Finding Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 1)

by J.C. Valentine

“Do I speak English?” he asked in return, confusing her even more.

  “Yes?”

  He huffed as if she exasperated him. “Come on, girl,” he said, placing a hand against her lower back and turning her around, pushing her down the sidewalk, past her car and toward his truck, which she only just noticed parked in the very last slot. “I hope you like barbeque.”

  ***

  “I don’t think I wore the right clothes for this,” Vivian shouted over the country music. She was holding a chicken wing coated in dark-red barbeque sauce that was sweet and spicy at the same time. Thank God for the bib around her neck serving as a catchall, because everything in front of them was made for creating a mess.

  “You’re right about that,” Nash said with a toothy grin before chomping down on a wing. He’d demolished at least a dozen already, and they’d both had their fill of ribs and sweet potatoes prior.

  “I feel sorta guilty that I didn’t help Gretta tonight,” she leaned in and confessed.

  Nash scoffed. “Don’t be. I called her while you were in the restroom earlier. She said there was no sense wasting a nice dress and to have fun and you can tell her all the gory details later.”

  Vivian arched a brow. “Gory details? Does she think I’m going to kill you or something?”

  “Or we’ll kill each other.” He shrugged and continued eating.

  “Now there’s a possibility,” she giggled.

  “Come on now,” Nash ribbed her. “You have to admit this is a lot more fun than cooking for all those sweaty guys.”

  Vivian didn’t have to weigh her answer for long. “You are right about that. But I kind of like it.”

  “Oh, so you like ‘women’s’ work?” he speculated. “And here I had ya pegged for one of those high-maintenance trophy wives who has someone else to do all her dirty work.”

  Despite how accurate his assumption was, Vivian’s hackles rose, and she sat back in her chair, wiping her fingers clean on a napkin. The Nash she knew and most certainly did not love had returned, and she had lost her appetite.

  “It’s getting late,” she announced, her intention clear.

  Nash’s amusement evaporated in a blink. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. Really,” he insisted when she glared at him. “I was just running my mouth. I don’t always pay attention to what comes out of it, or how. It’s my one and only flaw.” He smirked, waiting for her to do the same.

  It took a moment, but those dancing blue eyes and that handsome face did a number on her resolve, and Vivian eventually softened again, deciding to let it go for one night. “Just one, huh?”

  “Yes, why?” he asked, eying her suspiciously. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t try to stop her.

  “I’ve counted at least a dozen,” she elaborated, which was obviously exaggerated, but in her estimation, probably not by much.

  “You have not!” Nash looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “I am perfect in every way. Just as Ms. Gretta… On second thought,” he amended, “don’t ask her. She lies.”

  Vivian burst out laughing. “She does not! That woman shoots straighter than an arrow.”

  He contemplated this with narrowed eyes as he drank his beer. “You’re right,” he finally said, setting his glass aside. “She’s a good egg. You can’t find one better these days.”

  Sadly, she’d bet he was right. Honesty, loyalty…those things were so few and far between. “I hope she’s okay,” Vivian commented, thinking about her episode and the doctor’s visit that followed.

  Nash didn’t have to ask to know what she was referring to. “Me too, but she’s a stubborn old bat. Nothing like a little angina is going to take her down though.”

  “I feel like I don’t have a right to worry,” Vivian admitted, “being that I only just met her and you’ve known her probably your whole life.”

  “Not my whole life,” Nash clarified, “but pretty damn close. She was there for all the important milestones.” His gaze turned distant, reflecting on memories that Vivian could only guess at.

  The urge to ask him about his wife was dancing on the edge of her tongue when he snapped out of it, and his face lit up. “This is my song.” He jumped down off the high chair and held out his hand. “Come along, little lady. It’s time you learned how to dance the cowboy way.”

  Vivian slipped her hand into his without hesitation, even though she wasn’t the slightest bit confident in her ability to do what looked like complicated footwork by the others out on the floor.

  The song, which was most definitely country, was more pleasing to her ear than she’d expected though. She’d never considered herself a lover of country music, but she’d never really listened to it either. The song playing spoke of having dirt on the guy’s boots, and its upbeat sound gave her an energetic, cheerful feeling that she carried out with her onto the dance floor.

  Nash wore a smile ear to ear, and those baby blues shone from under the brim of his hat as he pulled her along with him and spun her into his arms. They rocked together at a fast pace, his footwork much more knowledgeable than hers, but Vivian did her best to keep up, and every time she stepped on his toes with her new boots, they laughed together.

  Vivian lost track of time out on that floor, and maybe a bit of her senses, too. Under the warm lights, the music, and the fun, Nash wasn’t the tough cowboy with the chip on his shoulder. He was just a man who had a love for life, even when it didn’t go his way.

  As they fell into a slow sway, their hips moving together and Nash holding her close while the singer talked about dying a happy man, Vivian felt goose bumps prickle her skin. He was stunning, she realized. Even more so than when she’d first spotted him on the side of the road. Now that she knew the man behind all the brooding façade, he was impossibly attractive. She’d even dare to say he had a sweet and tender side to him, which made sense. A woman would have to be crazy to marry him if he didn’t have some redeeming qualities.

  Nash was holding her hand in his, clutched to his chest where his heart beat rhythmically against the sweat-soaked plaid shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes.

  Looking up, Vivian couldn’t break free of his penetrating gaze that seemed to almost see straight through her. Funny how first impressions didn’t always add up. She’d thought he was a jerk, and he was, just not as much of one as she’d thought him to be. The closer she got, however, and the more she learned about him, even in his silence, the more she realized just how wrong she had been.

  Nash was a good man, just as Gretta had said. And after tonight, she was afraid of how easily she could see herself falling for someone like him. Or him.

  She could fall for Nash.

  Looks aside, he was completely swoon-worthy.

  “Do you feel it, too?” he murmured, watching her closely.

  Vivian blinked. “Feel what?” She knew exactly what he meant, but she had to be sure.

  “Whatever this is between us. You feel it, too.”

  Vivian couldn’t form words, so she nodded mutely. Yes, she did. It was strong, the sensation a fire inside that burned bright and hot and undeniable.

  “Maybe Ms. Gretta was on to something,” he suggested.

  “Maybe she was,” Vivian agreed. The old woman saw more than most, that was clear, and her attempts at playing matchmaker might just be paying off. But was Vivian ready for it? Fresh out of a marriage, it didn’t seem like a great idea to jump right back into another. Especially with someone she bumped heads with and whom she hardly knew anything about.

  But what if…

  “Hmm…” Nash made a contemplative sound as he stared at her mouth, and when Vivian licked her lips, he leaned down and laid the gentlest kiss on them she’d ever experienced.

  Lightning flashed through her veins, lighting up her insides like a fireworks show and curling her toes in her boots. She thought of her favorite movie growing up, Pretty in Pink and thought that Nash must have been practicing on watermelons, too, because he was a hell of a strong kiss
er.

  My. God.

  He must have been just as affected, too. Breathing heavily, his lips parted from hers, and he pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed as if he was savoring the moment. Vivian was running through her own memories of her first kiss, the many she’d shared with Andrew, but they all came up short in comparison.

  She’d never been so affected, never felt this way from a decidedly chaste and simple kiss before.

  Nash was doing something to her that she was afraid to put a name to…because it felt too serious for too short a time.

  No, Vivian couldn’t have feelings for Nash. Not the kind her heart was suggesting, proving that it really was a dumb organ that needed to be kept watch over so it didn’t get her into something too deep to dig herself out of.

  Nash must have reached the same conclusion because instead of kissing her again, he pulled away, his eyes soft but hard at once.

  “It’s getting late. Come on, I’ll take you back to your car.”

  The high she’d been riding diminished when he dropped her hand, breaking all connection, and walked away, expecting her to follow. She did. All the way back to her car, where he told her goodnight and was on his way again, leaving her in that lonely parking lot surrounded by dark storefronts.

  Starting the car, Vivian coasted down the country roads back toward Gretta’s, filled with confliction. What was she supposed to do now?

  FOURTEEN

  The rooster may have woken her up, but the murmured conversation was what captured her attention the following morning and had Vivian making her way downstairs. She recognized Nash’s deep timber immediately, mixed with Gretta’s softer motherly voice.

  Intuition told her they were discussing something serious, and she should stay out of it, but the curious woman in her told her to stay quiet and listen closer, find out what she could.

  She knew it was wrong as she crept down to the last stair and stayed put, straining to hear every syllable spoken between them. Judging by their low tones, she had a feeling it had something to do with her, with last night.

  “…didn’t mean to,” she heard him say.

  Was Nash regretting kissing her?

  “I understand, but you can’t go beatin’ yourself up like this,” Gretta comforted.

  Vivian’s thoughts strayed to his wife. Did he feel like he’d betrayed her with Vivian? She was gone from the world, but no doubt she wasn’t yet gone from his heart. It was selfish of her, but Vivian wondered how in the world she could compete with a dead woman…assuming there was any competition at all.

  Their kiss could merely have been a mistake. Nash had put away a few beers. Maybe he was just a little drunk and didn’t mean to. Maybe he didn’t really like her like that. Maybe Vivian’s needy personality and loneliness, her own desire to be wanted, was creating connections that didn’t really exist.

  Was she just fooling herself?

  Disheartened, she decided she should return to her room and think about moving on, letting these people get back to their lives without her interference. It would probably be best for everyone if she did leave. Here she was forcing herself to fit in somewhere she never belonged and likely never would.

  Like Nash had said, she was a kept woman. She was used to the finer things in life, in people taking care of her. Here, everyone was the total opposite. They worked hard every day for what they had. They were warm and caring, loving even to strangers. It just felt so good to be surrounded by all of that. She’d thought maybe she could touch some of that, maybe find herself here, but maybe none of it was meant for her.

  She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t stay here. But she could take with her a few memories.

  Silently climbing the stairs back to her room, Vivian packed everything of hers back into their suitcases and, when she was done, carried the first and heaviest of them downstairs, careful not to make any noise, so she didn’t arouse notice.

  The last thing she wanted to do was have it out with Gretta over her leaving. The woman would no doubt insist she stay, but it would be easier to fight with her after the car was packed and she was ready to leave.

  Vivian didn’t get that far.

  The moment she set foot on the front porch, Vivian’s arms grew heavy and fell to her sides, the suitcase crashing to the deck at her feet with a resounding thump. Shock stunned her stupid, as Gretta might say, as she stood there staring openmouthed at the sight before her.

  A black limousine sat in the gravel driveway beside her Porsche, blocking Nash’s truck in from behind. She didn’t have to guess or take even a moment to think to know who was inside. When the back door opened, her suspicions were confirmed.

  “What are you doing here, Andrew?” she asked through clenched teeth. It could only be one thing: he wanted to complicate her life further. “I already turned over the credit cards. What more do you want from me? How did you even find me?”

  It wasn’t as if she’d left a forwarding address.

  “Please, anyone can be found if you know who to pay.”

  She’d bet that was true. Andrew always had a way of making the impossible happen. That’s how he’d gotten her to marry him. She hadn’t been interested initially, but he’d gotten in good with her parents and his family ran in all the same circles as her friends, too, so he was well-known. His party-boy reputation preceded him, which had been a turnoff, but then he’d maneuvered around her and everyone, wiggling his way into her parents’ and then her eventual good graces. She’d started off attending events as an extra, a friend, with no intention of anything moving beyond that, but his charm, wit, and intelligence, and her parents’ fondness for him eventually swayed her, and she’d grown attached.

  She should have listened to that little voice inside her head when she’d had the chance. Too little, too late, but at least she was out now.

  “Whatever,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

  Andrew approached slowly, eying her Porsche that had been a Christmas present from him and was awarded to her in the divorce on those grounds alone. “We have a few things to discuss.”

  “Like?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Like you disappearing and leaving everyone worried.”

  “Everyone? I highly doubt that,” she sneered, looking him up and down. How she ever thought the canvas shoes, khaki shorts, pink polo, and a sweater draped around the neck combination was attractive was beyond her. Jeans and basic white T-shirts held a far greater appeal these days.

  “How can you say that?” he asked, appearing wounded as he reached the stairs and hesitated, Vivian’s warning look stopping him in his tracks. At least he was paying attention.

  “The man you had an affair with helps.”

  He brushed the accusation off as if she was speaking utter nonsense. “Vivian, honey—”

  Vivian laughed outright, but it wasn’t borne of happiness—contempt at his audacity fueled the response. “We’re divorced, Andrew, in case you forgot. You don’t get to call me pet names anymore.”

  “Divorced? No.”

  “No?” Vivian repeated, frowning.

  “The final papers only just came in yesterday. We haven’t signed anything yet. And, honestly, I’m glad,” he said as he took the first step.

  Vivian backed away. He was lying. Had to be. She’d remember something that important. “Whatever, Andrew. Assuming I believe you, which I don’t, it’s a technicality and something easily resolved.” She’d have to contact her lawyer to be sure, but he was nearly positive he was pulling rabbits out of a hat.

  “I made a mistake, honey. It’s not too late. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

  “Are you crazy? It’s entirely too late, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Fine, we’ll stay here,” he compromised, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “What’s going on out here?”

  Vivian groaned and closed her eyes, rubbing the tension that had
built between them. “Nothing, Nash. Just a discussion that is now over.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothin’,” he observed, and the screen door squealed as she stepped out onto the porch behind her. “Who are you?”

  Andrew’s chin lifted, and his shoulders squared in Nash’s presence as if he felt the need to look bigger than he actually was. “I’m Andrew DeBois, and I’m here to collect my wife.”

  “Wife?” Nash questioned, and Vivian could feel his eyes boring into the side of her skull.

  “He’s lying. The utterings of a fool who refuses to let go of what’s already gone. Ignore him,” she ordered over her shoulder, then gritted out, “We’re done, Andrew. Go home. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

  His expression hardened.

  Nash stepped in again. “It seems we’re at an impasse and the lady would like you to leave.”

  Andrew, always assertive and overly confident, pointed a finger at him. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready. She and I have things to discuss.”

  Vivian opened her mouth to tell him where he could shove his discussion when Nash held out a bracing arm to keep her back. “Then get a phone and text it to her. Or better yet, write a letter, since you know where she’s staying. But at this moment, she’s asked you to leave, and now so am I. Need I remind you that you’re on private property?”

  “I don’t care whose property I’m on—”

  “The sheriff will be here in a minute,” Gretta announced, joining them.

  Vivian groaned again, despite the cheering going on inside her head. Way to go, Gretta! She loved that she had two very competent people beside her, but she hated that either of them had to witness this part of her life. Drama was never in style, no matter where you hailed from.

  “Look, Andrew, just go. We don’t have anything left to talk about.”

  “I want you back,” he announced to all and sundry. When she stood unmoved, he added, “Your mom and dad are at home waiting, too.”

  At the mention of her parents, Vivian felt a momentary pang of regret and sadness, a sense of longing for home and the comforts it offered.