Naturally, Blake had bristled. He’d been doing his damndest to keep it all together during his dad’s recovery. But his father assured him it wasn’t anything Blake had—or hadn’t—done that brought about the decision. The bottom line: after two months of rehab he doubted he’d ever be the same man. Workaholic Darren West decided it was time to retire.
Blake’s mother was in complete agreement. After living in rural Wyoming her entire married life, she’d developed a taste for living in town. And she preferred quicker access to a hospital if need be. Blake also knew with Nick and his wife Holly expecting their first child, his parents were eager to move closer to Denver. He didn’t blame them. He’d miss them, but frankly, the workload had been wearing on Blake for a while.
Then his father shared the most shocking news of all. Their neighbors to the east, who’d been looking to expand, agreed to buy everything but the sheep on the West Ranch outright. The dollar amount his dad named nearly had Blake’s eyeballs popping out of his head.
And that was just Blake’s half.
The first thing he’d done was pack up his worldly goods from his crappy singlewide trailer and rent a house in Sundance. The second thing he’d done was sleep. The third thing he’d done was become a bum.
Well, not really a bum, although at times he felt like one, lying in bed until eight in the morning. Lifting weights at the community center with his cousins. Playing with his dog. Loafing on the couch with a book until his shift started at the Rusty Spur. Instead of working three jobs, bartending part-time was his sole occupation. No riding the range looking for lost sheep. No last minute handyman projects for his cousin’s construction business.
He’d gone from out-of-his-mind busy to bored-out-of-his-skull.
Blake jumped at the chance to manage his good buddy Dave’s bar in Nebraska while Dave took a much-needed vacation. Dave was one of the few guys Blake had confided in about his situation after the ranch sale: his restlessness, his worry about his dad, his struggle to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Bartending in a town where no one knew him would allow Blake to shake the phantom sheep shit off his boots and be someone else for a while.
And maybe Blake could finally fulfill his fantasy of finding a no-strings fling. The women in his hometown preferred his bad boy, hell raisin’ McKay cousins to a simple nice guy like him.
Which was another reason he’d sought escape from Wyoming. Once word got out Blake West had money, women who’d never given him the time of day would flock to him like sheep. Another irony, since being a sheepherder had been part of his lack of appeal with the ladies.
Might make him a dreamer, but Blake hoped to find a woman who wanted him for him—even if it was only for a week of hot sex over the Fourth of July. The town was packed to the gills with people attending family and class reunions and the county fair. Surely there was one woman who’d be up for generating some major sparks with him.
Immediately the delectable Willow Gregory appeared in his mind’s eye. There was something about the former Miss Firecracker that made him want to blow his Mr. Nice Guy persona straight to hell.
After mopping the floor behind the bar, Blake restocked the liquor shelves. He called the supplier and tripled the beer order. He lined up limes, lemons and oranges for slicing.
He’d just poured himself a Coke on ice when the cowbell on the front door clanked and Willow slunk in. Damn, she looked good. “Feeling better?”
“No. It’ll take more than a shower and four aspirin to purge my misdeeds, sad to say.” Her gaze zeroed in on his glass. “Are you drinking on the job?”
Rather than ask why Willow had such a low opinion of him right off the bat, he answered, “Nope,” very curtly. He pointed his finger at her. “And just so we’re straight, no drinking on the job for you either.”
“That’s not gonna be a problem. Today anyway.” She marched around the bar and planted herself in front of him.
Blake looked down at her. The top of her head didn’t reach his shoulder. If Mandy hadn’t checked her ID he never would’ve believed she was almost twenty-six. Willow projected sweetness and innocence with her cherubic face, big brown eyes, and wavy chestnut hair. Mercy, he’d like to drag her upstairs and prove that innocence was just a veneer.
“Where am I supposed to put my stuff?”
His gaze reconnected with hers as he tried to forget how perfect she looked naked. In his bed. “There’s a locker in the breakroom, which is next to the bathrooms.”
“Thanks.”
His eyes narrowed when Willow was back in a flash.
“You’re scowling at me like I’ve already done something wrong.”
“It’s hard to grasp your sudden change of attitude.”
She shrugged. “You know the saying, ‘When life gives you lemons’. Speaking of…” She pointed to the fruit piled on the bar. “You making juice? Or a fruit basket?”
“Neither.” Blake pushed away from the barback. “You’ll be slicing them after we go over a few things.”
“What things?”
“Learning to take orders, to start.” He handed her an old-fashioned waitress order pad and a small round tray. “It might be easiest for you to write down the orders to begin with.”
“Write them down for you?”
“No, for yourself. The only time I’ll need a paper copy is when you have a big table, ten or more people, and they’re all ordering at the same time.”
“Got it.” She supported the tray on her hip. “Okay, hit me.”
“Pardon?”
She gestured impatiently with the pen. “Name some drinks. See if I can keep up.”
“Tangueray and tonic. Bud Light. Jack and Coke. Fat Tire. Seven and Seven. Fuzzy Navel. Diet and Captain. Chardonnay.”
Willow rattled them back.
“Good. Except for beer. Verify if they’re asking for a draft or a bottle.” He sipped his Coke. “How are your math skills?”
She offered him a droll stare. “Is this part of my punishment? You’re going to make me do story problems?”
Blake laughed. “I hated them in school too. No, I’m talking simple addition and subtraction. But fast addition and subtraction.”
“Can I use a calculator?”
“Nope. You can use your pad if you need to. Ready?”
“For what?”
“To tell me how much the drink order I just gave you costs.” He flipped the pad around on the tray. “Here’s the price list. Top shelf. Premium. Domestic bottled beer. Imported bottled beer. Tap beer. Wine. Soft drinks aren’t listed, but usually those are free for the designated—”
“Forty-one fifty?”
His mouth dropped open. “You figured that out already?” When her stare turned into a challenge, he backtracked. “Wow. You’ve got a head for numbers.” In addition to being a hot little number that makes my damn head spin.
Willow reached up and patted his cheek. “And don’t you forget it. So what’s next?”
“Wiping down the tables. The rags and cleaner are below the sink. I’ve gotta grab the cash drawer from the office and then I’ll help.”
He’d only made it a few steps when she said, “Blake. Wait.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry for all the problems I caused last night. For being so touchy this morning.”
I wish we’d been a lot touchier this morning.
Blake bit back his retort and listened.
“You probably don’t believe me, but I’ve never done anything like this before. I mean, when I’m mad I yell and get in people’s face, but drinking until I pass out? Waking up naked in a strange man’s bed? And finding out I performed a strip tease for you—”
He whirled around. “You didn’t strip for me.”
“I didn’t?”
“No. After the sheriff left, you were upset so I took you up to the apartment. I’d planned to drive you home after I locked up the bar. But when I came back a couple hours later, you were naked and snoring on my b
ed. I slept on the couch. Nothin’ happened.”
The relief on her face was comical. “I hate that I don’t remember. Sounds like I was lucky to end up with you and not someone…less honest.”
Blake looked at her thoughtfully.
“What?”
“As long as we’re bein’ honest? My gentlemanly streak only goes so far and it’d been long gone last night if you had stripped for me. No way could I’ve kept my hands off you. No way. It was damn hard.” His gaze swept over her. “It’s still damn hard.” Boy-howdy was that statement true in more ways than one.
She blinked. “So my behavior didn’t repulse you?”
“Far from it. But fair warning. Next time I find you naked in my bed? There’s gonna be a whole lot happening. And I guarantee you’ll remember every single second of it.
Willow didn’t unfreeze until Blake disappeared. Then she sagged against the barstool.
Holy moly. She’d wondered if she’d imagined Mr. Hottie Bartender’s attraction to her.
Apparently not.
Blake was the first man she’d been attracted to in a long time—even before her forced abstinence during her reign as Miss Firecracker. She had no clue what to do about the attraction. Men like him didn’t usually give her the time of day, let alone the I-wanna-lick-you-up-one-side-and-down-the-other sexy stare.
Forget about it.
Grabbing the bottle of disinfectant spray, she blanked her mind to everything but scrubbing the scum from the tables, when she noticed the chunks out of the wall.
Her stomach clenched. What if she had connected with Norbert’s head? She might’ve killed him. What could he have done or said that’d caused her to swing a barstool at him?
Willow traced the deep gouges and scratches with her fingertips. Evidently she’d held onto the seat portion and the chair’s legs connected with the wall. Repeatedly. Luckily she could fix the damage with Sheetrock mud instead of having to cut out the ruined section and install a new piece, which would require taping and lots of sanding.
Blake’s footsteps stopped behind her. “It could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah, I could be in jail for attempted murder.” Willow faced Blake. Or rather his chest. Her gaze traveled up his broad torso until she met his remarkable eyes.
“Old Norbert hit the ground pretty fast the second you picked up the barstool. So in your defense, I don’t think you meant to hurt him, just to scare him.”
“Why? Do you have any idea what he said that might’ve made me act so…rash?”
“Mandy, the cocktail waitress, said Norbert propositioned you.”
“Eww! He’s older than my dad!”
Blake’s mouth hardened. “Dirty old man. Mandy also claimed he grabbed your butt and tried to bury his face in your cleavage.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yep. It’s also sexual harassment and I don’t put up with that crap in my bar. If the sheriff hadn’t banned Norbert for his part in last night’s events, I would have. So you don’t worry about him showing up tonight.”
“Good.” She swiped the table one final time. “Done.”
He whistled. “You’re fast.”
“Efficient. Now what?” She glanced at the door. “Are we open for business?”
“Yeah. Been slow this time of day. Picks up around four when all the events let out. That’s when Mandy comes in.”
Willow followed him behind the bar. “So we’re alone?”
Blake spun around so fast she smacked her face into his chest. His hands landed on her shoulders to steady her. “You aren’t afraid to be alone with me, are you?”
“No. Geez. I woke up naked with you this morning, Blake. I think you’ve proved yourself trustworthy.”
“And here I was hoping you’d try to find my hidden wild streak.”
“Do you have one?”
“Everyone has one. I can’t wait to see more of yours.” He smiled and chucked her under the chin. “Let’s finish prep.”
He showed her how to load the glass washer behind the bar. Then he demonstrated the best way to slice the fruit for drinks.
Willow stared at him as he dried glasses.
“What?”
“Tell me about yourself, Blake West.”
Unease briefly skittered across his face. “Not much to tell. I’m your basic, boring bartender.”
“I don’t believe it.” She let her gaze wander from the mass of curls, down his rugged face, across that solid chest and sculpted abdomen to his lean hips. Don’t look lower. Yet, she wondered if he was well proportioned everywhere. Withholding a smirk, she met his eyes and pointed the knife at him. “You can do better.”
“All right, all right. I’ll talk if you quit waving that knife at me and get to work.”
“Fine.” She turned. Thwack. The knife halved a lemon. “Start talking.”
Heavy sigh. “I’m a born and bred Wyomingite. I’ve lived outside of Sundance my whole life.”
“Really? I went to Devil’s Tower once. Gorgeous country.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You a cowboy?”
Pause. “Not really.”
“How do you know Dave?”
“We went to high school together. He married a woman from here. They ended up divorced and she moved on, but he stayed.”
“Are you married?”
“Nope.”
“Ever been married?”
“No. I have a dog though.”
Willow snorted.
“See? Told ya I’m boring. What goes around comes around. Why don’t you fill me in on Willow’s world.”
Thwack. Another lemon drawn and quartered. “What do you want to know?”
“Your day job. How you got to be a beauty queen.”
Willow peeked at him over her shoulder. “The last one surprised you, huh?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“Because it shocked everyone else in the county.” Jerks. Thwack.
“I think we’ve established I’m not like everyone else, Will.”
Will. Her nickname. Most men in her employ called her Will, but it sounded different coming from Blake. Almost like a term of endearment.
Wishful thinking.
“But it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.”
The man was so polite. She turned and rested her behind on the lip of the prep sink. “No, I’ll tell you. It’s sort of funny in a ‘the joke’s on me’ way. The Miss Firecracker Pageant is always held during the county fair prior to the Fourth of July celebrations.
“Last year, there was a shortage on contestants. So this bitchy girl Destiny, who’s been a pain in my rear my whole life, filled out the paperwork in my name and submitted it as a joke. The pageant director, a good friend of mother’s, called me two weeks before the pageant, beside herself that I planned to participate as a ‘surprise’ for my mother. She reminded me to pay my entry fee.”
“Jesus. That’s cold.”
“Yeah. I figured out what’d happened. I was embarrassed, planning to get even with Destiny—after I withdrew from the stupid competition—when my mother showed up at my house. With a beaded evening gown and a boatload of makeup. And hair gunk.” Willow focused on a bottle of tequila on the shelf beside Blake rather than his curious eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not—nor have I ever been—beauty queen material. I’m like…beyond a tomboy. I skipped my high school prom for a monster truck rally in Omaha. I graduated from Vo-Tech for cripesake. I wear steel-toed boots, not stilettos.
“Growing up I tagged after my dad on jobsites rather than hanging with Mom and learning to cook, sew, shop or do girly things. Clothes, hair, makeup—that whole fussy routine eludes me. In the morning I wash my face, brush my teeth and throw my hair in a ponytail. That’s my entire beauty regimen.”
“I’m guessing you clean up pretty good, Will.”
She shrugged off his compliment, even when it secretly pleased her. “Seeing my mom bursting with excitement about helping me do all the pa
geant stuff…I couldn’t back out. And because people laughed me off, I was even more determined to win.”
“And you did.”
“Yes, I did. The best part was Destiny’s absolute shock. Totally worth parading across the stage in a swimsuit and ankle-breaking heels.”
“What about your dad?”
“He was happy about the ‘no dating’ rule.”
“There’s a no dating rule?” Blake asked.
“Yep. This is an old-fashioned type of county contest that doesn’t feed into any of the larger pageants like Miss Nebraska. It’s more…wholesome, so the coordinators expect the winner to be a role model for the young girls in the area. And truthfully, the dating thing wasn’t an issue for me, since I haven’t dated in forever.” Willow frowned. “My dad warned me to expect the guys to razz me about the sash clashing with my toolbelt.”
“Toolbelt?” Blake’s look was quizzical. “What do you do for a living that requires you to wear a toolbelt?”
“I’m a carpenter.”
He grinned. Widely. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his gorgeous dimples. “What?”
“We have something in common. I’ve been working off and on as a carpenter for the last few years.”
“As a hobby? Between bartending gigs?”
Immediately Blake stiffened up. “A hobby. Yeah. Something like that.”
Open mouth insert foot. And the foot appeared to be stuck in her big mouth because no apology poured out.
He tossed his towel on the bartop. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.” And he was gone.
She hadn’t meant for her question to sound bitchy and condescending. Blake hadn’t been judgmental toward her at all, when he had every right to be after her bad behavior, so she felt ten times worse.
Buck up, little camper, and apologize.
Five minutes after massacring the remaining fruit, she’d bolstered her nerve to approach him.
Willow tracked Blake to a storage room by the empty box he heaved out the doorway. She poked her head around the corner when she deemed it safe. “Blake?”
“What?”
“I need—”
“Do we have customers?”
Miss Firecracker: Wild West Boys, Book 2 Page 2