Cowboy Charming

by Dylann Crush

  “Aw, I don’t know. I get ideas every once in a while.”

  “Like what?” She patted the bed next to her.

  He sat down. “Did you know my granddad used to make fiddles?”

  She nestled her head into his shoulder. “I’ve heard people talk.”

  “His equipment is still out in one of the shops. Makes me think about firing it up someday and trying my hand at it. See if any of his talent got passed down through the generations.” He ran his hand down her hair. “Does that sound crazy?”

  “What, you making fiddles?”

  He nodded, letting his chin rest on the top of her head. “I haven’t really talked to anyone about it before.”

  Her finger traced circles on his chest. “I think it’s admirable to follow your dreams. If that’s something you want to try, what’s stopping you?”

  What was stopping him? Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of being a laughingstock. Fear of pretty much everything. He sighed. “Everything. What if I suck at it?”

  A soft breath on his abs sent a shiver racing down his side. “You couldn’t suck at it. Seems like everything you try works out. You’ve got to be the luckiest person I know.”

  If only that were true. Sure, he’d been fortunate and had ample opportunities handed to him based on his family, his looks, and his name. But the things that really mattered in life, he’d learned those were things he couldn’t win with charm. Those were things he’d have to work at, to give his all and still have no guarantee of success. Like making fiddles. Or trying to build some kind of future with Dixie.

  Would he be better off to leave things as they were? No expectations meant no disappointments.

  But he’d lived that life already. He was ready to put himself out there—to fight for what he wanted.

  “You really think I could do it?” he asked. Her faith in him meant more to him than he’d thought possible. If she believed in him, he could probably do just about anything.

  Before she could answer, a knock sounded at the front door. He glanced at his watch. After midnight on a Sunday night? He wasn’t expecting anyone.

  He pulled his shirt on over his head. Before he could reach the door, it flew open. Statler barged into the room.

  “Presley, you’ve got to come quick.”

  “Hey”—Presley glanced at the doorway to the bedroom—“what’s going on?”

  Statler grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “Wait. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “It’s Kermit. Somebody took all of his toads. Bins and bins of them. Doc and I were playing poker with some guys who’ve been performing over at the Rose when we heard. Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone? We’re wasting time, come on!”

  Dixie bustled out of the bedroom. “Let’s go.”

  “Dixie?” Statler’s grip on Presley’s arm loosened.

  “Nice to see you too, Statler.” Presley had to hand it to her. She didn’t break her stride, not until she paused in front of him and whispered. “Can you please finish zipping up my dress? I can’t reach the back.”

  He resisted the almost-uncontrollable urge to nip at her neck as he pushed her hair out of the way and pulled her zipper to the top of her back. The cat was out of the bag now. So much for keeping their one-night bet a secret.

  If it bothered Dixie, it didn’t show.

  “Where’s Kermit now?” Dixie asked.

  Statler stood, mouth open, hanging halfway to his chest. “On the roof.”

  “Which roof?” Dixie and Presley asked in unison.

  “The roof of the Rose. Says he won’t come down until whoever took his toads brings them back.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.” Dixie grabbed hold of Presley’s hand and jerked them both toward the door.

  Statler followed, a quizzical look on his face. “You want to tell me—”

  Dixie and Presley interrupted that request before he had a chance to finish. “Don’t ask.”

  * * *

  By the time they reached the edge of town, Dixie had gotten all the info she needed. Poor Kermit. Who would have taken his toads like that?

  Presley made it clear whom he suspected. He’d quizzed Statler about who was at poker, who’d still been at the Rose, and who might have a vendetta about horned toads until Statler couldn’t even speak. Then he’d summarized his suspicions in one word: SoCal.

  “Who else could it be, Dixie? Who else has a reason to want Kermit to give up his land?” Presley twisted in his seat to glance back at her.

  “He’ll never give up his land, not while the horned toads live there.”

  “Exactly!” Presley gave her a wink. “What better way to get him to leave than take his toads?”

  Dixie couldn’t help but agree. “I’ll admit, there’s reason for suspicion, but you can’t just assume.”

  “I’m not assuming anything. Statler said SoCal wasn’t at poker. He’s the only one who has a good reason to shut Kermit down.”

  “Yes and no,” Statler finally got a couple words in.

  “What do you mean?” Presley turned on his brother.

  Dixie sighed. At least she’d been able to get out of the hot seat for a brief reprieve.

  “Buster was running his mouth at poker. Seems Mayor Mayfield has been in talks with a certain company about bringing in some more tourists to Holiday.”

  Presley slapped his hand against the dash. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why would she do that?”

  “You’ll have to ask Buster when you see him. I hope we’re not too late.” Statler pressed on the gas, and the truck increased its speed.

  As they approached the Rose, an ambulance sped by, lights flashing and siren blaring.

  “That’s not a good sign,” Statler observed.

  Dixie didn’t wait for the truck to come to a complete stop in the parking lot. She hopped out while it was still moving. Presley followed.

  “Hey, slow down. I’m sure the police have everything under control.” He reached for her arm, but Dixie brushed him away.

  “I’ve got to see if I can help.” Her thoughts were on Gram. It would crush her grandmother to lose another friend. As she made her way to the barrier the police had constructed at the edge of the sidewalk, her eye caught on a platinum curly bob in the middle of the roof.

  “Oh my gosh, Presley, that’s my gram.” Dixie pointed to where her grandmother sat huddled next to Kermit. “What’s she doing?”

  Presley grabbed her hand. “Looks like she’s talking to him.”

  “I need to get up there.” She ducked under the caution tape, towing Presley behind her.

  Cash, Presley’s brother and the local sheriff’s deputy, put a hand on her arm. “Where do you think you’re going, Dixie?”

  “Cash, that’s her grandmother up there. You’ve got to let her go,” Presley argued with his older brother.

  Dixie took the opportunity while the men sized each other up to scoot past the barrier. Nothing could keep her from her grandmother. Not a line of sheriff’s deputies, not an army of tanks, not a—

  “Forgetting someone?” Presley snagged her hand, matching her stride for stride. “I’m not letting you go up there by yourself.”

  Grateful for his show of support, she didn’t bother to send him away. They jogged, hand in hand, to the front of the Rose. The fire department had set up a floodlight that lit up Gram and Kermit like they were some celebrity couple on the red carpet, not two senior citizens who had no business being forty-some feet off the ground.

  “Gram!” Dixie wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Dixie, what are you doing here?” Gram took in the sight of the clasped hands. Her eyebrow lifted.

  Dixie slid her hand from Presley’s. “What’s happeni
ng? Is Kermit threatening to jump?”

  “Heaven’s no.” Gram waved off her concern like she was batting at a pesky horsefly. “Although he’s just sick about the loss of his toads.”

  “Then what are you doing up there?” Dixie put a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes. It looked like high noon with the lights trained on the couple on the roof.

  “He’s protesting. Says he won’t come down until whoever stole his toads comes clean.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Presley muttered.

  “Hey”—Dixie whacked him in the stomach—“language.”

  Presley slung an arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Holbein, I’m sure the authorities are doing everything they can to locate the, uh, missing specimens.”

  Cash joined them and shouted toward the roof. “Yes, we are. If Mr. Klaussen would like to come down, we can take an official statement. I’m sure that would help.”

  “I told you to call me Eugenia.” Gram bent her head and conferred with Kermit. “And Kermit says he already gave Tippy a statement. Dixie, are you canoodling with Presley Walker?”

  Dixie stepped away from Presley’s side and faced Cash. “What did Kermit tell Tippy?”

  Cash shook his head. “Nothing. Just said some guys came around and made him an offer on his land. He threatened to pull out his twelve-gauge and told them to get the hell off his property. Came to the Rose for poker, and when he got home, the toads were gone.”

  “I told you SoCal’s behind this.” Presley hitched his thumbs in his belt loops.

  “Who’s SoCal?” Cash tilted his chin toward Presley.

  “A real estate investor from California who’s been trying to romance Dixie. You should go talk to him. He’s staying at the B and B.”

  Dixie wanted to tell Cash not to bother. “Presley, if you’re right and he’s got something to do with this, having Cash go pounding down his door is only going to scare him away. Let me try to get the info out of him.”

  Presley shook his head. “No. I changed my mind about that.”

  “Since when?” Last time they’d talked about it, he was still gung ho for her trying to get some intel on Chandler’s intentions.

  “Since…dammit…since about an hour ago, okay?”

  “What happened an hour ago?” Cash asked, glancing back and forth from her to Presley.

  The realization hit her like a shovel over the head. An hour ago she and Presley had been sweaty and naked and…her face flamed like she’d just stepped into the floodlight herself. “Oh my gosh.”

  “Wait, not you two?” Cash pointed to Presley then her and then back at Presley. “No. Please don’t tell me you—”

  “Played mini-golf,” Dixie chimed in. “Yep, we sure did.”

  “Mini-golf?” Cash raised a doubtful brow.

  “Yeah, it was a beautiful thing,” Presley added. “Right up until she beat me and then—”

  “We left.” Dixie shrugged. “Now, let’s talk about something important like how we’re going to get my grandmother off the roof.”

  “Mini-golf?” Cash asked again, his dark eyes narrowed.

  “Yep.” Presley clapped a hand on Cash’s shoulder. “Seems SoCal has invited Dixie to play a round of mini-golf with him too. But we played so well together, I just can’t imagine her playing mini-golf with someone else.”

  Dixie clamped her hands to her hips. “That’s not fair. He said nothing about mini-golf. Just dinner. You’re the one who wanted me to go out with him in the first place.”

  “I’m telling you, that man has more than dinner on his mind.” Presley shook his head. “First he’ll take you to the Farley Inn, and before you know it, he’ll be inviting you to grip his putter all night long.”

  “Wait.” Cash pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t get what this has to do with Kermit’s missing toads. Can we focus on the details here?”

  “Drop it, Presley. Just because I played golf with you doesn’t mean I can’t hit the ball around with anyone else for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Then what are you asking me?”

  Cash squinted, casting a glance back and forth between them. “Yeah, what are you asking her, Pres?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I just really enjoyed”—he glanced to Cash then back at Dixie—“playing mini-golf with you. A lot more than I expected. Maybe, if you’re up for it, we could play another round sometime. Maybe follow it up with dinner, make it a regular thing.”

  Dixie shook her head. “Presley Walker, you confound me.”

  Cash raised a hand. “Yeah, I’m pretty confused too. I didn’t even know Presley liked mini-golf.”

  Dixie and Presley both looked at Cash like they just realized he’d been standing there all along. Then Dixie turned back to Presley and grabbed his arm. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now we need to get my grandmother and her beau off the roof. They had to have used a ladder to get up there. Can you go find it?”

  Presley’s jaw ticked. Then he wheeled around and took off to the back of the building.

  Cash glanced up at where Gram and Kermit huddled on the metal roof. “I have a feeling you weren’t really talking about mini-golf, were you?”

  Dixie groaned. “Can we tackle one crisis at a time?”

  “Yep. Let me go see if I can help Pres find the ladder.” Cash traced Presley’s steps and rounded the back of the Rose.

  Dixie shielded the glare from her eyes and glanced toward the roof again. She should be thinking about her grandmother and what she could do to help find Kermit’s toads. But she couldn’t seem to get past Presley’s invitation. Did she want to see him again? Her heart tap-danced through her chest at the idea of her and Presley on a real date. She didn’t know. There were too many unanswered questions. But one thing she did know for sure. She’d never think about mini-golf in quite the same way ever again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Presley spent ten minutes searching for a ladder until he realized Kermit had pulled it up onto the roof behind him. Dixie was going to blow her top when she found out her grandma had stranded herself on the roof. That was, if she hadn’t already lost it after his impromptu invitation. He’d had no intention of extending their romantic involvement beyond making good on his end of the bet. But the thought of her on a date with SoCal made his blood heat up hotter than the oil Angelo used to deep-fry his chicken-fried steaks. If he could keep his trap shut until tomorrow, he could sleep on it and see how things seemed in the morning.

  Refocused on the task on hand, he wondered how long it would take to run over to Waylon’s to get the tall extension ladder from the back of the barn. Cash had a tall ladder at his place too. While Presley contemplated which relative would have the best ladder option, Tippy’s pickup crunched across the gravel, coming to a stop at the edge of the police tape.

  “Good news!” Tippy climbed out of the truck, holding a bucket close to his chest.

  “What kind of good news?” Mrs. Holbein called down from the roof.

  “We found one.” Tippy held the bucket up, as if Kermit and Dixie’s grandma could see what was in the bucket from forty feet away.

  “One what?” Kermit shouted.

  “One of your toads. Poor little sucker was in a bin all by himself. They must have missed him.” Tippy lowered the bucket.

  “Is it Fernando?” Mrs. Holbein inched down the metal roof. “Dixie, see if it’s Fernando.”

  Presley and Dixie reached Tippy at the same time. Both peered into the bucket.

  “Is it Fernando?” Presley muttered.

  “How am I supposed to tell?” Dixie squinted at the creature in the bucket. “Looks to be about the same size.”

  “If it is, do you think that will get them off the roof?” Tippy asked.

  Dixie glanced from the bucket to Presley. He nodded. What
was the difference between one toad to the next? His immediate goal was to get the folks off the roof and put some distance between him and Dixie. He needed to think. All he’d been able to do since the whole bet started was react. He needed to take some space, figure out what the hell had happened between him and Fireball earlier and what he needed to do about it. The sooner the better too.

  Being around her hadn’t been a problem before. But now, every time she swished her hair, he caught the scent of her irresistible shampoo. Every time she stuck her lower lip out in a pout, he wanted to capture it in his mouth and do naughty, naughty things to her with his tongue.

  Dammit.

  “Sure looks like Fernando to me. What do you think, Dixie?” Her claim that she’d never tell a lie was about to be put to the test.

  She waffled. “Well, this one is about the right size to be Fernando.”

  “See?” Presley yelled up to the roof. “Even Dixie thinks it’s the little guy you saved yesterday.”

  That must have been good enough for her gram. She and Kermit conferred for a long moment then she called out. “I’m coming down to double-check.”

  The ladder screeched as Kermit lowered it to the ground. Dixie ran around behind the building. Presley followed, hot on her trail.

  “Be careful, Gram!” Dixie held the bottom of the ladder while her grandmother slowly climbed down.

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’ve done a fair amount of climbing down ladders in my lifetime. How else do you think I snuck out to go joyriding with your grandfather back in the day?”

  Dixie shot Presley a look that seemed to beg for intervention.

  “Kermit sure is upset over this, isn’t he?” Presley asked. He had one hand on the ladder while the other reached out to steady Mrs. Holbein as her feet finally touched solid ground.

  She turned to face him. “Of course he is. Those horned toads are his life’s work. We’ve just got to find out who did this.”