Wes set four tumbler glasses on the bar. He reached for a whiskey bottle on a top shelf and took his time adding the caramel-colored liquid to the glasses. As if he still had to master the perfect pour and hadn’t been preparing the proper whiskey neat for years. He stretched the one word into his slow pour. “Because...”
Abby interrupted. “If you say because I’m pregnant, I’m going to come around the bar and kick you.”
Boone’s deep rumble of laughter spread across the bar.
“You are pregnant.” Wes set the whiskey bottle back on the top shelf and faced her. Only the bar separated them. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me wanting to make sure you’re safe.”
“I knew he’d get it right,” Boone said.
Ilene smiled and patted Wes’s shoulder in approval before slipping to the other end of the bar.
“Of course you’ll keep me safe.” Just as she wanted to look out for him. Nothing wrong with that. She didn’t believe she could do the actual electrical work, anyway. But she could hand him tools, water. Whatever. She could just be there for him. If he’d only let her. “I can be helpful. Come on, Wes. I won’t ask any friend questions. Promise.”
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if rubbing away his smile. The one that lingered in his gaze. “You’re telling me that you’re going to follow every instruction I give you. No argument. No pushback. Because you know it’s for your own safety.”
Obviously, she’d push back. He knew it too. His lips twitched. She stalled and flipped through the pages of her how-to book. “If it’s different than the book explains, then what?”
“My way goes.” He arched one eyebrow and angled toward her.
“What if it’s wrong?” Abby challenged. She leaned into the bar, appreciating that spark in his eyes. The one that kick-started her own pulse.
“It won’t be.”
“That’s arrogant.”
“That’s experience.” He finally closed the distance between them. “And experience trumps theory every time.”
She wanted to experience his embrace. One time. A moment inside his arms to feel safe. Cared for. Wanted. Abby tried to backpedal, but she tripped over her errant thoughts. He unsettled her. She unsettled herself. “Looks like you have an electrical assistant. When do we start?”
And when exactly would her heart stop racing?
Because they’d started something, and she wasn’t quite certain how to stop it. Or if she even wanted to.
“You can begin by getting out of this bar and enjoying Opal’s meatballs.” Ilene hung a dry towel over her shoulder and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Believe it or not, Nolan and I can handle this. And Boone’s here to guide us.”
“Don’t be drawing any electrical diagram either,” Boone ordered. “Just enjoy a good meal with good company.”
“I feel like we’re being kicked out.” Abby worked to hold back her grin.
“I don’t think I’ll be sharing any leftovers with anyone.” Wes shot a frown at Boone, then picked up the casserole carrier and motioned to Abby. “Follow me. I know the perfect place to enjoy a good meal and good company.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“THOSE WERE THE best Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes I’ve tasted.” Wes put the container of leftovers in his refrigerator. “What other recipes are in your Grandmother Opal’s personal cookbook?”
“Why?” Abby finished drying her hands and hung the towel on the handle of the oven. Wes’s perfect place had been his apartment attached to the back of the bar. The two-bedroom unit was uncluttered, unfussy and very inviting. It had reclaimed woods and neutral colors mixed with modern appliances and high-tech gadgets. A blend of the past and the present. And the place he looked the most comfortable. “Do you want to steal my grandmother’s recipes for the Owl?”
“I’m considering it.” He refilled their wine glasses, his with red wine, hers with a sparkling cider, and handed hers to her.
She eyed him over the rim of her wine glass. “You’re serious.”
“If you give Nolan a sample, he’ll want to add that dish to the menu.” Wes picked up his glass and headed toward the staircase tucked behind the kitchen. “I’m not kidding. It’s that good.”
“Can we call it Opal’s One-of-a-kind Swedish Meatballs?” Abby followed Wes up the staircase to the hidden gem of the apartment: the rooftop deck.
“If it means getting the recipe.” Wes propped the door open with his foot, letting Abby step onto the patio.
“Let me ask Tess. But I think my grandmother would’ve loved the idea of her recipe on a restaurant menu.” About as much as Abby loved the rooftop deck. Her view of the star-filled sky extended for miles in every direction. The bar wasn’t visible. She wasn’t even aware there was a bar next to her. Her feet weren’t vibrating from the beat of the loud music. Nothing, not even the deep bass, thumped through the walls. It was as if they’d stepped into their own secluded slice of the night.
“Would Grandma Opal like it even though it’s a bar-and-grill menu?” Wes set his wine glass on a side table and sat on one of two cushioned lounge chairs.
“Especially if it’s the Owl.” Abby cradled her glass in her palms. “It’s like the heartbeat of the town, isn’t it?”
“I think that’s more Boone.” Wes stretched out and stacked his boots one on top of the other. “And Sam. They’re staples in the community. They know everyone, and everyone knows them.”
“I want to be like them.” Abby stared at the bubbles in her sparkling cider.
“Why?” Wes asked.
“They’re a connection to the past.” They’d known her grandparents. Could tell Abby if she had her grandmother’s laugh. Or her grandfather’s eyes. Or even better, if her child had her grandmother’s dimples and her grandfather’s mischievous side.
Wes tipped his head and eyed her. “It’s those roots again, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“Why do you want roots?”
“I never had them. And yes, it’s that simple.” Abby set her glass on the table and paced along the railing of the cozy deck. There was just enough room for one couple to slow dance under the stars. “Growing up I wanted to be able to walk across the street to my grandparents’ house. I wanted to have the same classmates in the same school. I wanted to have a home.”
Wes sipped his wine. “What did you have?”
“A series of tents and cabins.” She leaned back against the railing and faced him. “My mother is an archaeologist. My father is an English professor. I spent most of my childhood traveling from one of Mom’s sites to another.”
“That’s not what I expected.” A small smile curved across his mouth.
“It was different.” No one else she knew had the same experiences she’d had. “And not all bad. I don’t want it to sound that way. My parents love me, and I love them. We’re just not the same kind of people.”
“What are they like?” he asked.
“They love to travel and immerse themselves in new cultures while exploring ancient ones. They both knew in high school what they wanted to do and what they wanted their future to look like.” Abby still didn’t know. She ran her hand over her hair and rearranged the clips holding her braids together as if finding clarity was as simple as changing hairstyles. “Most days I feel like I’m still struggling to figure everything out.”
The search was ongoing and constant. Abby feared she disappointed her parents more and more each day. With every job loss. Every false start. She stepped away from the railing and her looming melancholy. It wasn’t the time or the place to voice her fears. Tonight was about a good meal with good company. She couldn’t afford to blur the lines. Wes wasn’t her safe place. She’d have to create that on her own.
Wes shifted in the lounge chair and changed the conversation as
if he recognized those boundaries too. “Speaking of figuring things out, what have you come up with for Labor Day weekend?”
“That’s still evolving for the holiday weekend.” Abby claimed the other lounge chair and sat. “So far there’s only the family movie night this Friday in the town square and a newly added scavenger hunt.”
“That’s a bad idea.” His eyebrows pinched together.
“It’s a scavenger hunt for the kids, Wes.” Abby flopped back into the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Of course he wasn’t her safe place. He was too disagreeable. Too discouraging. Safe places weren’t supposed to be so exasperating. “This is not a treasure hunt for centuries-old loot.”
“It’s still not a good idea.” He looked up at the sky.
His words were all the more irritating framed by his calm and reasonable tone. “There’s a storm coming.”
Abby swallowed her huff of frustration and pulled her phone from the pocket in her dress. She opened her weather app and scanned the forecast for the next several days. The one showing a clear sky for Friday. “There’s nothing on the weather app.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t coming.” No inflection. No hesitation. Just more of his flat-out certainty.
“You aren’t a weatherman.” Abby tapped her irritation out on the phone screen. She pulled up the local TV forecast and waved the screen toward him. “I don’t see your picture on the local news channel under Meteorologist.”
“It’s the horses. They sense weather changes and let me know.” He turned his head to look at her. Straight-faced, serious and entirely relaxed. “And if you really want to get into the details, it’s also the honeybees.”
She skipped completely over the honeybees and set out to set him straight. Someone had to. “I know you’re a horse whisperer, but forecasting the weather is pushing it.”
“You think I’m a horse whisperer.” Appreciation swirled from his gaze to his half smile.
“I saw you with Poppy and Queen Vee. I watched how they responded to you inside the stall.” She put her phone away. “There’s Dan and the other rescues too.”
“We never decided on Poppy and Queen Vee for their names.” His smile disappeared.
“There was a consensus during cards.” She nudged his shoulder in a playful push. “But that might have been when you were pouting about losing the hand.”
“I wasn’t pouting. Poppy can stay.” He held up his hand, stalling her victory dance. “Queen Vee is still under consideration.”
“I’ll come up with more options.” Or she’d wait him out and win him over. Queen Vee was the perfect name. He just refused to admit it. “Now, back to movie night in the park.”
“That’s going to be rained out.” He relaxed into the chair again, setting his arms on the chair rests. “You really should have a contingency plan.”
“I don’t make those.”
“Ever?” he pressed.
“I suppose you could say I wouldn’t be here pregnant and fighting for this job if I had a backup plan.” She tugged her dress over her knees and pressed her lips together. She had to stop blurring the lines. Stop confiding in him. Change her focus. “What about you? Do you have backup plans for your backup plans?”
“I make one plan and stick to it.”
She believed that. Believed he finished whatever he started. Made goals and accomplished them. Abby stretched out on the chair and tilted her head toward the sky. “I have plans. It was the sticking to them that tripped me up. Not anymore, though. I vowed things would be different here.”
“How’s that working out?” he asked.
“Right in this moment, quite well.” Abby crossed one foot over the other and gazed at the cloudless sky. “I can’t remember the last time I sat and stared at the stars.”
“Boone built this deck for his wife. He says it was his favorite place because it was her favorite place first.”
“I can see why.” Abby sank into the cushions, relaxing into the silence. “You could fall asleep up here, counting the stars.”
“You never counted stars on the beach in Santa Cruz,” he said.
“No.” Not with Clint. Not even by herself. Abby traced the Big Dipper with her finger. “When I was a kid, my dad and I would make hammocks or bring our cots from our tents and watch the sky for shooting stars.”
Sometimes it took only minutes, sometimes hours before they saw one. Sometimes she fell asleep before she’d even come up with her wish. But her father had always been beside her, encouraging her to never stop reaching for the stars. The memory warmed her. “What about you? How many nights do you spend up here, getting lost in the nighttime sky?”
“Most nights, actually.” He shifted in his chair. His voice deepened into mysterious and vague. “But tonight is somehow better.”
“It was probably the good meal.” She angled her head to look at him. “Never discount the power of good, homemade food.”
“Maybe.” He reached toward her, curved his fingers around hers. Gentle. Confident. Steady. Like his voice. Like his presence. “Still, I could look forward to more nights exactly like this.”
Abby stared at their joined hands. Palm to palm. Fingers entwined. The perfect fit.
And suddenly, with her hand tucked securely inside Wes’s, it became everything to the woman she was now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WES PARKED THE UTV outside Boone’s garage and tossed the keys to him. Water-pump repairs in the pasture troughs had taken longer to fix than Wes had anticipated. They’d had coffee and biscuits for breakfast on Boone’s porch almost eight hours earlier. Hadn’t stopped to consider lunch. Now, dinnertime was closing in quick. And Wes still had more work to finish.
“Are you joining us for poker tonight?” Boone climbed out of the ATV and stuffed a pair of leather work gloves in the back pockets of his faded jeans. “Carter is hosting.”
Carter was Sam Sloan’s oldest grandson and the master distiller of Misty Grove Whiskey. The former moonshine operation in his great-grandfather’s basement on their working ranch had become a full-fledged, award-winning operation. Carter had also taken more money from Wes in their monthly poker games than Wes cared to admit. Wes had returned that favor by letting his friend buy more than one round at the bar whenever he came in.
“Gotta win big tonight.” Boone took off his hat and knocked the dust off. His frown notched deep into his skin. “I got the appraisal on the property.”
Wes leaned his arm against the UTV’s steel frame and eyed the old cowboy. “And?”
“And I ain’t got that kind of money lying around.” Boone’s hat settled against his thigh, his wisdom-aged gaze settled on Wes. An impatient defiance tightened into the wrinkles in his forehead. “And I’m too old for loans and banks and all that paperwork nonsense. So don’t even be mentioning it.”
“Poker is your plan, then?” Wes grabbed the toolbox from behind the passenger seat and dropped it into the bed of his truck.
“Until Abby finds that treasure map, poker is what I got.” Boone dropped his hat back on his head, in a silent good-day-to-you gesture and headed toward the house. His cue to Wes that the discussion was finished.
Boone also had Wes. For now. Until Wes located his brother and his inheritance. Then, both men would have the homes they wanted.
Wes flexed his fingers around his truck keys, recalled Abby’s hand inside his, and another sort of want resurfaced. But he belonged in Colorado, honoring his mother like he’d always intended. His mother had deserved to spend her final days in her family home. Not alone and scared in a hospital bed. He couldn’t right that wrong. But he could turn their former ranch into something his mother would be proud of. Holding Abby’s hand one night under the stars wouldn’t alter his course.
Boone stopped on the porch steps, turned around and called out, “Don’t forget about poker.”
> Wes opened his truck door. “I have to finalize a few last-minute orders for Saturday night’s trivia league and check in with the staff, then I’ll be out to Carter’s place.”
An hour later, his hair damp from the shower, Wes finished the last of the leftover meatballs and added the address of an upcoming motocross race into his phone. Looked like he had an errand to run in the morning. He’d gotten a message from the owner of a motocross repair shop just across the Oklahoma border about a customer fitting Dylan’s description. The customer had paid in cash and mentioned entering the local race nearby.
Wes had been banking on his brother not being able to walk away from the one constant love in his life: motor cross racing. All Wes’s research on successfully going off the grid had revealed one common requirement: a person had to walk away from everyone and everything they ever knew. No exceptions allowed. When exceptions were made, the person often tripped up. Wes was banking on his brother making an exception for motocross.
Wes washed the empty leftover container and glanced at the clock. He had time to check in on the staff, confirm the weekend schedule and get to Carter’s before the first hand was dealt. Provided he didn’t stop in at the general store and Abby didn’t drop in at the bar for a refresher on her tea or decaf coffee. He seemed to lose track of time whenever Abby was around. Something he definitely couldn’t let continue.
He grabbed a baseball cap from the rack in the entryway, slipped on his boots and walked to the bar. With Ilene’s wish of good luck and the schedule fully staffed for Saturday’s trivia night, one of their busiest evenings each month, Wes climbed into his truck and pulled out onto Fortune Street.
Less than a block later, he slowed outside Rivers Family Hardware and rolled down the passenger-side window. “Trouble, Gordon?”
“Engine won’t turn over.” Gordon tipped his gray fedora at Wes in greeting. “I suspect Trey is already at Carter’s place. You wouldn’t happen to be heading that way yourself, would you?”
Wes leaned across the truck and opened the passenger door. “Hop in. I could use the company.”
The Texas SEAL's Surprise--A Clean Romance Page 15