Hard Loving Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  “Shh,” she said. She stood still as a statue, eyes closed. Then she inhaled through her nose.

  Walker watched her with mild amusement. It had been a long time since he’d seen someone react to anything in Oak Bluff like she was now. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that about his hometown.

  “Mmm,” she hummed, then opened her eyes. “If what I’m smelling is any indication of what I’ll be tasting, I’m in small town foodie heaven.”

  He smiled. There was something about seeing things through her eyes that hit him in a way he wasn’t expecting. He tried doing what she did, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of the bakery, of the damp ocean air sneaking in through the open door, of the town he’d seen for so long as a prison. For a second his mind flashed to a memory of his mom walking out of Baker’s Bluff with a box of doughnuts balanced on her forearms and a cup of coffee in each hand while Walker, his brothers, and their father waited on a bench outside. Always bigger than Walker was, Jack and Luke would usually get to the box before him, sometimes teasing him and holding him back while their parents laughed at the brotherly rivalry.

  There was good here, once. He hadn’t forgotten. But he still recalled what came after.

  As soon as his eyes opened, he remembered standing at his mother’s gravesite. He remembered his father knocking Jack down the stairs. And the bottle of whiskey good old Dad sent Walker for his fifteenth birthday when they were living in Jenna’s custody.

  Like father, like son. But Walker was slowly crawling his way back to the surface, wasn’t he? He’d made it through withdrawal he thought would kill him, through the dinner party with Violet’s parents, and he’d narrowly escaped the wine tasting at the stemware wholesaler.

  And hell if Violet calling him wonderful and trusting him enough to fall apart in his arms last night hadn’t kept him from staring at that damned shot glass and bottle for the first time since he’d been home. She was saving him in ways he couldn’t imagine even when the ghosts of Oak Bluff threatened to pull him back under.

  “It’s good, right?” Violet said, bringing him back to the moment. “Closing your eyes and tuning everything else out.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sure. Yeah.” Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her the rest of the way into the shop.

  “Come on. If we wait too long, everyone will wake up, and it doesn’t count if we’re not the first ones at the counter.”

  Violet clapped and bounced on her toes as she stared through the glass at uncut loaves of fresh bread, at cookies and turnovers, doughnuts and croissants.

  “Pick anything you want, Teach. Breakfast is on me.”

  She turned to him, her smile softening as her deep brown eyes found his.

  “Thank you, Walker,” was all she said, but it felt like something more.

  He’d never taken a woman to breakfast at sunrise, couldn’t remember ever wanting to do such a thing. Yet here he was with a woman who’d answered an ad for a job and interrupted his life with those perfect, full lips. Now, somehow, she was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever really had—a friend.

  They sat outside the bakery on the same bench he used to sit on as a kid. She ate a chocolate croissant while he polished off his usual—a jelly doughnut—and they sipped their coffees and watched the sun come up over Oak Bluff Way. But he realized the sun wasn’t the brightest spot in the town. Violet Chastain was. He’d finally put his finger on that indescribable feeling that had let him leave the whiskey bottle in the cabinet last night. Connection. She didn’t know the real him, but maybe she’d never have to. With Violet around, he didn’t feel the urge to numb himself to Oak Bluff’s ghosts.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to find a text from his aunt.

  Seeing if we’re still on for this weekend at the market. Sylvie really wants to see the chair.

  The chair. Shit. He had to finish the damned chair today, by tomorrow the latest, so the stain would be dry by Sunday.

  He glanced to his right and saw Violet reading something on her phone as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. Damn those lips. He could be her friend and still admire an objectively sexy feature, right?

  He shook his head. That kind of rationalization would do him no good sanding and staining a piece of furniture.

  She looked at him with something that was a mix between a smile and a wince.

  “So, Olivia texted. Sam and Ben—the contractors, I guess—want to come by this morning before heading over to Luke’s, something about a permit and additional measurements they realized they need before starting the job. Anyway, the person who works the front desk called in sick, so Olivia asked if I could fill in answering phones for a few hours. Said she’d pay me for it.” She shrugged. “I’m not really in a position to say no to extra income, especially when she’s giving me the room for free.”

  Walker laughed. “Perfect timing, actually. I’ve got something I realized I need to take care of today as well.”

  His phone buzzed again. Still Jenna

  By the way, I’m at the grocery store in Oak Bluff dropping off some eggs. Did I tell you they’re stocking my inventory? Now you’ll see Farm Fresh right on your local shelf. Hey, is that you and Violet across the street?

  Walker squinted at the blond woman walking and texting as she crossed the street—with a live chicken following close behind.

  “Here we go,” he said under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Violet asked.

  Before he could utter another word, Jenna was hurrying toward them, arms open wide and ready to hug the first willing—or unwilling—victim.

  “Hey there, nephew of mine.”

  Walker stood to greet her, deciding he’d get hugged and likely pecked on the toe of his boot by Lucy either way.

  “Hey yourself,” he said.

  She threw her arms around him, and Lucy’s beak went to town on his work boots as expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Violet stand, too.

  “Look at you two, up bright and early,” Jenna said. “And here I thought I’d be the one sipping the first cup of coffee from the bakery today.” She held Walker at arm’s length, hands still on his shoulders. “I mean, I’m assuming you two just met for coffee, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Violet laughed and held up her right hand. “I swear on all the fresh chocolate croissants that we met so we could beat you to the punch. Just two friends enjoying coffee and a beautiful sunrise.”

  Jenna raised a brow, and Walker shook his foot hoping Lucy would lose interest in his boot. She didn’t.

  “Aw, come here, you,” Jenna said, doling out hug number two to Violet.

  She took a step back and crossed her arms, staring at the two of them. Actually, she was staring at their feet. That was when Walker realized there was no longer a chicken pecking at his toes. Instead she was pecking circles around both him and Violet.

  Jenna cleared her throat, then shot an accusing look at Walker.

  “What’s happening?” Violet asked, her eyes nervously following Lucy. “Is it, like, an attack chicken?”

  Jenna adjusted her purse on her shoulder, then grabbed Lucy midstride. The animal clucked her protestation as Jenna nonchalantly moved her to a nearby patch of grass where she refocused her nondomestic pet’s interest on what looked like an early morning snack.

  “She’s not an attack chicken,” Jenna said, turning back to Walker and Violet. “But she is psychic.”

  Walker groaned, and Violet snorted, then threw a hand over her mouth.

  “You’re—you’re serious?” she asked, and Jenna nodded, unfazed.

  “Lucy called it with Luke and Lily, and I’m seeing she has some very strong feelings about the two of you.”

  Except there was no two of them other than friendship from here on out. That chicken had no idea what she was talking about. She was merely sensing the initial attraction they’d both let simmer into something more professional and platonic.<
br />
  Shit. Jenna damn near brainwashed him into thinking a chicken actually had an opinion about him and Violet. Or anyone for that matter.

  “She’s not psychic,” Walker said.

  “Hold up a second,” Violet said. “I want to hear how she called it with Luke and Lily.”

  Jenna gave her nephew a self-satisfied smile, then turned her attention to Violet. “It’s pretty simple. Lucy’s really attuned to folks’ hidden desires—even if they’re ones folks don’t even know they have. She lost her shit the first time she saw Luke and Lily together. Flapped her wings all crazy like she was gonna take flight or something. And look at the two of them now.”

  Lucy abandoned her patch of grass and darted for Violet’s shoes. Violet yelped, but instead of pecking, the chicken nuzzled against her borrowed Chuck Taylors.

  Walker threw his hands in the air. “You gotta be kidding me. I get nearly pecked to death, and Vi’s her new nest?”

  Jenna patted him on the cheek. “Don’t take it personally. She just likes Violet better.”

  The two women burst into laughter, and Walker rolled his eyes.

  “I got a chair to sand and stain,” he said bitterly. “I’ll leave you ladies to it.” He kissed Jenna on the cheek and tossed his almost empty coffee cup into the trash as he began his stride toward Lucinda’s antiques shop.

  “Good-bye, Walker!” Violet called after him, still laughing.

  “Bye, nephew!” Jenna added.

  Then Lucy squawked.

  “Not psychic!” he called back.

  And then, only because they couldn’t see his face, he grinned.

  Chapter Eleven

  The whole next week had been a whirlwind. After working the front desk at the B and B on Thursday, then walking Olivia and the guests through a delightful wine tasting on Friday, Violet had finally gone back to Santa Barbara for the weekend. Her hand injury barely an issue by Monday, she was back in Oak Bluff on wedding detail with Ava for Monday and Tuesday, but today she was on her own, stocking the finished shelves of the wine bar with the new stemware.

  The place smelled like a new beginning—fresh paint with a hint of the outdoors hidden in what was left of the unfinished wood.

  Her phone, which had been playing her aptly titled Karaoke playlist, was interrupted by an incoming call, which meant she had to stop belting Beyoncé’s “If I Were a Boy” and catch her breath. It was Olivia.

  “Hello?” she said before successfully doing the latter.

  “Are you on a treadmill or something?”

  Violet shook her head, then realized she was on the phone. “Nope. Just rockin’ out while I work. As one does.”

  Olivia laughed. “Okay, that is something I definitely want to see, but right now I’m hoping you can help me with a cheese emergency.”

  Violet’s brows furrowed. “A cheese emergency?” She’d grown up in the restaurant business and hadn’t heard that one yet.

  “So there’s this cheese-monger Lily met at the farmers market who has—according to Lily’s taste buds—the most mind-blowing aged Gouda you’ve ever tasted that would be perfect to pair with our cabernet for the next wine tasting on Friday. She’s at the grocery store right now with a limited supply, but we are swamped and—”

  “You want me to run over and pick it up? I was going to take Dixie for a walk soon, so I’m headed your way anyway.”

  She heard Olivia sigh. “You are a lifesaver! Thank you! See you soon!”

  Violet shoved her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and brushed her hands together to shake off the dust from the unwashed glasses.

  “Yeesh,” she said aloud, remembering that she’d dressed exactly for the job today—unpacking boxes alone and walking the sheriff’s dog. Also alone.

  Her jeans were in good enough shape, but her white tank was slightly tinted with sawdust and maybe a little grime. She shrugged and adjusted her favorite black and white headscarf. She hadn’t straightened her hair last night, and while she loved her hair’s natural curl, her ringlets tended to fall over her eyes when she worked.

  She looked down at her red-painted toenails and wiggled them in her flip-flops, wondering if Walker would be proud of her for dressing her feet for the job as much as she had the rest of her.

  She’d only seen him once this week, and that was from a distance. She’d been entering the winery while he’d been working some sort of irrigation contraption on the vines. He’d waved. She’d waved—and noted that he was, again, shirtless—but that had been it. Which was fine because they were just friends. He was simply the type of friend who looked good with his shirt off. So what?

  She shook her head at herself as she grabbed her purse off the top of the bar and headed out to her car. The short walk with Dixie would be fine, but it was too warm for the mile trek into town, especially in flip-flops. With her luck, she’d have some sort of footwear catastrophe again and likely wind up stranded on the side of the road with a broken ankle.

  She found a spot right in front of the B and B, parked, and made her way across the street to the market.

  Her skin prickled with goose bumps as the air-conditioning welcomed her inside. She scanned the small store’s layout and spotted the deli and cheese section, making a beeline toward a woman situated behind a small canopied stand who looked to be packing up her display.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  “Tell me you have some of your legendary aged Gouda left,” Violet said to the young woman behind the stand. She was taller than Violet, olive skinned, her dark hair cropped short against her angular face. Violet noticed her nametag said ANNA. “Please, Anna,” she corrected. Violet liked the personal touch of calling someone by their name. Plus she figured she had a better chance of snagging what was left of the cheese if she was nice about it.

  Anna gave her an apologetic smile. “I literally sold the last of it ten seconds ago. I’m sorry.”

  “But this is a cheese emergency,” Violet said, repeating Olivia’s words. “My friend really wanted that cheese for our wine tasting. It was supposed to be the cheese to go with the cabernet, and—”

  Anna the cheese-monger pointed over Violet’s shoulder. “Sold the last two wheels to that tall, strapping blond man over in produce.”

  Violet followed the other woman’s gaze to where Walker Everett held a cantaloupe under his nose as he inhaled. His brows furrowed. They both stared at him for several seconds.

  “Gorgeous,” Anna said. “But he looks a little clueless.”

  Violet stifled a laugh as Walker shook the melon next to his ear, and she wondered what he hoped to hear.

  “Thanks for the heads-up on the cheese,” she told Anna, then slowly approached the produce section, not wanting to disturb Walker and his very serious cantaloupe examination.

  She stood quietly behind him for a few seconds until his sixth sense kicked in.

  He pivoted to face her, melon still in hand.

  “You spying on me, Teach?” he asked with brows raised.

  His skin looked mildly sunbaked, and his hair curled upward where it had grown over the top of his ears. And that beard—damn that sexy beard that made it so hard to tell if he was on the verge of a smile or frown.

  She shook her head. “Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted. “But you seemed so intent on understanding your fruit. I didn’t want to break your concentration.”

  He palmed the melon against his hip like it was a basketball and he was figuring out his next shot, and reached toward her with his free hand.

  Oh God. Was he going to kiss her? They were just friends. They’d decided. But what if he did? Would she let him, right here in front of the whole town?

  She held her breath, but instead of his rough palm landing softly against her cheek, his thumb and forefinger pinched a rogue spiral of hair that had slipped out the top of her wrap.

  “Curly,” he said with realization.

  She cleared her throat and nodded. “I usually flat-iron it. It’s easier to deal with that wa
y, especially at work. Or I keep it out of the way with this.” She patted her head wrap and smiled nervously.

  His brows creased, and he was studying her like he was looking at the melon, like she was some puzzle he was still trying to figure out.

  She cleared her throat. “Also Ramon—you, um, remember Ramon—preferred my hair straight. So I got a blowout and—”

  “He what?” Walker asked, his jaw tightening. “Are you telling me that asshole made you think there was any possible scenario where you weren’t a goddamn knockout?”

  “Walker, stop. You don’t have to—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. “Will you wear it curly for our date?” he asked. “No. I take that back. Will you wear your hair however the hell you want for our date?”

  She wanted to react to how ridiculously sweet he was being about the Ramon thing, to acknowledge tightness in her chest and the butterflies in her belly, but all she could focus on was one word. Date.

  “Our what?” she blurted, almost choking on the second word.

  He brandished the melon, then nodded to where his shopping cart sat next to the fruit stand. “Your parents? Dinner at my place Saturday so they can get to know your fake boyfriend better?”

  Violet threw her hand over her mouth. The night she’d walked her father out of the B and B following his impromptu visit, he’d made it clear he wasn’t happy with the precarious situation she’d put herself in—dating the same man for whom she worked.

  “We need the money,” she’d insisted. And every minute she spent in Oak Bluff she realized she needed the escape.

  “What about going back to school?” he’d asked with a sigh. “We can figure out a way to cover medical bills and you finishing your education. We’re the parents,” he’d reminded her. “You shouldn’t have to take on this much responsibility at such a young age.”

  She hadn’t known how to answer him, how to tell him that school had taken a backseat to getting Maman to Paris. To getting herself to Paris and figuring out the other half of who she was. So she’d steered the conversation back to Walker.