Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2)

by J.C. Valentine

  But this was a moment in which he had to take one for the team in order to prove a point: he would not be manipulated.

  Nash continued with light conversation for the duration of the meal, pretending to be genuinely interested in everything Sylvia had to say. Not only was she a yoga instructor, but she had a dream of opening the first nutrition shop in their small town, and she had plans to begin starting in the new year. The woman, he learned, could be quite talkative when the topic was on her. Though polite, he couldn’t help noticing and being off put by her obvious disinterest whenever he mentioned anything about himself. She was as shallow as a creek bed in a drought.

  And he’d thought Vivian was bad.

  While he’d witnessed true growth in her, this Sylvia didn’t leave him with much hope that she’d follow the same path, which lent more credence to his suspicions that Gretta was playing matchmaker in an effort to drive him toward her real goal: getting him and Vivian back together.

  On one of her passes, Nash flashed his fingers at Oprah and a desperate look that let her know he was in a hurry to get out of there, and she was back in a flash with the check.

  Nash whipped out his wallet, stating, “My treat, ladies.” As he stood, he announced that he had to leave, with much regret, and that he’d “love to chat more soon” with Sylvia, which had Gretta looking as if there was a shortage of oxygen in the room.

  Clearly, she didn’t think her little plan would work so well, and Nash found it difficult to hold back a smile.

  Be careful what you wish for…

  SEVEN

  Sylvia was a pest.

  Nash hadn’t even had a chance to think better of his half-hearted offer nor act on it because the very next day, when he was tightening the final bolts on the tractor, Sylvia showed up in his barn door.

  She had on a pretty little sweater dress in emerald green and black boots that stopped just below a pair of knobby knees that reminded him of the girls he used to chase around the playground when he was eight, rather than the full-grown woman she was, and she wore her long brown hair up in a half ponytail, leaving a bit of length to fall around her square shoulders. What should have painted a pretty picture only made Nash make comparisons.

  She was no Carlene and she certainly wasn’t anything like Vivian.

  But she came bearing a smile and a container of treats, which Nash’s untended stomach took immediate notice of and made its enthusiasm known.

  Until she revealed what it was.

  Lemon and lavender cake.

  What looked and smelled appetizing had turned into his biggest regret upon first bite. Normally, Nash loved lemony things, like lemon meringue and lemon-blueberry bread, but this was a total disaster.

  “Mmm,” he managed as the thick, creamy dessert slowly melted against his tongue, causing the lavender flavor to burst in a most unsavory way against his tongue.

  “You like it?” Sylvia beamed. “I came across a recipe online and thought, I bet Nash would like that, but with a twist.”

  “Twist?” What were the chances he could spit it out without her noticing?

  “I added a pinch of mint,” she conveyed as if it were a revolutionary idea, which would explain the tingly sensation and the cool aftertaste.

  All Nash could do was offer a pinched smile and nod as he considered how and when he could wash the offensive flavor combination out of his mouth.

  Would she be offended if he told her that the herbs would be better suited to the garden next time, rather than incorporating them into her dishes? Probably.

  “So, you like to bake?” he asked as he took the lead toward the back of the house and the kitchen that had plenty of water and milk that he was planning to wash his mouth out with.

  Sylvia’s voice was close behind him. “Oh, yes. I mean, I was never formally taught, but I’ve been playing in the kitchen a lot lately, especially since I decided to make the full vegan commitment, and now I just love it. There’s no limit to the combinations you can make.”

  Yes, there was, he wanted to tell her, but Nash held his tongue.

  “Are you sure you liked it?”

  Nash’s foot hesitated before stepping over the threshold into the kitchen. “It wasn’t burnt,” he offered. “Which is better than I can do.”

  She seemed to take his backhanded compliment with considerable satisfaction, smiling and fluffing her hair. Lingering on the opposite side of the long counter, Nash felt her eyes on his back as he crossed to the fridge and pulled out the gallon of milk, drinking straight from the carton.

  It didn’t completely take away the foul taste from his mouth, but it dimmed it enough that he was able to mostly ignore it.

  “Thirsty?” Sylvia asked once he’d stowed the carton away and turned back to face her, almost having forgotten she was still there.

  Almost sheepishly, he nodded. Poor girl would never know how terrible a cook she was if everyone lied to her the way he just had. But far be it for him, a total stranger, to be the bearer of bad news. He would just do his best to avoid any other taste tests from hers truly.

  She straightened from the counter where she’d been leaning. “My stepbrother always did that, too. Must be something about boys.”

  “What?”

  “That renders them incapable of using a glass.” She smirked. Nash shrugged.

  “My kitchen, my rules,” he summed up succinctly. Only the women closest to him were ever able to force good manners on him, like drinking out of a glass. Being a bachelor, he didn’t see the point in dirtying one, and since he’d already decided that he wouldn’t be keeping Sylvia around, he didn’t see the point in using gentlemanly ways and giving her the wrong idea.

  Her eyebrows popped up in a way that suggested that she didn’t enjoy his response, but she brushed it off and attempted conversation. “So, Gretta said you’re a widower.”

  That was a topic that Nash didn’t discuss. “I am, but it’s not something that I care to talk about.”

  “Oh, I understand completely. It must be hard, losing someone you love. Were you together long?”

  Not long enough, he thought sadly, but that was hardly the point. This woman clearly didn’t know when to stop talking, and she didn’t take hints, or lack thereof. “We should change the subject,” he told her flatly, and a look crossed over her face that told him she didn’t like his answer.

  “Sure,” she said brightly, her face a tight mask as she struggled to maintain her composure at being shot down. “What would you like to talk about?”

  Nash knew just what to say to turn this ship around. “Tell me something about yourself I don’t already know.”

  ***

  Nash was in high spirits when he opened the door later that evening, which had Gretta tilting her head in suspicion.

  “I spent an enlightening afternoon with your friend Syl,” he proudly informed her.

  Gretta, who’d just seated herself on one of the kitchen chairs, looked shocked enough to spill from her seat onto the floor. Good thing she was sitting down. Nash didn’t relish the idea of spending the night at her bedside in the ER because his game went awry.

  “Enlightening how?”

  The corners of his mouth tilted as he poured a cup of sweet iced tea and set it down in front of her. “We have a date to the movies tomorrow night.”

  “A-a-a date?” she spluttered, and Nash thought that he was glad he delivered the news before she took a drink because he was certain she would have choked on it.

  “That’s what I said.” He took a seat across from her and gave her a look of consideration. “That is what people do nowadays, isn’t it?” he asked, as if he’d been out of the dating game long enough that the process may have changed.

  “Well, of course,” she said, clearly flabbergasted and attempting to right a world view that’d gone topsy-turvy on her. “But with…with…Syl?” she questioned, her voice rising as if she just couldn’t wrap her head around the concept.

  “What’s wrong with Syl?” N
ash asked. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  Gretta was shaking her head, although the movement was slight. Nash couldn’t have missed it, since he was watching for any and all signs that he’d shaken the woman. To her core, if his assessment was correct. “I-I-well, yes, but…”

  It was everything Nash could do to quell his laughter. The poor woman was beside herself, her little game having blown up in her face. “But what?”

  Her gray eyes blinked a few times. “But nothing. I hope you two have a lovely evening. You deserve it.”

  Nash was confused by the sudden change in her, certain that she was about to give up the rouse and confess that she’d done all of this just to get him to see things her way and go running back to Vivian so she could claim her success in yet another match well made.

  Brows pinching, Nash had no choice but to continuing along the path he’d taken. “Thanks.” He paused. “She’s a nice woman, from what I know of her so far.”

  “That she is.” Gretta nodded. “Sylvia can take a little getting used to, but she’s got a good heart.” It was her turn to pause. When she spoke again, it was with a deep and what Nash imagined to be a somewhat regretful sigh. “I’m just happy to see you getting out of the house and doing something other than work yourself to the bone.”

  “You are?”

  Reaching across the table, Gretta’s hand, boney and pale-from-age hand covered his, patting gently as if to soothe them both. “I am, sweet pea. All I’ve ever wanted is to see you happy. If Sylvia can make that happen, then I’m glad.”

  Nash’s confusion deepened. Normally, when Gretta got a bug up her butt, she kept at it until she either got her way or drove everyone crazy trying. He thought he’d have a hell of a fight on his hands with this one, but she was relenting far faster than he thought possible. Which is to say, he thought any attempt of her backing down was completely improbable.

  That he was wrong was worrisome, leaving one question to be answered: why?

  It was a question that may never be or have a need to be answered, because just as soon as Nash thought it, he spotted that cunning flash in her eyes and the next instant Gretta perked up, as if she’d gained a second wind.

  “You know, now that I think on it, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Vivian has been so mopey lately that I’ve been considerin’ settin’ her up with a gentleman friend. You know Howard Price, doncha?”

  Nash ground his molars at the mere mention of the man’s name. Howard, or as some of the ladies and elderly fondly referred to him as Howey, had been Nash’s arch nemesis, if a mere mortal living outside a comic strip could have such a thing. For as long as Nash could remember, Howard Price had been a bully and an uppity jackass who thought he was above the working class and most of the law, if not all of it. He was filthy rich and lived in the quintessential house—more like mansion—on the hill that he’d inherited after his daddy passed on some years ago, leaving him considerable wealth to help fund and continue fostering his insufferable air of superiority.

  “Why do you think they’d make a match?” Nash questioned, trying his best not to sound too interested or invested in the answer. He was, however, painfully so—on both counts.

  “Well, who better than those two? They both come from money ‘n influence. Both of ‘em enjoy the finer things in life. It’s a match made in posh heaven, iffin ya ask me.”

  When she put it that way, Nash could see her point. He didn’t like it, though. The very idea of Vivian gallivanting around with a toad like Howard chafed his ass something fierce.

  But he wasn’t about to let on.

  “Well, then, I wish ‘em both the best,” Nash claimed.

  He and Gretta lifted their glasses and their eyes met over the rim as they drank long and deep, and if ever he’d had a doubt that Gretta was lying down to pasture and giving up, his faith in her had been restored. The old bat was as wily as ever, and she’d not only just called his bluff, but she’d trumped it.

  Game. On.

  EIGHT

  As Nash sat there staring at the big screen in the dark theater, he wasn’t really seeing the movie playing on it. His thoughts were completely preoccupied with the couple sitting several rows below.

  He should have known.

  Now, Gretta’s expression and sudden recurrence of perkiness made perfect sense. She must have run home and arranged for Vivian and Howard to get together, and, knowing Nash’s plans with Sylvia, suggested they go for a movie too.

  How else would the four of them end up in the same place at the same time? In a town as small as theirs, it wasn’t a total improbability that they might cross paths, but it was all too convenient for Nash’s comfort.

  Gretta was most definitely up to her old tricks, and her central focus was on Nash and Vivian. Was that him just being paranoid or maybe even a bit arrogant? Maybe, but he didn’t think so. Nash’s gut was telling him she was arranging all of this for his benefit, and he’d learned long ago to trust it when it spoke up.

  “Do you want any popcorn?” Sylvia asked, offering the bucket.

  Blinking out of his muddled thoughts, Nash gave the snack a passing glance. “No, thanks. I’m not really a popcorn kind of guy.” He was lying, of course. Who wasn’t into popcorn? But when said popcorn was plain, no salt, no butter, no flavor, it was an easy pass. “Wanna try a dud?” He tilted his candy box toward her, already knowing what her answer would be.

  Scrunching her nose, Sylvia said, “Oh, no, but thanks anyway.”

  She was being nice about it, but Nash could practically see the revulsion on her face. He wondered if she ever strayed from her ultraclean, ultra healthy diet and just…lived a little.

  Nash’s gaze turned forward again, but no matter how much he tried to pretend he was interested in the movie—he couldn’t even remember its name—his focus continued pulling down.

  Why did it have to be Howard, of all people? Gretta could have chosen so many men, all of whom would have been a better pick for Vivian. All of whom, he was sure, he would have hated, but none so much as that asshat.

  Mental images of him punching Howard’s lights out kept popping up, and Nash relished each and every one. They’d exchanged plenty of words over the years, but they’d always somehow managed to avoid physical confrontation. That was probably because Howard was a total Nancy. He doubted the guy had a single callous on those delicate, manicured hands.

  Sylvia’s blonde head leaned in again. “You’re not too into this movie, huh?”

  A shock went through him and Nash mentally chastised himself for being so preoccupied that he wasn’t present in the moment. He may not be truly interested in Sylvia romantically, but she didn’t deserve to be ignored while on a date with him. He’d asked her out, after all, so he owed her a nice time.

  “Honestly? Not really, but only because I have a lot on my mind.” He offered a crooked smile of apology.

  “We can leave if you want,” she suggested, but he could tell she didn’t really want to.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m just going to go get a refill, and when I get back, I promise I’ll give the movie my full attention.” He started to stand. “Do you want anything from the concessions?”

  “Oh, no, this is fine,” she assured him.

  Nash noted that she still had more than half of the bag of popcorn left, and wondered if that, too, was a bit too many calories for her. He nodded and descended the stairs, forcing himself not to look as he passed the row Vivian and her date sat in. He didn’t want to give any indication that he was aware of them nor did he want to feed the beast responsible for his jealousy.

  Nash was stronger than that.

  Once outside, he arrowed toward the concessions and the long lines that followed, already feeling a weight lifted from his chest just by being out of that confining room.

  As soon as the movie was over, he was taking Sylvia home and heading home himself. This night had been a bad idea, and as he stood waiting for his turn to order, he half wondered if he�
�d done it to himself on purpose.

  He’d known Gretta was playing her little game with him, and he knew by telling her his plans that she was going to use that to her advantage. Had he set himself up? Was this what he wanted all along?

  Maybe he was masochistic after all.

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  Nash’s insides performed a little flip and then a dip and then his heart raced double time. Her voice was all the trigger he needed to feel like a kid again, and he reckoned it reminded him a bit of when he’d first met Carlene. It was a sensation he didn’t have with Sylvia, nor any other woman, for that matter.

  Feigning nonchalance, Nash cut her a quick sidelong glance before returning it to the cashier ahead. “On a date,” he replied shortly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same,” Vivian chirped.

  Nash made a show of looking for said date. “Where is he?”

  “Watching the movie.” Nash raised an eyebrow, prompting her to explain. “Howard wanted more sparkling water, so I figured I would grab a snack myself while I’m out here.”

  “Let me get this straight. Your date sent you to buy him a drink instead of getting it himself?” He shook his head. Howard hadn’t changed a bit.

  Vivian shrugged. “Gretta set us up. He’s nice, but he’s a little high maintenance.” She caught Nash’s expression and laughed lightly. “Gretta said we were a perfect match. Should I take offense?”

  “Definitely.”

  She gasped and took a step back. “Ouch, that hurts.”

  “The truth often does.”

  He wasn’t looking but he didn’t have to, to know that the comment had stung. “Am I really that bad?”

  “Hi,” the chipper teen behind the counter greeted. “What can I get for you today?”

  Nash stepped forward, having to abandon the conversation and not entirely certain if he regretted it or not. He placed his order—pretzel bites and nacho cheese along with his refill of sprite—and paid the bill, stepping aside to wait for another worker to fulfill his order so Vivian, next in line, could make hers.