Down Home Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  She hoped that he didn’t think she was asking him out. Especially not in his sleep-deprived, hungover state. “I’m not hitting on you,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush.

  There was a pause, then a strangled sort of laugh, different than the one from earlier. “I wasn’t thinking you were.”

  “Just so we’re clear. I’ll meet you out front. And then we can go to The Grind and we can talk about Violet.”

  “Just so we’re clear,” he said, parroting the words back to her, his tone grave.

  “Right. See you... Well, in about twenty minutes?”

  “That’s a stretch. Give me a chance to rinse last night off me.”

  That made her wonder exactly what all he had done last night. And then, it forced her to picture him in the shower. He had said he was hungover. She wondered if that meant he had gone out drinking. Oh, Lord. What if he had hooked up with somebody? That made a strange, sour sensation roil her stomach. She didn’t like it. Not at all.

  “Great,” she said, not quite able to give the word any sort of arc, the syllable falling flat. “See you then.”

  She was not going to run into the bathroom and check her face. She was not. More to the point, she wasn’t going to dig in her purse for makeup and slap some on really quick. No. She wasn’t.

  That mantra was still repeating itself in her head as she walked into the bathroom, purse clutched tightly in hand. She scowled all the while she put a little bit of blush on her pale cheeks and slicked some gloss over her lips. And continued to scowl while she dug in the bottom of her endless bag for the travel mascara she kept in there.

  Once she’d finished primping, she studied her reflection, satisfied that she looked slightly less like a ginger ghost with the help of that dusting of color. Not that it mattered. Cain was just coming to discuss the issue with his daughter, and it didn’t matter whether he discussed that issue with an actual woman, or with a ginger ghost.

  Snarling at herself, she stuffed the makeup back in her bag, not bothering to reorganize it, then ferociously did the zipper up before walking back out into the bakery. She popped into the kitchen, where a couple of the employees—Meg and Lucinda—were already pulling croissants from the oven. “I’m going to step over to The Grind for a few minutes. Can you hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

  “Sure,” Lucinda said, waving. “Everything will be fine here, Alison.”

  Lucinda was one of her longest-lasting employees. The older woman had spent years out of the workforce while she raised her children, and when her husband of thirty-five years had suddenly disappeared with another woman, it had left her without a source of income and a whole host of businesses that were reluctant to hire her because of the gaps in her resume.

  Her children did their best to help her out, sending their mother money when she would allow it, but Alison knew that it was good for Lucinda’s self-esteem for her to have her own source of income, for her to feel like she was making it—at least in part—on her own.

  “Thank you,” she said, “you’re a goddess, do you know that?”

  Lucinda smiled, flour dusted across her cheeks. “Of course I do.”

  Only two years ago, Alison knew, Lucinda would not have felt that way. And the fact that she did now... It proved what Alison did here was important. This bakery was important. She really did make an impact by making people feel empowered, enabled.

  She built herself up with those sorts of thoughts while she waited for the clock to tick down, while she waited for Cain to arrive. About ten minutes earlier than she logistically expected him, she found herself standing in front of Pie in the Sky, her arms crossed, vigorously rubbing her hands over her elbows to try to keep herself from freezing to death in the crisp morning air.

  She was acting weird.

  No, she countered, she was acting concerned. She was concerned about Violet. And, given all of the bolstering she had just done for herself over the past few minutes, she knew that she was going to be able to use her concern.

  She was just eagerly anticipating her conversation with Cain because she wanted to help. Because this fell in line with her passion for making sure that women—and honestly, in this case especially this young woman—were on the right path.

  Right now, it sounded like she was on the path that Alison herself had been on at that age. And Lord knew that had ended in a bad place.

  She certainly wasn’t anticipating it because Cain was hot. No. Not at all. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular and...

  She looked down the sidewalk, just in time to see said tall, broad-shouldered and muscular man ambling toward her. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that showed off his physique and fitted jeans that sent her imagination into overdrive.

  He had on a cowboy hat that matched the T-shirt, pulled low over his face, and she had to war with her desire to see his face, and to enjoy the little thrill that shot through her because of the anticipation she felt due to the fact that she couldn’t see it. That she would soon.

  Then he lifted his chin, his expression grim, and no less handsome for it.

  Her heart thumped hard against her breastbone, and it became more and more difficult for her to believe her own line about her altruistic motivations.

  “You look like you could use coffee,” she said, pasting a falsely bright smile on her face.

  “What I could use is another drink. But, since I have to be of some use today, you’re right. Coffee is probably best.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t bother to say good morning,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her and squeezing them together tightly.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. This way.” She breezed past him, walking just one building down to her friend Cassie’s coffee shop. “The Grind has the best coffee in town. And I supply most of her pastries. Though I have to say, she makes a mean scone.”

  It was kind of nice to eat somebody else’s goodies, actually, which was something she enjoyed about going to Cassie’s.

  “My favorite is the cherry chip,” she added, realizing as they walked into the small, quaint little building that Cain probably really didn’t care what sort of scone she enjoyed. “But you probably just want a black coffee,” she said.

  “Actually, a scone sounds good,” he said. “Butter is a lot like alcohol when applied directly to a problem.”

  Alison laughed. “I want to get that put on a T-shirt. Seriously. As a bakery owner, I have to agree.”

  He smiled at her, and for a moment, she got lost. Forgot why they were here. Forgot where they were standing. And what they were supposed to be doing. This beautiful man was smiling at her, and she just wanted to enjoy it.

  She blinked, jerking herself back into the present moment. She had to get a handle on herself. Seriously. This was about Violet. This wasn’t about the fact that she was feeling giddy over a handsome man.

  It was Cassie—of course—who came to the counter to help them. She looked between the two of them, her expression a study in near-comical neutrality. But possibly only to Alison since she knew the other woman so well.

  “Good morning,” she said, sounding a little too chipper.

  “Hello,” Alison said, working at keeping her smile bright. “I would like my usual and a cherry chip scone. I believe Cain is in the market for something stronger.”

  “Just a black coffee,” he said. “And the same scone she’s having.”

  Cassie arched a brow, clearly dying for some sort of detail. Or for an indication as to why the two of them were together early in the morning. Alison made the executive decision not to give her friend any. After all, Alison wasn’t used to being the subject of speculation that wasn’t just sad.

  So this felt pretty good. And Cassie could just continue to wonder.

  �
�Coming right up,” Cassie said, her eyes narrowed and fixed on Alison, who was practicing her best saintly expression. Honestly, she could sit for an artist working on a holy scene in a stained-glass church window, she was nearly certain.

  She fairly glowed with light and innocence.

  At least, she thought she did.

  The disapproval Cassie was radiating suggested she disagreed.

  “This okay with you?” Cain asked, indicating a table by the door.

  “Sure,” she said, taking her seat, looking around the room as he sat across from her.

  She wondered what everybody else was thinking. If they were wondering what sad Alison was doing sitting with this hot guy. Or maybe, just maybe, sitting with him they didn’t think of her as sad Alison. Because who could be sad sitting with a guy this hot?

  “I’m going to cut right to the chase,” Cain said, his hands pressed against the top of the table. “Violet likes you.”

  Right. Violet liked her. Not Cain. And that was why she was here. Violet.

  She knew that. And it was what she wanted. But still. It made her stomach sink an inch or two. “Cain,” she started, but he cut her off.

  “She seems to respect you, and we can’t speak two words to each other without having a fight. I completely lost my mind at her last night.” He looked down at his hands. Consequently, so did she. They were very large. “You know, I had all these ideas that if my kid was ever in a situation where she needed help, I was going to be cool about it. But the problem is it’s wrapped up in fear, and this rebellion thing that she’s going through, and even though I know she needs help it’s hard for me to sit there and tell her that I’m here for her, and be supportive, and laugh and say that I got into trouble at her age too. That I fooled around with people I shouldn’t. It all seemed funny when it was me. Because I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know any better then either. But I do now. I know everything that can go wrong. I know every possible thing that could happen to her. I have seen too much damn Dateline, Alison. I know too many ways to catch a predator.”

  “You’re her father,” Alison said carefully, “you aren’t her friend. Of course you’re not going to buddy up to her and talk about your youthful indiscretions. Why would you?”

  She shook her head. Then Cassie called her name from the counter.

  “I’ll get it,” Alison said, getting up from her seat and making her way over to the pickup station. She went to grab the plates with the scones, and the cups of coffee, but Cassie reached out, wrapping her fingers around Alison’s wrist.

  Alison did a double take, her eyes connecting with her friend’s intense gaze. “What is going on?” Cassie hissed, her voice low.

  “Perhaps I just got finished having very acrobatic sex with him upstairs,” Alison said quietly, her brows raised.

  “Did you?” Cassie was nearly squeaking, and as much as Alison was enjoying this, she figured she needed to set the record straight, and quickly.

  “No. I’m here to talk to him about his daughter.”

  “That’s lame. You should be having acrobatic sex with him.”

  “Your opinion has been noted. I’ll take the scone and the coffee and leave the commentary, thanks.” She left Cassie scowling behind the counter and brought all the goodies back to the table.

  “Anyway,” she said, sitting across from Cain, trying to block out the words acrobatic sex, which kept playing over and over in her head.

  She knew nothing about acrobatic sex. Had no idea what it would even look like. Didn’t want to. She gritted her teeth against the prickle of longing that worked its way up her spine, made her face feel hot.

  “I don’t have a line to her. Not right now,” Cain said, unaware of the direction her thoughts had veered. “I pretty much haven’t since her mother left. I tried. I sent her to therapists, I did what I thought I needed to do to make sure that I minimized the impact of Kathleen leaving. But whatever, she’s still mad at me. And maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’m a bad father. I was a bad husband.”

  That little prickle of pleasure turned cold, made the back of her neck feel icy. “In what way?”

  “I don’t really know, since my wife didn’t exactly stick around for a postmortem. She just left one day. She left, and she never came back. That’s the beginning and end of it. We never talked about it. She never said she was unhappy. I mean, I knew that she was. I knew that we were. She didn’t like me. It wasn’t just that she didn’t love me. She didn’t even want to sit across from me at the dinner table. She actively avoided me. But we never talked about it. We never talked about how to fix it. And in the end, she hated me enough that she left Violet too. I never wanted that failure to come back on my kid, but it has. And now... It’s the same. It’s exactly the same thing. Violet doesn’t want to be in the same room as me. She doesn’t want to talk to me. She won’t smile at me. But she smiles at you. She talks to you.”

  Unease wound through Alison. “If you’re asking for me to give you intel on your daughter, I’m going to have to decline. Because as much as I think you’re in the right here, as much as I feel like she can’t be sneaking out and getting drunk, I’m not going to abuse her trust. I’m not going to engage in anything that looks remotely like stalker behavior.”

  That wasn’t really a fair comment, and she knew it. Cain was Violet’s father. He was well within his rights to know what she was doing, when she was doing it and who she was doing it with. But still, all of this crashed up against the issues she had with her ex, and it was difficult for her to separate the two.

  “That’s not what I’m asking for. But if... Give me a clue about what I can do better. If you could help me figure that out. If you can get to know her well enough that you could help me with that. And, if you hear about her doing anything that might put her in danger, if you see her with people that I should know about...”

  “If I thought that she was in any kind of danger, you know that I wouldn’t allow that. I’d blow that whistle, trust me. I would be the narciest narc to ever narc.”

  “What kills me is that I never really looked into how she was spending her time here. I just assumed that she was texting friends from Texas. I didn’t know she’d made any friends in Copper Ridge. And I feel like that’s my own stupid-ass mistake. I feel like that’s me burying my head in the sand.”

  Alison thought of her own parents. The ways in which she had constantly failed to meet their expectations. All the times that they had gone through her things, tried to force her to stay in and study. And the ways it made her feel further and further from them, like they were strangers. And a lot of that was down to her own stupidity.

  What she’d said to Cain was true. He was the parent, and it was up to him to keep tabs on Violet. In that regard, her parents had only been doing their jobs.

  But Cain loved Violet. That much was obvious. Her parents... They had been so cold. Frozen. Caught up in lives that they didn’t like very much, intent on trying to add value to their existence by forcing their daughter to be what they needed her to be.

  Alison had rebelled hard. She had been searching for something. Something that she didn’t have. At least she understood that much about rebellion. That it came from anger. From trying to fill a void.

  “It seems to me that Violet has a lot more of a reason to be mad at her mother than at you. But you’re the one who’s here. So you’re the one whose life is being made difficult because of it.”

  “The result is still the same. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  Alison shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Neither do I, since I’m not a parent. As you pointed out to me the other night.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “well, I thought what I was dealing with then was a case of a grumpy teenager. I thought I was right, back then, all those days ago. Now... Now, I think maybe I’m a dumbass.”

 
“I doubt you’re a dumbass.”

  “You doubt it. But you aren’t sure?” He lifted his coffee to his lips.

  “Hey, I don’t live with you.”

  “Despite what I told you, I think the fact that you aren’t a parent is actually helpful. Like you said, she’s sixteen, and she can take some responsibility. You see the situation differently than I do. I just... I can’t be neutral. When she was late to work, I wanted to fix it. I wanted her to appreciate something I did for her. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing for her, maybe it was just what I wanted. But you seem to actually want the best thing for her.”

  Alison laughed, picking a white chocolate chip out of her scone and popping it into her mouth. “I don’t know about that. I get a lot out of helping people.”

  “Well, I would like it if you helped me. And then you can consider that warm glow you get payment.”

  “Gee. Thanks.” She smiled, this time picking her scone up and taking a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Violet is a good kid. And she trusts me, I think. I’m not going to do anything to violate that. I’m happy to come over again and help with baking stuff. But I’m not playing double agent.”

  A bolt of lightning she hadn’t anticipated seemed to strike the table between them and reverberate through her body. Maybe he was thinking of what had happened the last time she’d been there. They’d had a fight, but more than that, he had touched her. And when he had done that, she had burned.

  “Great.”

  “Actually,” she said, feeling relieved, because suddenly she had an idea. And having an idea made her feel exuberant. Made her feel like she was on the right track. And it did a great job of distracting her from the situation at hand with Cain. The situation being that her form was exceedingly warm for his. “I told you that I’m starting to coordinate with one of the local wineries. Making individual desserts for farm-to-table dinners and things. And before that gets kicked off I’m going to be making some prepackaged goods for them to sell in their showroom. If Violet could specifically help me with some of the concepts for those projects, it might... I don’t know. Give her something. Something to look forward to, something to feel ownership of. In my experience, that’s what people need. It’s when they lose that that they start to lose themselves.”