Picking Roses

by BA Tortuga

  He figured she did it on purpose, just to make him pay for calling her Hes her whole life. Like he liked being Lester any better.

  “Hey you.” She bustled up to him outside the restaurant to kiss his cheek. She looked good. Smiling, her blue eyes dancing. That was a good sign.

  “Hey, lady. How’s it going?” He hugged her before wiping the Chapstick off his cheek. Like a lot of Colorado women, Hester Anne was low maintenance in the looks department, but she surely hated dry lips.

  “Good. You already put in for a table?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Summer season was as busy if not more so than ski season, so he’d gotten there right early.

  “How did that last ride in Cheyenne go? You didn’t call or text me back, so I assumed you fell off.”

  “Ha ha. Got third in a go-round the second ride. Got stomped and dragged once.”

  They got inside and the fluttery little waiter dude seated them before Hes answered. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, and Les braced for whatever she was about to ask.

  “You seem happy for third and stomped. What else happened?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m going to Texas in about two weeks.”

  “Texas!” Hes stared, blue eyes narrowing. “You can’t have a better job down there.”

  “Just finishing out the Texas circuit, is all.”

  “Uh-huh. Spit it out, Lester.”

  Les took a deep breath. “Well, Hester Anne, I met me a girl.”

  She chuckled, relaxing back in her chair. “Oh, Lord. Look at you. I swear, you’re like a teenager in heat.”

  “Now, Hes, I haven’t been that young in a long time.”

  “I know it, but she obviously makes you feel like a kid again. Was it good?”

  “Hester Anne,” Les snapped. “She’s a fine lady and I won’t talk no trash.” There wasn’t trash to talk, but Les never had been a kiss and tell type. Not even as a teen.

  Hes tilted her head, pursing her lips while she stared. “Okay, then. Tell me who rode won the barrels at the big show.” She’d barrel raced in the junior leagues before she got all married and shit.

  So instead of giving up Rosie, who he wasn’t ready to share yet, he told Hes about the rodeo and their friends around the country and everything but his own life.

  That would have to wait until he figured out what he wanted and how to get it.

  * * * *

  “You know, you can’t still be PMSing.” Her best friend Lindsay whacked Rose with her big pregnant belly, then winked, pushed all that curly red hair out of her face.

  “What?”

  “You’re scowling again. You’re supposed to be asking me about what I want for lunch and whether or not we need to go get pedicures and massages.”

  Rose sighed, rolled her eyes. “Like I’d want to spend time with you, dork.”

  Lindsay grinned. “You don’t spend time with anyone else.” She plopped down into a chair, then reached for Rose’s hand. “So? What’s up? Was it really terrible? Wyoming?”

  “Huh? What? No. No, it was…”

  Kind of magical, really, up to the end.

  Really.

  Lindsay blinked at her, eyes curious. “It was…awful? Cold? Hellish? A blast.”

  “Neat. It was very neat.” And it was very over and no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get over it. She’d even called Les twice—once to say thank you for being so nice to her and once to make sure he felt okay. She hadn’t talked to him, but on the second call, his voice mail had changed, saying that he was having connection problems, but was missing Texas, which had to be her, right? Because he wasn’t in Texas and he wasn’t riding in Texas, because she might have had Belle over in reference pull the day sheets for any Texas circuit rodeos so she could search for his name.

  Still…

  “Rose?”

  “What?”

  “What’s his name, honey?” Lindsay squeezed her fingers, grinned. Silly woman knew her too well.

  “Les. Les Jacoby.”

  “Yeah?” Lindsay leaned her elbows on the table. “Tell.”

  “Yeah. He was…” Wow. And also, hell yes.

  “Great in bed?”

  “Linds! We didn’t even kiss!” Not really.

  “Why not?” Now Lindsay seemed shocked. Of course she did. She always said she didn’t buy a pair of shoes without trying them on.

  Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m married.”

  “Widowed.”

  “Careful.” She frowned. Okay, so she used that as an excuse, but she had to have one.

  “Scared.” Lindsay snorted. “I want to know everything—every detail.”

  “Nosy old cow.” Rose started giggling as that crotchety woman from the front desk, Arlene, sniffed at them disapprovingly.

  “Moo…” Her best friend shook her head. “No, really. I want to know everything over pedicures. Then you can plan my baby shower over massages.”

  Rose rolled her eyes like thrown dice, this close to cracking up. “You’ve had two baby showers already!”

  “Absolutely, so this one has to be spectacular!” Lindsay tugged her up. “Come on, my treat. Let’s go be ladies who lunch.”

  Rose nodded, grabbed her purse. Lord have mercy, Lindsay could make a scene. Better get her out of the library.

  She wondered if Les liked pink toenails.

  * * * *

  The truck was packed. He’d talked to the boss one more time, just to make sure his job would still be there come fall, just like always.

  “You sure you want to go gallivanting off after this girl?” Harris had asked, sitting at his desk in the big house and squinting at Les over his little wire glasses.

  Les had only smiled and nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “Yes, sir. I hope to bring her back with me in the fall.”

  “Well…” The old man had sniffed. “We could use a woman’s touch around here. Maybe we’ll get you one of the houses cleaned up.”

  Oh, that would be something. “I would love that, sir. I really would. Now, I can’t take Iggy with me. Do you think Chester would take him again?”

  “That man would take Iggy full-time.”

  “No way.” They’d chuckled, but Les had sure been relieved.

  So Iggy was provided for, he’d gotten two part-time kids to do most of his work, and he’d lined him up a place to stay down near Rosie so he could ride the circuit and be close enough to see her most days.

  That was assuming she wanted to see him. He hadn’t actually gotten to talk to her. He’d been up in the high pastures since Cheyenne, moving stock. No one’s cell worked up there, just the two-way. She’d left him messages, though, and that had given him hope.

  He checked his bag one more time, then gave up on dithering and climbed up in the truck, heading south. Might as well give it a go. If his Rosie girl wanted him as much as he wanted her, well, it would be worth all the trouble.

  If she didn’t… Hell, a cowboy needed to know. He couldn’t live his life on what-ifs, now could he?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Presley, stop jumping, you little dork.” Rose grabbed a Beggin’ Strip, held it up. “Sit.”

  Bright little black button eyes stared at her and Presley barked, one paw flailing in the air.

  “No. You sit and you can have it. Then it’s time for No Reservations and Under a Tuscan Sun. I have popcorn—I have a glass of wine. I’m ready.”

  She even had her softest short shorts, the most comfy tank, and her good scrunchie in her hair.

  Presley looked, barked, then sat.

  “Good dog.” Rosie gave Presley his treat and he ran off to eat it in his bed.

  She grabbed the wine and the bowl, then headed for her baby sofa. Kleenex? Check. Blanket in case the air conditioning got too cold? Check. Chocolate ice cream in the freezer when the crying over the movie turned into crying over some boy?

  Check.

  Häagen-Dazs level, check.

  Knock at the door and Presley going nuts? Damn i
t.

  “Just a second!” She grabbed Pres, tucked him under her arm and gently popped his nose before unlocking the deadbolt. “No barking. That’s rude. Can I help…?”

  Oh. Wow. Rosie stopped dead, her mouth falling open.

  Les Jacoby stood right there in the hallway, a summer straw on his head, which was odd, because it was Texas-shaped. No. Texas cowboy hat shaped, not like the state.

  “Les!” She grinned, bouncing a little, which made Presley peep. “Is it really you? I can’t believe it. Come in. Good night, you seem like you feel better.”

  Oh, God. Les. As in, gee, I’m trouble for a gal in Wranglers Les. At her door.

  “Thanks.” He smiled, doffing his hat, his eye lines crinkling hard. “You look real pretty. This must be Presley, huh?”

  “Pretty? God. I look like a schlub. Sit. Would you like… Well, I have tea and wine. No beer. And yes, that’s Presley. Presley, stop, huh. Get down.”

  “Tea would be fine. It’s hot as the hubs of Hades here.” He grinned and set his hat where Presley couldn’t get it. He sat easily, no popping or cracking or wincing.

  “Sure.” She grabbed a tumbler out of the cabinet and filled it with ice and tea. God, she didn’t have on a bit of makeup.

  Or a bra.

  When she came back, Presley was sitting on Les’ lap, panting happily while strong fingers dug into white fur. Slut dog.

  “If he’s bothering you…” She handed the tea over, pushed her ponytail off her face.

  “Not a bit. Been missing my Iggy anyway.” Les sipped, tan throat working. “So how have you been?”

  She sat in the wee chair, cross-legged, smiling at him. “Hot, mostly. Working a little. You?”

  “Well, I came down to ride some. Season is a bit longer down here.”

  “Oh? So… You’re just passing through?” That was…disappointing. To just have him for a few hours instead of days like last time.

  Wait.

  Stop.

  No having.

  “Well, not exactly.” Les’ cheeks went red as anything. “I, uh, found me a place to stay with some boys here in Longview, so I can sorta base my operation here for a month, at least.”

  “A month? Oh, that’s nice news!” She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. “I mean, we could have supper and visit.”

  “We could.” The corners of his mouth pulled into a wide smile. “I was sure hoping you’d want to.”

  “I told you, there’s an amazing barbecue place, and that’s just the start.”

  Presley was in love, Rose could tell. The dog had hopped off Les’ lap and was bringing him toys.

  The red ball.

  The blue squeaky bone.

  The earless cat.

  All three rubber chickens.

  Her best panties.

  “Presley!”

  “Oops.” Les chuckled, politely grabbing the ball to toss while she disposed of the undies.

  God, how embarrassing! She shoved the panties as deep into the hamper as they’d go, and tried to decide whether she’d be less conspicuous putting on an overshirt now or just dealing with the fact that she was braless.

  “You okay, honey?” Les sounded like he might have gotten up to check on her, his voice closer than she expected.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” She decided to go without, headed back into the front room. “I was sorta stunned at how…messy I look.”

  “I think you look real fine.” His eyes slid over her, the smile she got appreciative without being weird.

  “You’re a sweetie, but, wow.” She smoothed her shirt over her belly. “Have you had supper already?”

  “Nope. I was hoping you’d want to have some with me.”

  “I was planning microwave popcorn and ice cream and chick flicks. Supper sounds way more fun.” She grinned at him. “Give me ten minutes to get presentable?”

  “You bet.” He clucked, and Presley hopped right up in his lap again, wagging like mad.

  “Okay. Here’s the remote.” Boys liked remotes and, although she hadn’t kept Timmy’s big screen, her TV was okay.

  “Thanks.” The channels started to change like clockwork. Boys…

  Okay. Okay. Pink sundress? Too fancy. Jeans and T-shirt? Too casual. Heels? Flip-flops? Boots?

  She headed into the bathroom to do her hair and eyes. Maybe her little peasant blouse from the Cato’s with a pair of capris and sandals…

  Chapter Twelve

  Les waited, holding that ridiculous little excuse of a dog on his lap and grinning like a fool.

  She’d been happy to see him. Tickled. Jesus, he was so relieved he thought he might bust. He’d put all his cards on the table and bet everything he had on this trip. It was good to know it might just work.

  He searched around her tiny apartment, shook his head. It was a little like peeking into a dollhouse, really, with pink and flowers and lace and romance books. There was a huge basket of yarn beside the couch, along with a pile of Cosmopolitan magazines. On the coffee table, there was a glass of red wine, a bowl of popcorn, a box of Kleenex, and a stack of movies with kissing folks on the covers.

  Lord.

  You couldn’t tell she’d ever been married to a bull rider—that was for sure. She needed a man around the place.

  The only sign that there’d ever been a husband was in the framed pictures on the mantle. There were a couple of little kids, a couple of old folks, and Timmy Cutrer on his wedding day, sporting one hell of a black eye and stitches on his lip.

  Look at that. Les glanced around before letting the grin come. Kid had been good. Les remembered that much about him.

  “Sorry. My hair was a huge tangle.” Rosie came out of the bedroom—which was a wash of pink and purple flowers, Lord help him—in a blue shirt and a wee pair of short pants, fresh as a daisy.

  She had cowhide flip-flops on, with sparkly things on the toes. Pink toenails. That made him grin. Oh, she was a picture. “Not a problem, honey. My sister says a man should be plumb grateful for any time a woman spends making the world a more beautiful place.”

  Oh, look at her blush and smile. “Flatterer. Presley, come on, baby boy. In the crate.”

  The little critter yipped and bounced right in, and she tossed in a ball and a treat.

  “Oh, man, that’s good, honey. Iggy fights me every inch.” ’Course Iggy just stayed outside when Les went away during the day. He went to Hester Anne’s when Les was gone-gone, and stayed at the ranch when Les went to Texas. Which had just now happened.

  “What kind of dog is Iggy, again?” She grabbed a white purse and her keys.

  “He’s a mix. Mostly hairy. Huge.” Les grinned, pulling out his phone. “Here. Here’s a picture.”

  She leaned against his arm, peeking. “Oh, he’s beautiful.”

  “He’s a big dork.” She felt so good against him. So soft.

  “He has pretty eyes.” Her fingers stroked his wrist. “What kind of food do you want?”

  “Well, you said something about barbecue, but I’m easy.” He would eat just about anything.

  “The Pit it is.” She pointed to a teeny little bright yellow Toyota pickup. “That one’s mine. I think you’ll fit…”

  “Would you rather take my truck, honey? It’s in the visitor parking.” He would fit in it so much better.

  “You sure? I’m just thinking you’ve got those long, long legs…”

  “I don’t mind a bit. You just tell me which way to turn.” The small truck might have meant snuggling, but his hat would end up crushed against the headliner.

  “That’s easy. It’s just right off the Interstate.”

  “Cool.” He got her in the truck, which he’d had detailed that morning to get rid of the three day drive smell.

  She looked so pretty, sitting in his truck. She pointed the way, then her laugh filled the cab. “I can’t believe you’re here, Les.”

  “Yeah?” Was that good or bad? In the ‘I never once thought of you’ way, it could be bad.

  “Well, an
hour ago I was going to spend the evening on the sofa crying with Sandra Bullock and now you’re here.”

  “I am. I, uh, might have picked here for the rest of the summer ’cause of you.” There. It was out. She’d find out anyway.

  “Oh…” Those dark eyes flashed up at him. “You know, I said I wasn’t going to date cowboys, right? So this isn’t a date.”

  “Nope. This is two friends going to have barbecue.” He wasn’t gonna push. But like Hester had said, he only lived once and he’d never mooned over a girl before. Not only that, he wasn’t interested in dating. He wanted forever and that happy smile, well, it gave him hope.

  He smelled the barbecue before he saw the building, but man, he could remember why Texas was so cool, smelling that. Yum. “This place has to be a winner, honey.”

  “It’s so good, here. The beans are real hot, though.”

  “Oh, good to know.” The place with crowded with pickups and SUVs, and Les wondered idly how many people would know Rosie.

  She walked in with him and although everyone was nice, nobody seemed to recognize her at all. Weird. Of course, maybe he was just so small town that he was used to everyone being all up in his business. He held her hand while she swung her leg over the bench before plopping down next to her.

  “I haven’t been here in years. It still smells so good.”

  Ah. Well, that explained why no one had her number. “What do you like best?”

  “The brisket sandwich and a side of coleslaw. Timmy used to say that their ribs were good, but I don’t like them much.”

  “I might have to have the three meat plate, then.” Brisket, ribs and sausage.

  The waitress came over. “Evenin’. Do y’all want tea, Coke or beer?”

  “Tea, for me, please.” Les smiled, betting she would take tea, too, but not willing to order for her yet.

  “Me, too.” Rosie nodded happily, her long ponytail bobbing behind her.

  “Sure. Here’s some bread.” The waitress left them, and Les shook his head.

  “White bread. Lord.” That always cracked him up. Colorado barbecue owed a lot to Texas, but the bread had more body to it.

  Rosie giggled, patted his leg. “Welcome to Texas, cowboy.”