Only a Cowboy Will Do--Includes a Bonus Novella

by A. J. Pine

  Welcome to my thirties. The reality decade. Unmarried. No prospects. And light-years behind her peers in getting a career in place.

  “I’m sure you have a date already.” Kimmy could tell Clarice was trying not to seem like she was prying. But this was Sunshine. People pried. When Kimmy didn’t immediately respond—what with being busy prepping the sandwich—the old woman added, “Not that an independent woman like you needs a date.”

  Oh, Kimmy needed a date, all right. She needed one like Batman needed his mask.

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Kimmy lied. She slid Clarice’s sandwich into the toaster oven, checked Everett’s panini, decided it needed more time, and dished out Clarice’s wedding salad.

  “Did you know the Widows Club is hosting a bachelorette auction Saturday night?” The reason for Clarice’s visit became clear. “It’s a great way to meet someone new and perhaps find a wedding date.”

  Kimmy hadn’t signed up. She never signed up. She expected being on the auction block at Shaw’s Bar & Grill on a Saturday night to be like showing up at her high school reunion in a sundress and forgetting to shave her legs. Mortifying.

  But mortification was exactly what she was going to experience if she showed up at Haywood’s wedding dateless.

  If only it were the fall, which was when the Widows Club hosted its bachelor auction. Kimmy would rather be empowered to choose her own date, not wait for someone to bid on her.

  Kimmy rang up Clarice’s order and then sighed. “Do I have to give you an answer now?”

  “No, dear.” Clarice paid in cash, dollar bills plus exact change, which she counted out in pennies. Thirty-seven of them. “You can sign up until the bidding begins.” She smiled kindly. “Hope to see you there.”

  A few customers later and her boss, Emory, came behind the counter. He was old-school and wore a white button-down with short sleeves and a red bow tie. “I’m worried.”

  “I can handle the line,” she reassured him, working on a sandwich for Paul Gregory, one of her regulars and the owner of the local exterminator business. “It moves quickly.”

  “I’m not concerned about you.” Emory shook his grizzled head. “I’m worried about the Burger Shack. I hear Booker is back for the wedding.”

  She’d heard that too. The news had given her a warm, fuzzy feeling. She, Haywood, and Booker had been close in high school.

  “You should be anxious, Kim.” If the worried emoji had been based on a real face, it would’ve taken inspiration from Emory’s. “Booker bought his parents out and plans to change the menu.”

  Kimmy couldn’t worry about that. “It’s about time.” The Burger Shack menu hadn’t been updated in forever.

  “You don’t understand.” Emory shook his head once more, this time causing a lock of stringy gray hair to fall onto his forehead. “They’re adding gourmet burgers.”

  A tremor of unease worked its way through Kimmy. “Gourmet?” Gourmet sandwiches were her thing. Emory’s was the only place in town you could get gourmet anything.

  Used to be the only place in town.

  “Yes.” Emory rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Fancy burgers.”

  The unease turned into apprehension.

  A tall man with thick black hair got into the end of the line. He stood next to Clarice’s friend Mims Turner, chatting amicably.

  Booker Belmonte. He’d been her rock throughout middle and high school. Maybe he still was. Just looking at him settled her nerves and turned the inclination to frown into a smile.

  “Speak of the devil.” Kimmy nodded in Booker’s direction.

  “He’s here to check you out.” Emory, being in his seventies and a bit naive, didn’t catch the double meaning of his words.

  “My sandwiches, you mean,” Kimmy said under her breath, because Booker was like family to her. She handed Paul his order. “Did you get new uniforms?” His shirt was lime green and printed with brown cockroaches, vaguely reminiscent of a Hawaiian shirt.

  “Yes.” Paul turned to show her the back, which was more of the same. “Do you like it? I got tired of boring blue.”

  “It’s a bold choice.” Kimmy gave him a thumbs-up.

  “The American species is a bold creature.” Paul tapped a cockroach on his shirt. “He takes what he wants. I’ve decided I should be more like him. And since I’ve been wearing these shirts, business is up.”

  “Please don’t say the c-word.” Scowling, Emory scrubbed the top of the deli case near Paul.

  “Congratulations, Paul. See you next time.” Kimmy gave Paul her patented customer-service smile and turned to the next customer before he could go in depth on the bugs he loved to terminate. They’d taken some classes together at the community college in Greeley so she knew Paul loved to talk about his work.

  “Will there be a next time?” Emory muttered, wiping down the counter because he was a stress-cleaner. “Everyone’s going to want to check out the sandwiches at the Burger Shack.”

  “Maybe a time or two.” Kimmy gestured to Lola Williams that she was ready to take her order.

  Kimmy looked upon the Burger Shack with nostalgia, having worked there for three years during high school. At the Shack, she’d been one of the guys, along with Booker Belmonte and Haywood Lawson, boys higher on the popularity ladder than Kimmy. They’d taught her how to grill, and she’d taught them the importance of loyalty and keeping their word. Her father always said a kept promise was a true sign of character.

  When it came to making promises, Booker and Haywood had balked at girlish pinkie swears. Instead, they’d given their word while holding a hand over a hot basket of French fries. Silly kids’ stuff. But it had meant something to her, even if Booker’s promises had often come with conditions.

  “If our customers head to the Burger Shack for lunch more than a time or two,” Emory said mournfully, “I’ll have to cut staff hours, maybe even resort to layoffs.” The old man spoke as if gourmet burgers at the Burger Shack were already trendier than gourmet sandwiches at Emory’s Grocery.

  Truthfully, at the words cut and layoffs, the bottom dropped out of Kimmy’s little world. Six more paychecks and she could afford a new transmission for the food truck she and her dad were restoring. If she lost this job before the truck was ready…

  She glanced at Booker. At broad shoulders and the face of reliability.

  It wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t come to that.

  Still, it took her a moment to work up enough saliva to reply to her boss in an upbeat voice. “It’ll be okay, Emory. Can you work the register for me?” Kimmy tried to take Lola’s order, not to mention smile and not look like Emory had put her off her game. But she reached for jalapeños instead of green peppers for Lola’s wrap, something her customer pointed out.

  Somehow, Kimmy made it through four more specials, two wraps, and a chef’s salad before Emory was called to the front of the store and Booker appeared before her.

  With his jet-black hair, deep-brown eyes, and infectious smile, Booker had always been handsome. But the years had given him an air of hard-won confidence.

  Confident enough to put the competition out of business?

  No. Never.

  But the seed of doubt had been planted. Gourmet sandwiches weren’t just her thing; they were her future. She needed some confidence right now.

  And a wedding date.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  Staring at Kimmy working behind the deli counter, Booker Belmonte was at a loss for words.

  Which was unfortunate since he had a lot to say to her.

  Doubly unfortunate since Mims Turner was filling the void during their wait in line with good-natured babble that kept him from collecting his thoughts. He slid his damp hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

  Mims finally came to her point as they reached the front of the line. “Booker, it would be a pleasure to have you as a guest emcee for our bachelorette auction this Saturday.”

  The old woman had gray curl
s and a full-cheeked smile like Mrs. Claus. Unlike Mrs. C., however, Mims wasn’t helping Santa make a list and check it twice. Nothing Mims and her Widows Club cronies did was ever that straightforward. Mims wasn’t fishing for an emcee. She was out to make a love match.

  Booker glanced at Kimmy, who was wiping down the counter.

  “Say you’ll accept the honor, Booker.” Mims stared up at him as if she didn’t expect to be rejected.

  “I’m just the new owner of the Burger Shack.” Booker tried to put Mims off, even as he smiled at Kimmy, ignoring the tension between his shoulder blades. “I’ll take the special.”

  He hadn’t seen Kimmy Easley in what seemed like forever. They kept up with the occasional tag on social media. He was happy to see she looked the same. Same vivid brown eyes. Same dark-brown hair contained in a neat braid. Same tug at his heart when he set eyes on her.

  In high school, Kimmy hadn’t liked making plain burgers, the Burger Shack’s bread and butter. It wasn’t unusual for her to take an order and suggest to a customer that they add garlic hummus, mushrooms, or aioli. After hours, she’d practiced her sandwich-grilling skills by feeding Booker and Haywood. So it was no surprise that she’d put her own stamp on things when Emory had hired her to work the deli counter.

  What was surprising was her response to his order. “Sorry, Book. We’re all out of specials.” Her lively brown eyes were guarded.

  Does she know?

  “Darn it.” Mims pouted, just a little. “I should have come earlier. But I got to talking to Booker, and…I suppose I’ll have a grilled cheese.”

  “Shoot.” Kimmy’s gaze softened but only when she looked at Mims. “I’ll make you a surprise special.”

  “And me? Your old friend?” He hoped they’d still be friends when he confessed what he’d done.

  “I can scrounge a grilled cheese for a childhood friend, I suppose.” Kimmy cut him no slack. “Plain and simple, like those burgers you serve.”

  He sensed it was time for damage control. “Let me apologize.”

  “For what?” Kimmy was still looking at him warily but her hands were moving—buttering bread, sprinkling seasoning.

  Watching her work in the kitchen had always been mesmerizing. “I’m assuming you’re going to tell me what to apologize for. You always do.”

  Kimmy scoffed, cheeks turning a soft pink, not an angry red.

  Booker drew a deep, relieved breath.

  “Are you going to participate in the bachelorette auction this Saturday?” Mims asked Kimmy.

  “I’m thinking about it.” Unhappily, if her expression was any indication. “And don’t”—she shook her knife in Booker’s direction—“give me any grief about it.”

  “Moi?” Booker tried to look offended. “Make fun of you? I’d never.” As teens, they’d joked that the Widows Club events were for the dateless and desperate.

  “I’m not either of the things you’re thinking of.” But Kimmy looked grim. Datelessly grim.

  What was wrong with the male population of Sunshine that they couldn’t see the appeal of Kimmy Easley?

  Booker leaned over the counter for a closer look at what Kimmy was using on Mims’s sandwich. It looked like spicy guacamole, heavy on the garlic. Garlic being her obsession.

  If he was honest, it was his too.

  “So, I can count on you on Saturday, Kimmy?” Mims was nothing if not persistent. “All proceeds go to the Sunshine Valley Boys & Girls Club.”

  “I suppose.” Kimmy relented. “Unless something comes up.”

  Booker frowned. What was going on here? Kimmy was pretty and clever and creative. She should have had guys dangling from a string, waiting for a chance to date her. When they’d been in school, she’d had Booker on a string, and she hadn’t even known it.

  “Thanks, Kimmy.” Mims paid for her sandwich, hefted her yellow pleather purse onto her shoulder, and fixed Booker with a stern stare perfected from years of working in the school cafeteria. “You’ll be our emcee, won’t you, Booker? It’ll give you a chance to talk about the Burger Shack’s new menu.”

  Kimmy sighed but didn’t glance up from her work.

  Booker reluctantly nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to agree if one of my best friends is helping raise money for a good cause.” Although, judging by the look on Kimmy’s face, he suddenly feared their friendship had fallen by the wayside. His shoulders knotted. Booker needed Kimmy to be his friend. Friends forgave each other’s bad decisions and betrayals.

  “Oh, I’m so happy you’ll be our emcee, Booker.” Mims hugged him. Her purse banged against his side with the weight of a brick—or a very large handgun, which Mims was rumored to carry.

  With her mission accomplished, Mims took her sandwich and walked toward the exit.

  No one was behind Booker in line. Earlier diners were busy eating what looked to be a darn good sandwich. Emory had disappeared somewhere. And Kimmy had her back turned to Booker, smashing his sandwich with a grill press.

  “I have a break in five minutes,” Kimmy said in a distant voice. “Meet me out back?”

  “Sure.” Relief skimmed through Booker, untying his knots.

  Their history was flooded with work breaks taken together behind the Burger Shack, where they’d sit on a sturdy plastic picnic table and dream of leaving Sunshine and making their mark on the world. Kimmy by opening a specialty sandwich shop. Haywood by selling million-dollar homes. Booker by owning and managing a chain of high-end restaurants.

  Only two of their trio had achieved anything close to their dreams—Haywood and Booker. Only one of them had left town.

  Kimmy had unwittingly played a role in Booker’s success.

  And now Booker had to make up for it.

  Chapter Two

  I haven’t seen you in years and you show up with Mims?” Kimmy pushed the back door of Emory’s open and didn’t stop walking until she’d reached the employee picnic table on the back patio near the receiving bay. She sat down across from Booker with her sandwich and a bottle of water. “What’s happening here?”

  Her gaze caught on him. On handsome him. And something deep inside her stirred with interest.

  I need to date more.

  Who was she kidding? She needed to date. Period. Starting this week.

  “You made me lunch. That’s what’s happening.” Booker held up his grilled cheese sandwich. “Cheddar, Muenster, and Swiss. But you spiced it up with…”

  “Grainy Dijon mustard, walnuts, and super-thin apple slices.” Pride had her smiling back, despite a small voice in her head whispering that Booker was the competition now. Her attractive competition.

  Stop. This is Booker.

  The guy she’d studied geometry with and thrown French fries at. The guy who’d taken her to prom because neither of them had had dates, although that had turned out to be a disaster. He was her friend. He could still be her friend.

  As long as he doesn’t kill Emory’s lunch business in the next six weeks.

  She sighed. “It makes the cheese more interesting, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve never done more than salt and pepper on a grilled cheese sandwich. Well done.” Booker took another bite. “You know what would make this better? Two thick slabs of French toast.”

  “Heavens, no.” Kimmy unwrapped a shredded-chicken sandwich she’d made for herself. “The imbalance of bread to cheese wouldn’t work.”

  Booker’s smile fell a little.

  “Maybe it would work between waffles,” she said kindly, intrigued by the flavor combinations.

  Behind him in the loading dock, several teenage boys were doing tricks on skateboards.

  “Isn’t that your brother?” Kimmy pointed to a teen who was shorter and skinnier than the others. “Dante?”

  Booker turned, scowling when his eyes lit on his kid brother. “Dante! Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  Dante skidded to a stop, flipping his board vertical so he could grab the front axle. “We had an assembly today. Short day
at school.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be at the Burger Shack?” There was no mistaking the command in Booker’s voice.

  Dante shrugged. Translated from teen speak that meant Yes, but I’m not going.

  The other two teens—the Bodine twins—took off in the other direction.

  “Gotta go.” Dante waved and followed them.

  “But…” Booker twisted back around in his seat to face Kimmy, his expression dark. “Aren’t you glad you have an older brother? Because…” He gestured toward the escaping Dante.

  “At this moment, yes.” Looking into Booker’s dark eyes, she nearly forgot why she’d come outside to join him. Mental head thunk. Her future. “I hear you’re changing the menu at the Burger Shack.” Might as well address the elephant in the room.

  “My parents’ business has been struggling, and they wanted to retire. And I’ve been playing with the menu in the store I opened in Denver.” His voice dropped into that low, soothing range usually reserved for lawyers and ministers dealing with sensitive topics. “The restaurant in Denver is all mine, and it’s exceeded my expectations.”

  “You’re a success.” And she was just the deli clerk at Emory’s.

  Only for the next six weeks.

  Kimmy bit into her sandwich, pausing to relish the blend of basil pesto, melted mozzarella, baked chicken, and olives. They could take away her job but they’d never take away her ability to make magic in a sandwich.

  “It’s not exactly the dream I talked about when we worked at the Burger Shack.” He pulled what remained of his sandwich in half, stretching the cheese as he did so and then wrapping it around the bread before taking a bite. “But it’s just what my family needs. I hope to have the staff trained before the wedding. I’ve got to get back to Denver soon afterward.” He paused to smile but it was a tentative thing. “I want to show you the menu.”

  He wants my input?