by R. S. Kovach
“No ring.” Wylda uncapped a bottle of water and took a sip. “And he’s never mentioned a missus. I don’t know what his deal is, but most likely we’re just not good enough in his eyes.”
The man in question removed a Frisbee stuck on the roof of the gazebo and expertly flung it back to one of the anxiously waiting players on the lawn below. Before descending, he glanced her way, making Ali turn back so fast she nearly fell off the lounger. The view in front of her was no less surprising, as a shirtless man wearing a Cubs baseball cap stood at her feet.
“Who’s your friend, Wylda? I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to say hello.” He grinned with hands tactically placed on his hips, no doubt to accentuate his torso. The pasty white pectoral muscles needed all the help they could get.
“Dave, Ali. Ali, Dave.” The woman haphazardly nodded from one to the other. “There, you’ve met.”
Dave took a step forward. “Nice to meet you, Ali. May I?” He took a seat on the end of the lounger without waiting for her reply.
“I was actually just going to—” she began, but catching a glimpse of the cowboy still watching them made Ali reconsider. “Well, I guess I can stay a little bit longer.”
Plastering on her best pretend smile, she listened to the man give what was probably a well-rehearsed personal biography encompassing everything from being a commodities trader in Chicago to having recently gone through a messy—and expensive—divorce. By the time Dave was done, Ali was sure she could not only make a great deal on next year’s corn futures but also avoid costly legal settlements with a well-written prenup.
“So, do you ladies have any plans for tonight?” Dave addressed them both while looking only at Ali.
She froze, sure the shock of the proposition was evident in her face. “Um, I just got here yesterday, so I’m really not ready for a night out quite yet.”
“Nonsense.” Dave smirked dismissively. “There’s this great bar not too far from here. We can grab a bite, maybe have a few drinks . . .” He put a hand on her thigh.
Ali jumped from the unexpected forwardness of the warm, pudgy touch. Using the momentum, she quickly got to her feet. “Thanks for the invite. We’ll think about it.” Grabbing Wylda’s hand, she pulled the woman up beside her and gathered her clothes. “Sorry to run, but we’re meeting someone for lunch.”
When they were out of earshot and her companion had put her sundress back on, Ali leaned over and giggled. “Oh my god. Was that guy for real?”
“Believe it or not, he’s actually not the biggest wanker here.” Wylda playfully slapped her on the back.
When they reached the main building, the kitchen crew was setting up for an outdoor barbecue. Large smokers and grills were already hot and packed full of sizzling meat and roasting vegetables, and having skipped breakfast, Ali didn’t realize how hungry she was until the smoky smell hit her nose.
Pete was camped out at one of the tables on the terrace, hiding behind a thick hardback novel. But his tall frame topped with a floppy red hat was unmistakable, and they made a beeline directly to him. Before they even sat down, Liz came running out of the lodge in a heated discussion with an older man in a chef’s uniform. They passed by in a hurry, but Ali caught enough to hear that the portable refrigeration unit was on the fritz, and the man responsible for catering lunch wasn’t happy about it.
After inspecting an extension cord running to the machine, Liz pulled out a cell phone and dialed. Not getting an answer, she thrust the device back into her pocket and called out to the staff gathered around, “Does anyone know where Hank is?”
She looked from one face to another, but no one spoke up. Gritting her teeth, the woman in charge was noticeably holding back her emotions when Sheridan left her seat at a table in the back, hurried across the terrace, and ran down the lawn.
“I saw him working on the tractor behind the barn,” she answered, already heading in that direction. “I’ll get him for you.”
“Tell him to bring a generator!” Liz yelled after her before sending the catering crew on their way.
The group at Ali’s table was halfway done with their salads when the black pickup drove across the perfectly manicured grass. After backing up to the preparation area, Hank exited the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him. Getting out after him and rounding the hood, Sheridan followed him like a puppy dog as he unloaded the portable generator with one of the other ranch hands. Ali viciously stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork as her new nemesis fetched two glasses of lemonade, handing them over to the sweaty hunks after they’d finished connecting the equipment. She nearly choked on her next bite when Sheridan had the audacity to take a nearby cloth napkin and—in an undoubtedly unsolicited move—offer to wipe Hank’s brow.
“Are you okay, peanut?” Pete patted her on the back as her eyes welled up with tears from her coughing.
Ali swallowed and cleared her throat. “Peachy.” She pursed her lips as the woman guided—or, more accurately, nudged—the cowboy up the terrace to a chair next to hers.
Teflon? Right. If he wasn’t interested, why would he make an effort to humor her?
She watched through the entire meal—from the braised brisket to the apple cobbler and every delectable morsel in between—as the caramel-skinned beauty fawned over the hunk that Ali hadn’t even been able to address properly. What did Sheridan have that she didn’t?
Ali scoffed at the stupid, clichéd question.
Nothing, that’s what. Guys weren’t falling at her feet, sure, but she had certainly done well enough for herself in the past. Heck, she’d never even spent a Valentine’s Day or New Year’s Eve alone except by choice. Sure, these relationships usually never lasted longer than a few months, but avoiding serious commitments suited her lifestyle. Whether it was her beauty, athleticism, or brains, something had always seemed to snag the temporary object of her desires.
Until now.
Ali pouted. She couldn’t just throw a backflip in the middle of the cookout even if her wrist wasn’t in a cast—well, she could, but it would probably make her look more crazy than anything—and her looks obviously weren’t enough to get Hank’s attention. She’d have to appeal to his intellectual side—hopefully he had one of those—but what would she say? She’d already blundered through her chance this morning, blowing that critical first impression. What could she talk about with a sexy ranch hand at a fancy rehabilitation program smack-dab in the middle of the Rocky Mountains? She certainly wasn’t going to reveal how she had ended up here. He’d probably laugh at her foolishness for attempting to run a professional course with an unfamiliar horse.
Horses. Damn it, that was it. Why didn’t she realize it earlier? They were both horse people, and even if she was reluctant to get back in the saddle, they still probably shared the same passion for them.
She glanced at Hank’s table again. He’d stood up, but luckily it wasn’t to leave just yet. Liz had tapped him on the shoulder, and by their laughter, it appeared they were exchanging a humorous story. Liz was even coyly playing with a pendant on her necklace, twisting it around her fingers the way a flirty teen would do with her hair. Ali had to think of something fast before he left, but what could she casually mention in conversation about horses that would make Hank take an interest in her while not being totally out of left field?
She stared at a stain on the white-and-red checkerboard tablecloth. She could inquire about the composition of the lodge’s herd; she’d seen a few Thoroughbreds in the stables. But he might ask why she didn’t pay more attention in the first place. How would she respond to that without admitting she went to the barn specifically to see him again?
Ugh. This was impossible.
Another hearty laugh made her look up just in time to see Hank plant a kiss on Liz’s cheek before saying good-bye. Crap. Wylda was wrong. He obviously wasn’t immune to everyone at Pebble Creek and, by the look of things, w
as possibly involved with none other than his boss. It was stupid of her to hope for anything now, but when he reached for his empty glass and headed toward the drinks table, Ali jumped to her feet and went in the same direction.
She rarely felt spiteful, but the emotion took over her common sense. Stopping behind a nearby chair, Ali took a deep breath, leaned closer to the man wearing the Cubs hat, and said the words that would have been unthinkable an hour ago. “You know what, Dave? I would love to go out with you tonight. Consider it a date.”
Dear god, she hoped it was worth it, but the nonreaction from the cowboy—standing definitely close enough to hear—worried her as much as the pale broker’s grin.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Wow, it’s like Top Gun in here.” Ali had to yell above the music in the roadside bar to have any chance at being heard. The place was packed with uniformed servicemen and -women singing along with the karaoke machine, reminding her of that iconic serenade scene. It was one of her favorite movies.
“Shhh. Don’t say that.” Wylda playfully covered her mouth with one hand. “Are you trying to get our arses kicked?”
Ali looked at her with a blank expression, so Wylda explained. “Top Gun . . . that movie was navy. This is air force. Totally different.”
Ali wanted to ask how her new English friend was more of an expert on American military branches than a native New Yorker, but Pete pushed them forward. “Move along, ladies. I’m going to need a drink real quick to handle all this eye candy.” Finding a spot at the bar, he placed an order for three shots and beer chasers without consulting his companions.
“I wasn’t really planning on drinking,” Ali protested as the bartender poured the tequila.
Wylda nudged her shoulder. “Ya think you can handle him sober?” She nodded to the approaching man in ill-fitting khakis and a button-down shirt more suitable for church than a country watering hole.
In response, Ali reached for the glass and downed her liquor in one shot, slamming the empty vessel onto the wooden counter. “Dave! Great to see you.” She grinned as the liquid slowly warmed her from the inside out. He didn’t have to know she was only using him to try to make Hank jealous. It was hard enough keeping a straight face while trying to convince Wylda of her sudden change of heart. Although her new friend probably saw through the lie, she was nice enough not to prod.
Driven by guilt—and after the broker bought her another drink—they hit the dance floor. Apart from amateur singers brave enough to take the microphone, the eclectic playlist ranged from country line dancing to techno hip-hop and everything in between. The alcohol lowered Ali’s inhibitions, but letting loose felt right. And thanks to Wylda and Pete, the drinks also kept coming. They danced and laughed until her sides hurt. When three young airmen took to the stage and began singing a classic rock ballad, Ali decided she needed a break and excused herself back to the bar to stand beside Pete.
“Hot damn.” Pete eyed the performance from atop a stool, fanning himself before finishing his beer. “This is my kind of place.”
“Why aren’t you out there?” she teased, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I bet you have some serious moves.”
“Oh, I do, sweet pea. I’m just doing y’all a favor by not shaming your lame-ass white-girl dancing.” He laughed before giving her a high five. “What’ll you have?”
“Just water,” she answered, glancing behind her while trying to catch her breath. “Dave?” He wasn’t there, and she scanned the nearby faces.
“Oh. My. God.” Wylda—who’d been chatting up a rugged cowboy—stared past her as the first chords of “Brown Eyed Girl” began to play.
Ali turned just in time to see her recent dance partner standing on the raised platform, awkwardly singing the words to the song off the nearby screen. When he caught her looking, Dave increased his fervor and—unfortunately—volume. The entire bar collectively cringed before a few charitable onlookers also joined in. With the assistance, Dave was able to somewhat carry a tune and—with his confidence boosted—headed for Ali.
She watched the spectacle unfold like a slow-motion train wreck. Dave was definitely singing to her, but hopefully it wasn’t as evident to everyone else. By the way he was gradually approaching, however, it would be soon.
“Water. I need water.” She motioned to Pete, reiterating her previous request without taking her eyes off the action.
After he dangled a bottle in front of her face, she unscrewed the top and frantically downed half the contents. The liquid cooled her parched mouth, but it also hit her stomach all at once. An uncomfortable knot formed in her gut, exacerbated by the sweaty man pathetically crooning the wholly inappropriate lyrics in her direction. Just because her eyes matched the color of the song’s original subject, Dave had no right to extol the fun times they’d shared, which obviously didn’t exist! Did he even have a clue about how desperate he seemed after only meeting her that morning?
Ali gasped as a realization hit her. Dear lord, she’d practically done the same thing.
The ranch hand at the lodge had also caught her eye, and she’d spent half the day lusting after him and the other half trying to come up with a plan to get his attention. Talk about pathetic! Well, it hadn’t worked, and she wasn’t going to try further. Clearly her accident and the meds were messing with her ability to reason. Maybe Lassiter had been right to send her on a hiatus from Foxhall.
With Dave getting closer by the second, Ali didn’t have much time before their collective embarrassment would be sealed. Gritting her teeth, she looked for a temporary way out and set her sights on the bar’s entrance. The door had just opened, but a man with tousled dark hair and a casually untucked shirt was hovering in the entrance.
“I’m going to disappear for a sec,” she yelled above the music when a pretty young woman in uniform momentarily distracted Dave by joining him in the song.
“Sure.” Wylda nodded. “Do you want me to come with?”
Ali shook her head and pointed at the poor man singing the last chorus. “No. Just help me avoid him for a bit.”
The woman gave her a thumbs-up, and Ali ducked behind other patrons before scurrying toward the ladies’ room. But when she saw that the line for it stretched into the adjacent hallway, she turned on her heel. She had no choice but to head out front if she wanted any chance at avoiding an impending—and no doubt awkward—encounter with her would-be suitor.
Keeping her gaze down to avoid Dave’s notice, Ali squeezed through the crowds until she ran headfirst into someone tall and steady on his feet. She stumbled backward before looking up. It was the same man who’d just entered the bar, and it took a few seconds for Ali to place his familiar face.
The earlier uneasiness in the pit of her stomach multiplied exponentially as she stared up at the handsome ranch hand from Pebble Creek. She watched his eyes narrow in the dim lighting and then fly open comically as he recognized her. Caught between two equally uncomfortable situations, Ali struggled for breath as the last—and clearly unnecessary—shot of tequila began coming back up. Covering her mouth with one hand and pushing Hank out of her way with the other, she slammed open the door and stumbled outside.
She made it as far away from the entry as she could before leaning against the siding and vomiting into the bushes at the foot of the building. Shutting her eyes, she prayed Hank hadn’t cared enough to follow.
“Can I do anything to help?” came a deep voice from behind her. Drat. He was every bit the gentleman she didn’t need right now.
Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Ali turned. “I just need to go home.”
“Do you want me to find your . . .” He paused before clearing his throat. “Ehm, date?”
Was he making fun of her? “No!” Ali exclaimed. Dave was the last person she wanted to see right now, especially given the present company. Catching Hank’s puzzled expression, she clarified. “I actually came with Pete a
nd Wylda, but they’re pretty wasted. Neither of them is in any state to drive. You wouldn’t happen to have the number for the local cab company, would you?”
“I can drive you back to the lodge.” He took a step closer, but she retreated.
“Absolutely not.” Ali vehemently shook her head, and the act made her dizzy. Putting her hands out to regain her balance, she wobbled and Hank advanced again. She couldn’t stop him this time from wrapping an arm around her in support.
“Fine, but at least sit down while I call a taxi.” He ushered her to a bench next to the entry door. After safely depositing her, he stared into her eyes. “Well, what do you know? They are brown.”
Crap. He’d seen—and heard—more than she’d realized. “Does my misery amuse you?” She pouted, trying to focus on anything but the fresh, musky scent of his aftershave hovering so close.
The corners of his lips twitched as he held back a smile. “No, I’m not amused.”
Ali wanted to scold him for the lie, but he was her only ally at the moment. Instead, she bent down and cradled her head in her hands while Hank pulled out his phone.
“This isn’t New York City where you can get a car any time you please,” he mumbled while dialing. “And even if we get one, it could be a half an hour.”
The creak of the door drew their attention back to the bar. “Hey, Jackson.” Hank addressed a slightly older man who was exiting with a woman on his arm.
“What’s up, Mathis? We missed you inside.” Jackson greeted Hank with a handshake.
Hank stopped his friend as Jackson’s date continued toward a sports car parked nearby. “I have a favor to ask if you have room in that hot rod for one more.” The bass from the bar intensified and drowned out the rest of their brief conversation. When Hank returned to Ali’s side, he filled her in.
“This guy is a good friend of mine. I know for a fact he doesn’t drink, so I completely trust him to deliver you safely back to Pebble Creek tonight.” When she began to object, he pressed on. “If you’re not going to let me take you, then he’s your best bet if you want to get back there within a reasonable amount of time.”