My cell phone rings again, and this time it’s the banker from hell. I hit decline. It’s like that call was a push that answered my question. What am I doing? Going to Dallas again, apparently.
An hour later, I walk toward the kitchen, feeling a punch in my gut just thinking about seeing Jessica. I have never wanted to strip a woman naked as much as I did her today. I have never wanted like I want her, but as time ticks by this morning, I decide not doing it was self-preservation. I’m getting my head back in the game. Jessica will leave, and since I can’t seem to just make her a damn fuck buddy, I can’t make her anything but a friend and keep my head on straight.
Steeling myself for the impact of seeing her, I walk into the kitchen, but she’s not there. My grandmother smiles and waves a rolling pin in her hand. “Morning, Grandson.”
“Morning, Grandma.” I walk around the island and kiss her. “What’s your plan today?”
“I already went to see Darius and he’s doing well, but we both know that’s not what you’re asking. She’s not coming today. She’s got stuff to do that’s not here.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did,” she says. “With your eyes. A grandma knows how to read the eyes. Want me to text you if she shows up?”
“No. I don’t want you to text me if she shows up. If I need her, I’ll text her myself. We’re friends, Grandma. Nothing more.”
“Oh well, then you won’t mind if she dates someone else, right?”
I narrow my eyes on her. “What are you up to?”
“I have some ideas for her.”
I consider telling her that Jessica is writing a romance novel that turns every date into research, but I don’t want to pit her against Jessica. She’s protective of the men here that are all her boys. And Jessica needs to feel at home here right now. I’m not going to take that from her, and I haven’t seen my grandmother this happy since my mother was alive.
“It takes time to be ready to jump back in the saddle,” I say. “Give Jessica some space. Let her do things on her own time.”
My grandmother’s gaze lifts toward the door, and I know immediately who’s standing there. Adrenaline surges through me even with the idea of seeing her. Eager to prove that reaction wrong, I rotate and find Jessica is indeed inside the archway, and holy hell, she’s beautiful; her long brown hair soft and shiny at her shoulders, her jeans dark, snug, hugging the curves I’d like to be hugging right now. Her blouse pink and lacy. Her boots, those damn pink boots I vetoed because they don’t properly protect her legs. I scowl at them and then at her.
“So glad you understand that I need to make my own decisions,” she says. “I certainly don’t need a man in my life right now dictating what I do or don’t do. I mean some men even want to dress a woman.”
“Phyllis Roger’s husband was like that,” my grandmother chimes in. “I didn’t like that man. He’s dead, so God, forgive me. I shouldn’t talk badly about the dead.”
Jessica’s lips twitch. “Good thing Jason had you to teach him right.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” my grandmother quickly agrees.
I walk toward Jessica and stop in front of her, my gaze raking over the pink gloss of her lips and lifting. Fuck, why didn’t I at least kiss her before I left this morning?
“My grandmother taught me a good many things about women, but there are others I learned all on my own.”
“Is that bait I’m supposed to take?”
The archway is wide enough that I step to her side. She smells like flowers. I didn’t need that kiss this morning to remember she tastes like honey. “No need. I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.” With that I leave, and holy fuck, I want that woman, yet I turned her into a friend today. Meanwhile, my grandmother wants to fix her up with someone else.
Right now, I need to have a chat with Roarke about the future of this ranch, and even what my plan does for this town. Later, but soon, I’m going to have to have a more in-depth chat with my grandmother about Jessica and the retirement of her matchmaking efforts.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Jessica…
Jason leaves, but I swear testosterone lingers in the air, tingling down my spine and teasing me with what I could have had this morning but didn’t. What I could have had but never will. He and I are not the fine line between love and hate; we land solidly as friends instead.
“What was that?” Martha asks as I force myself forward and step to the island.
“Your grandson hates my boots,” I say, because it seems more appropriate than the other two or more things I might say like, “male ego eroding the kitchen” or “my hormones about to burst.”
“Your boots are adorable,” she approves.
“Thank you,” I say. “I thought they were perfect for sales pitches in country stores, but Jason says they won’t protect me from snakes.”
Her lips curve. “Such a protective friend.”
“We are friends, officially declared, in fact. I didn’t call him asshole one time.”
“I noticed.” She laughs. “But you wanted to. I felt the crackle between you two. You’re fighting again. You two are always a sway from a kiss or an insult. You really are a pair.”
“We are a pair, you and me. I think I’ll travel to surrounding towns today, and it hit me that they won’t know what the food tastes like. Can I get some samples?”
“I’m working on the orders you got in for the diner. Take those. I can make more. I have cookies, bread, and pastries. How do you want to do this?”
I reach in my purse and pull out the bags and labels that came today. “This isn’t all of the supplies. I left them in my trunk when I saw Jason was home. I know you don’t want him to know just yet, but once your products show up in the stores, he will find out. Don’t you want to be the one to tell him?”
“I think you should tell him.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re business savvy. Because I want him to see the numbers and the potential this has for the ranch.”
“I know you want to take the stress off of him,” I say, “and I know you want to make him start thinking about his future. But your grandson is a prideful man and he worries about you.”
“You know him quite well already.”
“I know enough to feel like approach is everything. Why don’t you just tell him that selling locally is a hobby that’s really keeping your mind occupied? It makes you happy. It’s true now. This isn’t a real business until we get real orders.”
“It does keep my mind off what this time of year represents, which is a blessing.” She reaches over the island and squeezes my hand. “You make me happy.”
My heart swells. “As you do me.”
“We’re family now, honey. Don’t you forget that. Now. Let’s get your goodies together and get you on the road.”
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s. I’m excited to try our new packaging.” And I am. I hurry out to the car, grab the supplies, and a few minutes later, we have adorable boxes and bags with ribbons on them, filled with her baked goods and slapped with a logo on them.
We’re almost done when Martha glances over at me all coy like as she says, “How’s the air conditioning?”
I glower at her. “Don’t joke. The poor man is hurt. And my dating life has once again proven better left alone.”
“Nonsense. He’s fine. I saw him this morning and took him some pastries. Jason went ahead and installed the air conditioners, too, right?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And he didn’t come home last night. Would a friend know anything about that?”
“A friend might have watched the baseball draft with him. We fell asleep on the couch. Nothing more to it.”
Her eyes light with hope. “He watched the draft with you?”
“He did. Don’t read into it, though,
or mention it. He doesn’t need that pressure. He has to decide what comes next himself. If he doesn’t want back on the mound, he won’t do well. Let him do it for himself, whatever it is that he wants to do.”
“What if he doesn’t do it? What if he just walks away because of the ranch?”
“Then he doesn’t want it and that’s okay, right? You just want him to be happy.”
“You’re right. You’re right. I do. See, I told you. You really have become family.”
I carry that comment with me as I travel from store to store, racking up a remarkable number of orders. All the while the man that is now my friend is on my mind. I’m madly into Jason, that’s undeniable, but Martha was right when she told him I’m rebounding, and rebounds always end. I don’t want to lose my new family over a rebound. I don’t even have an old family.
I can’t kiss Jason or rip his clothes off. I have to settle for friendship, because this family has given me a purpose that I haven’t felt in a very long time.
…
Jason…
The way you talk to Roarke is usually with a horse in between you. On this day, he and I are on a stable floor while he checks a horse’s hoof and I present him my idea. He sets the horse’s leg down and stands up. “You want me to help you run a baseball camp? What does horse training have to do with baseball?”
“You have the YouTube platform. And it’s the discipline. The way you convince that horse, a magnificent, intelligent beast, to do your bidding. It computes; it translates to baseball. The way the players have to convince themselves to do what needs to be done. The way a pitcher has to convince a batter to swing high or low and think it’s the right choice when it’s the wrong choice.”
“Tell me again why you aren’t playing?” he asks, motioning me forward to a couple of bales of hay where we sit down.
“Regardless of whether that happens,” I say, skipping over the meeting with the Rangers I may never share with anyone, “this is a future, this is me using what I know to keep Flying J on the map. And it’s what my father knew, too, not damn apples and orchards.”
“That’s still going pretty shitty, huh?”
“Hell yes, it is. I should have looked beyond those damn trees a long time ago.”
“What happened to not wanting the city in the country? Because this is going to bring the city to the country, at least on some level.”
“I was hiding from the questions about my family and my arm. I didn’t want those questions coming here. But new industry and attention brings jobs, by way of stores, restaurants, and new ideas. It brings growth to the town.”
“Jessica got anything to do with this change of heart?”
“You sure as hell do,” I say, avoiding the topic of Jessica’s influence. A topic better analyzed on my own. “You told me to get my head out of the sand,” I remind him, “and I am.”
“I’ve been telling you that, but now you listen?”
“Yeah. Now I’m listening.”
“Back to Jessica.”
“She’s a friend.”
“Who went out with Darius. You okay with that?”
“Who tried to kill Darius.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“We’re friends.”
“Then you’re okay with her dating other men?” he presses. “You’ve decided to step back.”
“This is a vacation for her. I’m not on vacation. There is nothing about the past two years that has been even remotely like a vacation.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s time to live again, Jason. You can’t bring them back.”
“Right now I’m worried about bringing the ranch back. I can’t do that trying to get in Jessica’s pants.”
“We both know you don’t have to try. You two are already there, blowing up the scene when you’re together. If sex and just sex is what either of you wanted, you wouldn’t be running from her.”
Running. I’m not fucking running. I’m done with this conversation. “Think about the damn camp. I’ll send you the numbers. I’ve got meetings in Dallas on Friday. I need to know before then.” I stand up and leave.
I love that man like a brother, but he’s misplaced with a lecture about me moving on. That’s what I’m doing. Moving on. And that’s what Jessica will do soon. Move on and go back to the city.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jessica…
My day selling Martha’s baked goods is the best day I’ve had in forever. I’m actually wearing jeans while selling something I love, something everyone loves when they try the samples. I’m so ridiculously excited that I dare to drive down to Riverland, a city of thirty thousand, and it’s a winning visit. I have orders from fifteen stores, all eager to support a local business. I start to feel like we can become the cookie version of the Texas-based sensation, Blue Bell Ice Cream. We can own this state. It’s big thinking, I know, and it’s going to require capital and management. Money. That capital could become an issue quickly. Jason doesn’t have money lying around to fund his grandmother’s baking. I have ten thousand and my advance coming, though. That will get us a long way.
It’s near sundown when I turn down the road where I’d first met Jason as I talk to Martha one last time for the day. “It’s a lot of orders,” I say after we come down from the squees and celebration talk, “and we have to start supplying Monday.”
“I have tomorrow’s orders ready, but we might need help. I can get Evie to come help us, but is the kitchen even big enough?”
“I need to rush more supplies, too, but as for the space, what if I talk to Jimbo and see if we can use his kitchen and even have him help?”
“Yes,” Martha says. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Where would I find him? I should just talk to him tonight.”
“He does supper for the live-in crew in about an hour, so he’ll be at the same place the Sunday feast is held.”
“I’m just pulling into town. I’ll head that way now. I’ll call you afterward.”
“You’re not coming by?”
“I need to work on my book.”
“Which one, honey?”
“Well, my skill at love and dating keeps proving that’s not my thing.”
“Write that, then.”
“What?”
“When someone who struggles to find love and navigate the dating world finds love, it’s the best story of all. It’s the one we all want to happen to us.”
There’s a wistful quality to her voice, like she’s missing that in her life. “It is, isn’t it?” I say, and I think maybe I will try my hand at that romance novel again. I’m chasing dreams right now. Maybe I need to write about them. A solid few days of focus, and I’ll knock out the divorce guide, no problem. “I’ll think about that story.”
She’s pleased, and I hang up with a buzz of energy zooming around me. I’m eager to talk to Jimbo.
A few minutes later, I pull into the farmhouse and find the parking lot packed. Obviously dinner is a popular time. I walk into the crowded dining hall and I’m greeted by a number of guys I met Sunday. They’re all friendly, and while I’m the female needle in the haystack of men, I’m remarkably comfortable. I find Jimbo in the kitchen area, cooking, and he has a crew of people working with him that I didn’t realize he used, but of course this makes sense.
“What brings you here, missy?” he asks. “My fabulous cooking?”
“And Martha’s fabulous baking,” I say. “Can I steal you a quick minute?”
“Of course.” He wipes his hands on his apron and yells instructions to one of his men. He motions to me, and we walk a few steps away. “What’s up, pretty lady?”
“Martha and I sold-in some of her baked goods to nearby stores.”
“How nearby?”
“Riverland is the farthest out.”
; “Riverland? That’s forty minutes away.”
“I know. Our first delivery is Monday. That means we need to ensure the food is super fresh for repeat orders. I’m thinking we start baking about four a.m. and I can get on the road by nine. I need all deliveries complete by noon. That’s where you come in. This is the Flying J Bakery. This is ranch business. Can we use your kitchen on Mondays, and will you and your team help us bake?”
“I would be honored to help make this happen. Martha is an angel. She deserves this.”
I smile and squeeze his arm. “I couldn’t agree more. See you here Monday morning?”
“See you here Sunday first. I expect you to come help me serve. You brighten up the place. We need that here these days.”
Everyone knows things aren’t going well. That’s what he just told me when he didn’t mean to tell me. “As long as I get to eat your food, I’ll be here.”
“Do you need supplies?”
“Yes, but I’ll pick up all of our ingredients on Sunday and bring them. I don’t want to dip into your stock for the crew.”
We say our goodbyes, and I head through the dining area, speaking to a few people as I do, promising to see them Sunday. I’m mid-room, chatting with Allen, a tall, dark-haired man who apparently loves horses. He’s friendly, not flirtatious. I like this about him. He really is just trying to be friends, to make me feel welcome. “I can teach you to ride. I’m a hell of an instructor.”
“I’d like to learn,” I say.
“You can’t live on a ranch and not know how to ride.”
And I’ll never feel like I belong if I don’t. I want to belong here, I realize. “Yes, please.”
“How about Sunday after the feast?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
I head toward the door, and I’ve just stepped into the parking lot when I feel the tingling sensation of being watched. My gaze lifts and lands on my car, where a long, lean muscular cowboy is resting against my hood, arms crossed over a broad chest, ankles crossed at his boots. At the sight of Jason, my heart starts to race in a wild, wicked, I’m-so-hot-for-this-man way, but I’m also excited to talk to him about cookies. I rush toward him, smiling as I do. He watches me, his eyes hooded, his body unmoving. Whatever. He can play the aloof bad boy, but I have news.
The Truth About Cowboys Page 24