes fell to the cement. “Dang.”

  “You’re dang right. I’m gonna getcha feelin’ youthful again. And smoking ain’t got no part in that.” When she relaxed in her daddy’s arms, her grammar always faltered, her language reverting to how she’d spoken as a child. “I’ll brew you up some tea that’s gonna make ya feel like a roaring tiger.”

  “Roaring tiger?” he laughed. “What you been smoking, sweetheart?”