“Sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology. I want you to tell me what’s really goin’ on.”
She sniffed. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”
Pause. Then, “Does this have something to do with that bartender working at LeRoy’s that Paul told me about?”
Stupid big mouth Paul. “Dad—”
“Is he there with you now?”
“No.”
“Who is this guy? Paul said he saw you together at your house all lovey-dovey and you were doin’ repairs in the bar.”
“So?”
“So, is this guy using you?”
I don’t know. Maybe I was using him.
“Since when do repairs include a stint working as a cocktail waitress?” he demanded.
“It’s a long story. Besides, it’s over.” Her voice caught on the word over.
His angry pause burned her ear. “Sweet baby Jesus, Willow Rose Gregory. Are you…cryin’?”
She nodded her head yes but whispered, “No.”
“What did that dumb fucker do to make you cry?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“Drop it, Dad.”
“The fuck I will. Goddammit where are you?”
“Let me talk to Mom.”
“Like hell. You’ll tell her to tell me to calm down and I don’t wanna calm down. He makes you cry, I make him cry.”
For crap’s sake. She was twenty-five years old! “Don’t you dare, Dad. I mean it—”
A scuffle erupted and Willow guessed her mother grabbed the phone. Then the dial tone rang in her ear.
Good. Her dad was protective and hotheaded, but her mother was the voice of reason. She’d keep him from acting rashly.
Too bad her mom hadn’t been around earlier to keep her from doing the same.
Two hours later, Blake was working on a fairly decent drunk when the door slammed open like an angry bull had kicked it in. The cowbell crashed to the floor with a final dull clank.
The bar went utterly still.
He knew without turning who’d come for a piece of him.
Big Kenny Gregory.
Fucking awesome.
Blake tossed back the shot of tequila. He straightened his carriage to his full height of six foot three. He briefly wondered how bad Willow’s dad could be. Or how big he could be. Given Willow’s petite frame chances were good this guy bullied people with his mouth, not his size. He slowly spun his barstool around.
Holy freakin’ shit.
The guy was at least six foot eight. He weighed a good three hundred and fifty pounds. He had shaggy, curly dark hair laced with streaks of gray and a matching ZZ Top beard, which made him look like an outlaw biker. Or a prison escapee. Or both.
He stalked toward Blake, wraparound shades obscuring his eyes. His black sleeveless T-shirt read “What the Fuck You Lookin’ At?” Ropes of thick chains swooped from the front of his jeans to the wallet jammed in his back pocket. Chains which rattled against the gigantic knife clipped to the left side of his studded belt.
Before the heavy boot steps stopped, Blake stood. He wasn’t meeting this guy halfway, but he sure as hell wasn’t sitting on his ass.
Big Kenny ripped off his shades and loomed over Blake. “You the piece of shit who made my baby girl cry?”
“Yep.”
Not the answer Big Kenny expected. “Least you ain’t denying it. You’d better start talking, boy, about what you done, or I start breaking bones until you do.”
“With all due respect, Big Kenny, what happened between Willow and me isn’t your business, so back off.”
“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to, boy?”
“I ain’t a ‘boy’ and Willow isn’t a little girl. She’s a woman who doesn’t need her daddy to run interference in her personal life.”
Big Kenny growled.
“But I see where she gets her temper. You get pissed off first, stomp away second and worry about the rest of it later. Am I right?”
No answer.
“In fact, I’ll bet you a thousand bucks she didn’t tell you what happened between us. Know why? Because that’d mean she’d actually have to…I dunno…talk about it. But fuck, that’d be too goddamn easy, wouldn’t it? No, it’s much more productive to make assumptions! Which was what I was tryin’ to avoid from the get-go, but she’s pretty damn quick to jump to conclusions and not so quick to listen to explanations.” Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Does she get that trait from you too?”
Big Kenny glared at him.
Blake couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. He was tired of being the nice guy. Tired of being called a Boy Scout. Tired of being the understanding type. Tired of being the calm one. Tired of being the one who walked away rather than stay to fight.
Fuck that.
“I ain’t gonna lie. I wanna throttle her.”
“You’ve got a death wish by telling me that. If you touch one hair on her head—”
“For Christsake, chill out. I’d never hurt her. Do you have any idea how much it twisted my guts into knots to see pain in her eyes? Dammit, that tough little woman looked at me like I’d broken her favorite hammer.”
“Did you?”
“No! It’s just a stupid misunderstanding that would’ve taken like ten minutes to clear up, but she couldn’t be bothered to stick around and hash it out. She had to leave!” Blake grabbed onto the front of Big Kenny’s shirt. “Where the fuck did she go, huh?”
“Hands off. Now.”
“Blake. Buddy. Take it easy. Sit down,” Dave said from behind the bar.
“Shut the fuck up, Dave. I don’t wanna sit down. I’ve been taking it easy for too goddamn long. I wanna clear at least one thing up in my life right now.”
Blake locked his gaze to Big Kenny’s. “Go ahead and beat the shit out of me. ’Cause I sure as fuck couldn’t feel any worse. And if I’ve got goddamn bruises and scabs, maybe I won’t feel like such a fucking pussy for letting that little slip of a thing knock me to my knees.”
“Remember you asked for it,” Big Kenny snarled.
Blake would’ve laughed if he hadn’t felt like crying. Or if he hadn’t been bracing himself for the impending ass kicking from Willow’s larger-than-life father. “Bring it on.”
But the big man just sighed. He clapped Blake on the shoulder so hard Blake winced. “Boy—I mean, Blake, is it?” Blake nodded. “Sit yo’ ass down.” He signaled to Dave. “Give us a bottle of Jack, two shot glasses and then scram.”
Dave complied and then they were alone.
Big Kenny poured them each a shot. They didn’t toast. But Blake knew drinking protocol: Keep up with Big Kenny, shot for shot, no matter what. He apologized to his stomach lining and knocked the first one back.
“Since Will ain’t gonna tell me nothin’, I’m asking you to explain everything.” Big Kenny looked over his shot glass. “Everything G-rated that ain’t gonna make me kill you on the spot.”
So Blake started talking. He kept talking until he had to reach behind the bar for a glass of water. When he finished, he realized Big Kenny’s expression hadn’t changed the entire time. Crap. He finished his shot and cringed when Big Kenny poured him another.
“Lemme see if I’ve got this straight. She was so damn glad to get rid of that title she got shitfaced right afterward. She got belligerent. You kept her out of jail and she spent the night with you—”
“Nothing happened.” That night, but he doubted Big Kenny would appreciate the clarification.
“And while you’d basically protected her from herself and from the other perverted men looking for a drunken piece of ass, she was working off her damages and the two of you became…friends.”
“Yeah.”
“She thought you were just a bartender.”
“I am a bartender,” he pointed out.
“At one point you told her you’d been employed in the construction business.”
“Also the truth,” Blake said. Hell, was Big Kenny goi
ng to go over every tiny detail of their conversation? Probably. Probably it wouldn’t be wise to suggest they move on to coming up with a solution to the situation with Willow rather than rehashing the problem.
“So she thought you were an unemployed carpenter who was stuck slinging drinks.”
“Yep.”
“But at no time during the four days you spent with her did you tell her that you were a sheep rancher?”
“Nope.”
“Why the fuck not?”
Blake swallowed another shot. “Do you know how many Wyoming sheep fucker jokes I’ve heard in my lifetime? Christ. For the first time ever I didn’t have to explain what I used to do for a living isn’t who I am.” He looked over at Big Kenny. “I didn’t lie: I just didn’t think it mattered. I especially didn’t say anything after Willow told me her theory on people who raise barnyard animals.”
Big Kenny nodded. “Saved me a bundle she wasn’t a horse fanatic like some of her friends when she was growing up.”
“I imagine.”
“So when Will found out about your shepherding past, including the fact you don’t hafta work because you’re loaded—”
“Loaded is stretching it,” Blake replied dryly.
“Boy, I got a pretty fair idea what Wyoming ranch land is worth. Loaded ain’t far off, is it?”
“I’ll get by.”
“Still, she got pissed off?”
Blake nodded.
“Man. That don’t make no sense.”
“Willow thought I’d played her. She tossed out this wild theory I was pretending to be down on my luck, hoping to earn her sympathy so she’d hire me. Then I could learn everything about your construction business to better compete with Gregory Construction.”
Big Kenny gave Blake a menacing look. “Is that true?”
“Far from it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life on a day to day basis, let alone long term.”
“Why’s that?”
Blake briefly closed his eyes. “I’ve been pretty fucked up since my dad’s stroke.”
“Shit. That sucks.”
“Yeah. I miss working with him, but I don’t miss the work, which makes me feel guilty because ranching was his life. He wanted it to be mine. And being a rancher is all I’ve ever really known. For the first time in my life I have the money, the time and the freedom to do whatever I want and I can’t decide what to do with any of it.
“So I came here, hoping to straighten some shit out. And I met her.” Blake swallowed a shot. “Of all the gin joints in the world, she had to walk into mine.”
No surprise Big Kenny’s face held a blank stare.
“I’m crazy about her. I’ve never met anyone like her. I like that she makes me laugh almost as much as I love to hear her laughing. Sounds insane. I’ve known her a total of four days.”
“I proposed to her mama four hours after we met.”
“No shit?” Blake said, hating his words were starting to slur.
“No shit. I saw her in that hot little cheerleading outfit and I was done for. We had big plans. Move to one of the coasts. Live the lifestyle of the rich and famous. See the world. We couldn’t wait to get out of Nebraska. ’Course, my senior year in college I wrenched my knee and couldn’t go pro.”
“Go pro?”
“Pro football after college. I played linebacker for the Cornhuskers.”
That explained a lot.
“We moved back here. I didn’t want to at first but it wasn’t like either of us had any other place to go. I took over my dad’s construction company, figuring I’d stick it out a decade or so and we’d move on to bigger and better things. Then Barbie and me started havin’ kids.”
Barbie. That explained a lot about Willow’s mom too.
“We’ve been here thirty years.”
“Regrets?”
“Nah. A man can’t live in the past.”
“So you understand why I wanted to put my past behind me and live in the now?”
“I believe I do.”
“Think you can help me convince your daughter—”
Big Kenny raised his ham-sized hand, cutting him off. “Huh-uh. You’re on your own with her.”
“Great.”
More shots were poured and consumed.
Finally Big Kenny spoke. “Much like your dad, I thought I’d pass the business on to my son.” He scowled. “That boy…well, he never showed the interest in the construction biz that Will did. I never pushed my son to join the business or made him feel he didn’t have a choice about what to do with his life. But Will? She wanted it. I’m damn proud of her. It ain’t an easy road she’s taken. I just want her to be happy.” Big Kenny turned on his barstool.
Here it comes, Blake thought blearily.
“So the question is, do you got what it takes to make my Will happy?”
“Yessir.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
Big Kenny propped his elbow up on the bar and gave Blake a nasty smile. “Let’s arm wrestle.”
Blake muttered, “I am so fucked.”
Chapter Ten
Blake West woke up and realized covering his head with a lacy pillow did not muffle the pounding inside his skull.
He shifted slightly on the damp sheets. The pillow tumbled away. A shaft of sunlight nearly fried his retinas. He squeezed his eyelids shut and muttered, “I’m in hell.”
“A hell of your own making you stupid jerk,” an angry female said, way too close to his ear.
Willow.
Wait. Willow was…here?
Wait. Where was here?
Blake jackknifed, twisting toward the voice he thought he’d never hear again, especially in bed.
Ooh big mistake. Sharp pulses lanced his brain like pointy metal spikes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Serves you right. What were you thinking getting popped with my dad?”
“I’m thinking I was a lot nicer to you when you woke up with a hangover.”
“Now see, there’s another obvious difference between us.”
Despite the ache behind his eyeballs, he peeled his eyes open, one squinty lid at a time. Such a sight for his poor sore eyes. Beautiful Willow. Less than two feet away. Scowling at him.
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. He’d take her scowling. He’d take her any way he could get her.
“My Gawd. Even hungover you’re leering at me.”
“Darlin’, I always leer at you.”
She snorted. “What goes around comes around I guess. Except you’re not wearing a sash, darlin’.”
Blake looked down. Yep. He was buck-ass nekkid. Then he noticed the floral sheets. And the sweet lime scent surrounding him. He realized he was in her bedroom.
Time warp. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered, besides the confrontation with Willow, was sitting at the bar drinking and then…
His lungs seized up. Sweet Jesus. Willow’s father had shown up mad as a nest of hornets. They’d talked. They’d yelled. They’d done a billion shots. And then he’d admitted how he felt about Big Kenny Gregory’s baby girl. Probably in graphic detail. Damn. He was lucky he wasn’t in traction. With blackened eyes. And broken teeth. He had the oddest urge to pat his groin to determine if he’d been castrated.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“Having a complete mental blank about your previous night’s activities.”
Blake drawled, “Okay, Miss—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it,” she warned.
“Fine, Miss-I-got-cherry-bombed-one-freakin’-time, cut to the chase. How did I end up naked in your bed?”
“You really don’t remember?” she said with a silken purr. “All you did? All you said?”
“No. But if you weren’t bein’ such a beautiful distraction I—”
Willow briefly placed her finger over his mouth. “Ah. Ah. Ah. Don’t go there, cowboy. That sweet talkin’ mouth of yours ain’t gonna get
you outta trouble this time.”
“Did my sweet talkin’ ways convince you to kiss and make up with me last night?”
“Nope. But it was hard for me to say no after you stripped to nothing but those sexy dimples.”
“Ah, hell, Willow, I hope I didn’t—”
“Let me finish.” Willow angled over him. “I prefer the man who demands I mount up and ride him like a stallion to be sober, not babbling about liking me more than his dog, or swearing he’d keep me happy between the sheets forever, or confessing he doesn’t care that I’m a better carpenter than he is.”
Aghast, he groaned, “I said all that?”
“Yep. After my mom and dad left.”
“Your dad was here?”
“Who do you think carried you up to my bedroom?”
“Big Kenny did? I thought he hated my guts.” Blake’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure he tried to kill me with Jack Daniels last night.”
“Nah. He doesn’t get drunk as a skunk with guys he hates. He just pounds the snot out of them.”
“That’s comforting.”
“You were both pretty far gone by the time he called my mom to come pick you both up at LeRoy’s.”
“Why both of us?”
“Evidently he thought you and I needed to talk, so he brought you here.”
“Did we talk?”
“No. Buddy, you passed out.” She locked her gaze to his. “So tell me… Did you really arm wrestle my dad?”
A fuzzy memory teased the edges of his mind. “Maybe. Probably.”
“He said you arm wrestled for…me. Like I was a prize at the fair or something.”
Her hurt tone meant he had to do some major damage control. “Aw, you are the fairest prize I could ever hope to win, Willow Gregory.”
“Sweet talker, but keep going.”
“I remember trying to explain to your father why I wanted to throttle you and kiss you. Often at the same time. I guess he understood.” Blake frowned. “After that, it’s a blur.”
“According to Dad, you beat him at arm wrestling.”
“Huh. I wish I remembered.”
“FYI, he never forgets. And he never loses.”
“He had nothin’ on me last night because I had nothin’ to lose and everything to gain by winning.” Blake caught her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Miss Firecracker: Wild West Boys, Book 2 Page 11