Down Home Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  “Look, man,” the guy said, “if you aren’t the police...”

  And Cain was officially done with this bullshit.

  He grabbed hold of the kid, turning and slamming him up against the barn wall. “Violet Donnelly. Do you know who she is? Do you know where she is?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know a girl named Violet.” The kid looked scared now, and Cain felt satisfied by that. Because he should be. Every little bastard in here should.

  “There she is,” Alex said, pointing toward the back of the barn.

  Some of the other kids had picked up on the fact that they were busted and were starting to flee the building like rats off a sinking ship. But not Violet. Because she was half reclining on a beanbag in the back, with some jackass plastered to her face.

  Cain saw red.

  “Violet Donnelly,” he shouted from across the barn, taking long strides over to where she was and grabbing the back of the kid’s T-shirt, hauling him off his daughter. “You get your ass out to the truck,” he said, ignoring the protests of the young man whose shirt he was still holding on to.

  She blinked. “Dad?”

  And that was when he realized that she was drunk. His daughter was drunk. And this guy had been kissing her.

  “She’s been drinking,” he said, pushing the little dickhead pawing his daughter back. The kid swayed, and Cain figured he was drunk too. But that wasn’t going to stop Cain from teaching him a lesson he’d remember. “Let me tell you something, you little earthworm, if a woman’s not fully in her right mind, then you better back off. And if you have to get a woman drunk to get her into you? There’s something wrong with you in that case. And if you enjoy taking advantage of women, then you’re beyond help. Is that what you like?”

  “No,” the kid said, “no.” He was visibly shaken and Cain was more than okay with that.

  “Also, the issue here is, she is a girl. Not a woman. She’s sixteen, so I sure as hell hope you’re drinking underage in here.”

  “I just... She likes me.”

  “Well, that’s too bad for both of you, because you’re never going to see her again.” Maybe he was being unreasonable. At this point, he couldn’t tell. But he didn’t care either. All he wanted to do was light the place on fire, burn it to the ground. He wanted to leave nothing but ash and ruin in his wake.

  Reasonable was for another day. Reasonable was for another moment. Reasonable was for another man.

  “Dad,” Violet said, “you’re embarrassing me.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection and looked down, her dark hair falling into her face.

  She was wearing some ridiculously tight minidress and chunky boots, and showing way too much skin for his liking.

  He didn’t even know where to begin lecturing her.

  “Oh, I have just started to embarrass you.” He turned around and faced the group of teenagers that remained. “All of you go home. All of you. Before I call the police and have you arrested for underage drinking. And, just in case you didn’t know, I’m Violet Donnelly’s father. That’s right. I’m her dad,” he said, pointing to her. “So, if you intend to hang out with her, you have to contend with me. I’m sure most of you won’t, but I feel like she won’t have lost any good friends.”

  “Dad.” Violet pulled away from him, crossing her arms and walking out of the barn with her head down. She was scowling. He couldn’t see her face, but he sensed it. And he was glad. He was glad she was angry, he was even a little bit glad that none of these delinquents would probably ever speak to her again.

  He was angry, and he wasn’t thinking straight. She had scared the ever-loving hell out of him, and now that he had seen for himself she was safe, he was just mad.

  “We’ll ride in the back,” Liam said, hopping into the bed of the truck. Alex followed suit.

  He didn’t really know if they were doing it for his benefit or their own, but he was happy to go with it either way. Although, happy might be overstating it at this point. “Suit yourselves,” he said, opening the passenger side door and gesturing for Violet to get inside.

  She stumbled on her way in, crawling into the seat and groaning. And something in his heart twisted, something in his stomach tumbling right along with it. His daughter was drunk.

  He slammed the door shut and leaned against it for a second, pressing his hands to his forehead and counting to ten. Like he had done when she was a toddler and she was frustrating him. But she wasn’t a toddler. She was sixteen, and she was drunk. She had been making out with some guy. She had sneaked out. She had friends here, and he didn’t know who any of them were, but he had just yelled at all of them.

  “Damn you, Kathleen,” he said. “Damn you to hell.” He cursed his ex-wife as he rounded the front of the truck and made his way to the driver’s side. She had left him here to do this by himself. Had left both him and Violet in over their heads.

  He was angry. So angry. And he wasn’t sure he had fully realized how angry until this moment. He took a deep breath, then got into the truck. He and Violet were both silent until he turned out onto the main road.

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, the words petulant, and slightly slurred.

  “I don’t care,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “I didn’t want to have to come track you down in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to open your bedroom door to find you gone, with no idea where you might be. So right now, what you want is low on my list of priorities, Violet.”

  “I’m sorry, now you care where I am? Why? Just because you noticed I was gone? Do you really think that was the first time I sneaked out?”

  Her words cracked over him like a whip. Of course it wasn’t the first time she had sneaked out. He was an idiot. He was a damn idiot.

  “Why? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “We don’t talk,” she said. “Ever. So why are you acting like you care about who I hang out with or what I do?”

  “Of course I care. That’s a stupid thing to say.”

  “Maybe I’m stupid, then.”

  “Choose your words carefully, kid,” he said. “I’m not in the mood. And you’re giving me your phone.”

  “What the hell? Dad, that’s not fair.”

  “I don’t care what’s fair. It doesn’t have to be fair. You just have to do what I say.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s how you uprooted my entire life and brought me out to this shithole!” She was getting shrill now to go with the slurring.

  “Because I am your father and I make the decisions about what happens in our lives. You do as I say, when I say it, because you don’t know what the hell to do with yourself. And if that was in question at all before, it isn’t now. I didn’t know where you were tonight, Violet. I went upstairs and you were gone.”

  “That was kind of the idea.”

  He was ready to explode, God help him. “Anything could have happened to you, don’t you understand that?”

  “Now nothing ever will. I think you scared Reed off forever.”

  “I hope I scared his punk ass. It will save me the trouble of killing him. He was drunk. You’re drunk. What the hell would have happened if I hadn’t showed up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s the problem,” he bit out. “You don’t know. I can think of a thousand things, Violet. Would he have tried to drive you home? Would he have stopped somewhere and tried to take things further?”

  “What?”

  “Sex, Violet. I’m not going to baby you. You’re out here doing this stuff, and you have to understand what it all might lead to.”

  Silence settled between them and heat prickled the back of his neck as he realized that he actually didn’t know if she’d had sex or not. He’d assumed not. S
he’d never had a boyfriend. But clearly there was a lot happening he didn’t know about.

  They’d kind of had The Talk a few years ago. He’d bought her a book and said if she’d had any questions, she could ask. And she hadn’t asked. Which in hindsight...yeah, he wouldn’t have asked any questions either in her position.

  Had he royally screwed this up? He didn’t know how to deal with this on his own. It would probably help her to have a woman to talk to and she didn’t have one. She had him. And he sucked.

  “I didn’t like the way he was touching you,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. His emotions were on edge and he didn’t know how to get hold of them again.

  “I did.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t, Violet. It affects your decision-making ability. God knows it’s going to affect his. Especially when you’re both too young to be drinking. And when you’re in a position like that, you’re vulnerable. If he had decided to keep going, and you didn’t want him to...”

  “I can handle myself.” She curled up into a little ball and leaned against the passenger door, her cheek against the window.

  It reminded him of when she was little, and she’d fallen asleep like that in the truck on the way home from swimming in the river.

  Why couldn’t it be simple like that anymore?

  His chest tightened, every muscle tense.

  “No. That’s the thing, in a situation like that you couldn’t. I understand it feels good to think you could control it, but he’s stronger than you. And he’s also not my asshole kid, so I can’t yell at him, I can only yell at you. I’m scared,” he admitted finally. “I’m scared about what’s going to happen to you, and what might have happened to you tonight. And the only thing that scares me more is that you aren’t. At all. You think it was fine, and you know what? That’s why you need someone to tell you what to do. Because you aren’t old enough to understand the consequences of your damned actions.”

  She didn’t say anything. And when they pulled into the driveway and up to the house, he realized it was because she’d fallen asleep. The scowl that usually marred her brow was absent now, her cheek still pressed against the glass.

  His stomach twisted hard, his past and present colliding like freight trains, with all the mayhem you’d expect a crash like that to cause.

  He unbuckled his seat belt, then reached out and unbuckled her belt, sliding her over to his side of the truck before getting out and scooping her up into his arms.

  Alex and Liam were already out of the truck, both of them headed resolutely to the house. Neither of them lingered. Which he had to admit was decent of them. Surprising, considering they were generally a bunch of assholes.

  He adjusted his hold on Violet, and she made a sleepy, croaky sound that reminded him so much of when she was little, it made his breath catch.

  But she was drunk. And she clearly knew people here. Knew a boy. Enough to make out with him. And Cain himself didn’t know a damned thing.

  He carried her into the house, up the stairs, and laid her down in her bed. He walked over to the window and closed it, resolutely. But he would never take for granted that she was going to be in her bedroom when he came to check on her again. Would never just believe that she was where she said she would be, that she wasn’t hiding something.

  It made him miss the days when his daughter hiding something meant her curling her grubby hand around part of a cookie and sneaking it before dinner.

  This was bigger. This was something he couldn’t control, couldn’t protect her from. He took a deep breath and walked out of her bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  It was official. He was in over his head. He hated admitting it. But he had done everything he knew to do. He had tried to give her space. He had moved them from Texas, from that house that held too many ghosts, too many memories, and brought them here, and he was no closer to Violet than he’d been before they’d left. She hated him, and he was damn close to hating himself.

  He was a man who had made a living out of riding the range on a thousand-pound animal, a man who had spent countless hours working the land, battling the elements. He had waged war with barbed wire, mended fences out in the blistering heat and the pouring rain. Had gone out when the floodwaters had risen and made sure each and every one of his animals was safe.

  He had never felt at a loss. He had never felt like there was anything he couldn’t master, bend to his will as long as he applied enough grit and sweat.

  But there didn’t seem to be enough grit and sweat and good intentions in all the world to fix this situation with Violet. It was something more than physical labor, something he couldn’t hit with a hammer or bend with enough force.

  His entire body was filled with restless energy. Or at least, that was the sensation he chose to embrace. It was either that or give in to the dark storm that was brewing inside of him. He chose the energy. The adrenaline rush. He stormed down the stairs and through the entryway of the house, slamming the front door behind him, taking long strides down the road that led to the old barn.

  It was cold, but he didn’t care. Soon, he would work off the chill.

  He went inside and flicked on the work lights, flooding the empty space with a warm glow. He was never going to sleep. So he would work all damned night if he had to. And he would find something. Something that would help him solve this problem. Or he would die of exhaustion along the way.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BY THE TIME Alison arrived downstairs in the bakery, she was working on her second cup of coffee. She hadn’t slept well last night. Or rather, she had slept hot and sweaty and dreaming of Cain’s hands on her body.

  She groaned, selfishly glad that Violet wasn’t coming into the bakery today. Because it eliminated the chances of her seeing Violet’s father. Or at least, it reduced them. And maybe, without Violet around to remind her of Cain, Alison would think of him a little bit less.

  She snorted. Because, seeing as she was thinking of him at five thirty in the morning, she was obviously not going to think of him less today.

  She lifted her mug to her lips while she opened up the home screen on her phone. And saw she’d gotten a voice mail at some point last night. She hit play and held her phone to ear, her heart hitting her sternum when she heard the familiar drawl.

  It was Cain.

  He couldn’t find Violet.

  Terror clutched at her throat, and she hoped that there was a follow-up message. There wasn’t. So she had no idea if he had found Violet or not. But she did have his phone number. And she did know that he got up early. Plus, if he hadn’t found his daughter, she imagined he wouldn’t have slept at all.

  She quickly dialed the number that he’d left. As it rang, she asked herself how on earth she had ended up in this position. Where she was dialing the man she wanted most to stop obsessing about before the sun had even risen.

  It’s about Violet, she told herself. Totally reasonable. Absolutely and completely reasonable.

  “Hello?”

  Oh, no. He sounded like he had been asleep. His voice was all rough and rusty and sexier than it had a right to be. It was an intimate thing, to hear a man sounding like this, to hear the first words he spoke in a day.

  She bit her lip. “It’s Alison. I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I just got your message. About Violet. Did she make it home okay?”

  He cursed violently. “Right. That. Yeah. She’s home.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  She heard some rustling, shifting, and she realized that he was still in bed. She wondered what a man like Cain wore to bed. She personally wore flannel pajamas festooned with goats in party hats. She doubted Cain wore pajamas festooned with anything, let alone farm animals.

  She wondered if he w
ore anything at all.

  Then she realized he had confirmed Violet was home, but nothing else. “She’s okay?” Alison pressed.

  He laughed, a strange, humorless sound. Not one she typically associated with laughter. “Well, that all depends on your definition of okay. She’s in one piece. Nothing injured except for her pride. And probably her social life.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah. She was out at some barn, on somebody’s property, with a whole group of teenagers. They were drinking. And about the only good thing I can say about it is that she chose a night to get drunk when she didn’t have to work in the morning. She gets to sleep her hangover off. Which is actually what I was trying to do. Because, interestingly enough, when you find out your teenage daughter has been out getting in that kind of trouble, the first thing you want to do is start drinking too.”

  Alison frowned. “I bet.”

  Cain let out a heavy sigh. “Would you mind... Would you mind if I came in this morning and had a talk with you?”

  For some reason, Alison felt immediately defensive. Chastened. But then, in her experience those words didn’t end well. Her parents had never wanted to talk with her when she was a kid unless she was in trouble. No teacher at school had ever wanted to have a chat if things were going well.

  Jared had certainly never wanted to talk with her. He had only ever wanted to scream at her.

  But this was Cain, and she had a feeling this wasn’t about her. So she was just going to have to shove that baggage to the side, and stop being such a baby. Wallowing wasn’t helpful. That was something that she went through with the women that she brought on at the bakery. You were welcome to feel emotion. Alison had no problem with tears, especially when someone was in pain. But choosing to exist in pain was pointless, at least in her opinion.

  So she had to take her own advice about that.

  “Of course. I have enough people on shift this morning that I should be able to spare a moment for coffee next door.”