If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  A man and an older man, who she assumed was his father, were going through security just ahead of Whitney. When she placed her carry-on luggage on the conveyor, she looked up to smile at the older man.

  “Good evening.”

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Good evening!”

  He scowled at her, waving her away. “Oh, whatever. Leave me alone.”

  “Sorry, he’s, uh . . . he’s a little cranky. We missed our flight earlier and he just needs to get home.”

  “It’s no problem, really—” Whitney was interrupted by the loudest fart she’d ever heard. The older man had one leg lifted as he steadied the other side of his body with the conveyor belt.

  Holy hell. He just ripped one!

  “Dad, we talked about this. There are people here.” The son looked mortified. His cheeks and ears turned scarlet as he attempted to move his father through the metal detector, but the older man wouldn’t move. He waved his son away, grunting. Whitney gasped at the odor.

  “Dad, c’mon, you have to move so she can get by.”

  The older man whispered into his son’s ear.

  “You what?” The color drained from the son’s face.

  “I shit my pants,” the older man said with a giant smile on his face.

  “Why the hell are you smiling?”

  “Because it’s the perfect end to this godforsaken vacation. I’m never leaving Montana again! Viva Mexico, my ass! More like viva Montezuma’s revenge.”

  Montana? Oh no. Please don’t be on my flight.

  “We told you not to drink the water, Dad. There was Evian in the room!”

  “Oh yeah, for what, five dollars a bottle? No thanks. Besides, I’m eighty-six years old. I’ve earned the right to shit myself in public.” He turned to Whitney with wide eyes. “Don’t you think so, honey?”

  “Damn straight, sir.”

  “See! Why can’t you be more like this young lady?”

  “Dad, this is not the place.”

  “Oh, Junior, shut it.” He winked at Whitney. “He’s single, by the way. How about you, sweetheart?”

  “Oh yeah, right. Don’t do me any favors, okay, Dad?” The son shook his head, slowly guiding his father through the metal detector. The father cracked himself up as the TSA agent waved him through with a look of disgust.

  “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

  Whitney threw her hand up to cover her mouth. Normally she’d feel bad about laughing, but this was just too much. She could only hope the poor guy wouldn’t further soil himself on the airplane.

  But that’s exactly what he did. For over an hour, the flight smelled like a sewage plant. Luckily, they were seated in coach and Whitney was as far away from them as possible. Suddenly that first-class ticket was worth its weight in gold! But despite the extra distance between them, the smell lingered like the spray of a skunk. She felt a tug on her heartstrings when she heard the poor son apologize profusely to the stewardesses as his father laughed in hysterics.

  What a nightmare!

  Whitney made a mental note to herself to take a long, hot shower upon arriving at her hotel. She was gonna need it.

  After a long flight from LAX, followed by a sleepless night staring at the ceiling of her hotel room, Whitney was bound and determined to have a moment alone with Wes before he opened the restaurant. Every parking space at Wesson’s Steaks & Chops was empty when she arrived.

  “Come on.” She stared at the entrance to the parking lot, hoping to see the familiar sight of his black SUV. “Please show up. Please.”

  The anticipation was crawling through her skin and despite her hesitation to cause stress to Elle, she needed her desperately.

  “Hey, Mama.”

  “Hey.” Elle yawned into the phone.

  “Uh oh, did I wake you?”

  “Nah, I was just resting my eyes. Lina just nursed and she’s in a milk coma.”

  “Oh, good, your milk’s coming down.” She tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel of her rental car.

  “Kind of. She’s getting a decent latch, so that’s good. The lactation consultant said it might take a few days for the milk to really fill her up, though. We’ll see.”

  “How was the first night?” Whitney asked, doing her best to be fully invested in the conversation even as she stared at the empty entrance of the lot. “Did she sleep?”

  “Kind of.” Elle yawned again. Whitney then yawned in response. “She was up every few hours.”

  “Did Luke stay with you?”

  Elle snickered. “What do you think?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “They have these parent cots that the nurses wheeled in for him. He said it was comfortable, but he’s lying.”

  Whitney smiled, knowing Luke would do or say anything to keep everyone calm, safe, and happy. Never one to complain, he was the type of guy to go with the flow whenever possible, and there was no way he’d leave his girls alone on their first night together. He had to be a part of it.

  “He’s so awesome.” There it was, a black SUV. “Oh my God,” she muttered, her mouth running dry, her heart pounding. Her mind was racing as she struggled to remember the speech she’d rehearsed while curling her hair that morning. “He’s here.”

  “What? Who?”

  Once the SUV pulled into a space, Whitney realized it was not a Mercedes. It was an Audi, and the woman climbing out of it was certainly not Wes. Tall with dark hair and large sunglasses, she scanned the lot, eyeing Whitney’s rental car. Whitney slumped down in her seat, not wanting to draw attention to herself. “Damn it. False alarm.”

  “Whitney, what the hell? Where are you?”

  “Billings.”

  “Um, why are you in Billings? You didn’t mention taking a trip—”

  “It was last minute. I took the red-eye out of LAX late last night.”

  “Is Wes with you?”

  “No. I’m at his restaurant, waiting for him to show. It opens in twenty minutes. Where the hell is he?”

  “Wait, shouldn’t he be here? The show’s not done. I’m so confused.”

  “I didn’t wanna drag you into this, Ellie. You just had Lina, and I—”

  “Talk to me.” Her voice was stern. Whitney had no choice but to answer, and answer honestly.

  “Wes left. He left the show and he’s not answering my calls. Something’s up. I think he saw the whole Nolan proposal or something. I don’t know exactly.”

  “Oh God. Are you freaking out? I’m freaking out.”

  “Don’t freak out. I’ll fix this, I will.” Whitney swallowed hard, watching as two other cars pulled into the parking lot. More employees. She huffed into the phone. “I have to fix it.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Whitney smiled. “You already did it. Thanks for listening. Go snuggle your girl.”

  “Gladly. I love you.”

  Whitney tucked her phone back into her purse and watched as several employees arrived and the restaurant eventually opened. But there was no sign of Wes. The last employee to arrive was a familiar face. Anita, the bartender, the one who informed her of Wes’s desire to deliver her food. Maybe she could tell Whitney where Wes lived.

  It’s a long shot, but I have to try! I’m in Montana, for God’s sake, I have to find him.

  She waited a few more dreadfully long minutes before shakily leaving the car and entering the restaurant. Passing by the empty host desk, she settled into a seat at the bar. Anita approached her, her look pensive, as if she was trying to place Whitney.

  “Anita, right?”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, my name’s Whitney. I was here a few months ago from Los Angeles.”

  Anita’s lips formed an O and lingered there for a moment. “I remember. Listen, he’s not here.”

  “Will he be in later?”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to—”

  “Can you tell me where he is?” Her voice cracked and her chin
quivered at the thought of being turned away. “I really need to find him.”

  “This is none of my business. I should really stay out of—”

  “Please.” Whitney stood, taking Anita’s hand in her own. “I’m begging you. I’m so crazy about him I can hardly see straight. I’ll do anything. Literally anything.”

  Whitney saw pity on the bartender’s face.

  Please. Please. Please.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Anita walked to the kitchen and was gone for several minutes. When she returned, her cheeks were as red as cherries.

  “So? Where is he?”

  “Um, so remember how you said you’d do anything?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Okay, so . . . he wants you to wash the dishes.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. He said, and I quote, ‘If she’s serious, she’ll do it.’”

  Whitney cocked her hip and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Wes said that?”

  “Yes.”

  A sardonic laugh escaped her lips.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Okay.” She rolled up her shirtsleeves. “Let’s do this.”

  “Really? I mean, I assumed you’d walk out.”

  “I said I’d do anything, didn’t I? Lead the way.”

  “Here’s the thing. We just opened, so we don’t have any dishes. Not yet, anyway. But tables are starting to fill up. We’ll have some soon.”

  “All right. You just let Mr. Boss Man know I’ve got it covered.”

  “I will.” Anita shook her head. “He can really be an ass, huh? What’d you do, anyway?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But that doesn’t matter. The truth is, he has every reason to think the worst of me right now. And that’s why I’m here—I just need a chance to clear the air, help him see the truth. And if I need to, I’ll wear a hairnet and wash dishes. Hell, I’ll scrub the toilets if I have to.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly. The staff here is really loyal to Mr. Rancourt.”

  The two women entered the kitchen. Loud music blared from a small iPod station. A couple of men with aprons were chatting with steaming cups of coffee in their hands. “With good reason. He’s the best, isn’t he?”

  Anita shrugged, handing Whitney a thick apron and long yellow dish gloves. “We think so. Okay, here you go. There should be dishes for you soon, appetizer plates and such. Just take a seat, and follow Omar’s lead.”

  “Omar?”

  “Hey.” A portly man reading a Sports Illustrated waved without looking up from his magazine. “Gimme a minute.”

  “All right,” Whitney said with a furrowed brow as she pulled her hair back into a bun and slid the apron over her head. When she looked up while placing one hand into the sunshine-yellow glove, Anita was taking her picture.

  “Is that necessary?” she groaned.

  “Sorry, part of my instructions.”

  “Ah, so he wants you to document my misery, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Anita looked guilty. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  After Whitney spent an hour of scrubbing spinach and artichoke dip, nacho cheese and refried beans, goat cheese and tomato bisque from plates and bowls, Anita returned to the kitchen. In her hand was a small piece of paper.

  “Okay, you’re off the hook.”

  “Great. Is that his address?”

  “Almost. It’s your next location.”

  “Are you kidding me? Where am I going now?”

  “His family’s ranch. It’s a little ways away so you may want something to eat first. Wes said to make you whatever you want.”

  Even when he hates me, he still looks out for me. God, I love this man.

  “No, thanks. I’m too eager to see him. I gotta go now.”

  “I like you, Whitney.” Anita winked, handing her the piece of paper. “Go get him.”

  Two and a half hours later, after practicing her speech to Wes so many times her head was spinning, she drove beneath the main gate and pulled down the long and winding gravel road of Rancourt Cattle Ranch in Bozeman, Montana. Surrounded by the majestic views of the Bridger Mountains in the distance, Whitney could barely take her eyes from the pillowy clouds that hovered over the peaks of the mountains. Billings was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to this.

  She parked her car near a large, brick home that she could only assume was the main house. There were fences as far as she could see, along with barns and sheds lining the property. A small windmill greeted her in front of the main house. When she stepped out of the car, she breathed deeply, taking in the fresh air. That was until she smelled the distinct odor of manure.

  Get used to it, Whit. You’re on a ranch, for God’s sake.

  Gravel crunched beneath her sneakers as she made her way to the main house, attempting to slow her pulse and calm her breathing. She was excited to see Wes but terrified he wouldn’t give her an opportunity to explain what he thought he knew. Whatever that was. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the doorbell.

  She was greeted by a tiny woman with silver hair and the warmest smile Whitney had ever seen. “Hello,” she said tipping her head to the side, holding the screen door open wide. “Welcome to Rancourt Ranch.”

  “Hi, um, Mrs. Rancourt?”

  “Yes, call me Mimi. And you must be Whitney. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Whitney sighed with relief. At least he’d told his family she was coming. That had to be a good sign, right? Even if he wasn’t happy to see her, his mother’s smile made things slightly less nerve-racking as she stood on the wooden porch, heart racing and palms sweating.

  “Wes is with the horses,” Mimi said, taking Whitney by the hand. “This way, darlin’.”

  Squeezing Mimi’s warm hand, Whitney walked with her to a rustic red barn on the far edge of the property. Ranch hands, or possibly Wes’s relatives, were hard at work doing several tasks—training horses, shoveling manure, hammering at fences. There was a natural calm to the scenic ranch and even though everyone was hard at work, no one appeared stressed or angry. Whitney could see the appeal of working outside, surrounded by God’s country.

  When Mimi led her into the barn, she could hear Wes grunting. They rounded the corner to find him stacking square hay bales. His shirt was off, his biceps bulging as he hoisted each bale, his abs flexing with his swift movements. Dark jeans hung from his hips and his signature leather boots peaked out from beneath the cuff. At that moment, she decided there was nothing sexier than watching Wes hard at work. The fact that she was holding his mother’s hand was only a slight deterrent from wanting to jump his bones right there. She imagined Mimi making her way back to the main house, Wes stripping Whitney of her T-shirt and jeans, throwing a blanket haphazardly on the hay while he took her from behind, grunting above her, his hot breath soothing her neck as he stroked her with his fingers. She’d clutch the hay beneath her while crying out in pleasure . . .

  Her fantasy was interrupted by the delicate voice of Mimi, and her cheeks grew hot with mortification. She could only hope Mimi had no mind-reading capabilities. If so, she was screwed.

  Fantasizing about doggy-style sex with someone’s son while she’s standing right next to me? Not my finest moment. But damn . . . I can’t help myself.

  “Son?” Mimi yelled to Wes, who finished hoisting a bale of hay, wiped the back of his glistening forehead with his gloved hand, and placed both hands on his hips.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Mimi said softly, giving Whitney an encouraging wink before pulling her hand away and walking from the barn.

  “You lost?” Wes asked, leaning against the stack of hay. His voice was deep, devoid of emotion, and seemingly unaffected by her presence. Her heart sank at his detachment.

  “What are you talking about? You knew I was coming,” she said, suddenly well aware of the tension looming between them. His face was angry, pain
ed. Clearly there was a lot to be discussed.

  This isn’t gonna be easy, Whit.

  “What do you want?” He cleared his throat before resuming his work, turning his back to her to hoist another bale of hay.

  “I wanna talk to you, to explain myself.”

  Wes turned his body. “Where’s your ring?”

  “There’s no ring, Wes. That’s what I’m trying to say. If you’ll just—”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Whitney cringed at his words, remembering the first time he’d said them to her, postponing their first kiss. She missed and craved the touch of his strong lips against hers. The thought of him never kissing her again made her sick to her stomach, and she certainly didn’t want those words, once said in flirtation and delayed seduction, being used to push her away.

  “Why not? I’m here, Wes. Let’s talk about this.”

  “This hay isn’t gonna move itself.” He tipped his head to the side, patting the stack of hay beside him.

  “Fine.” For the second time today, she pulled her hair into a bun, securing the elastic. Wes handed her a pair of gloves that were way too big for her hands. She wore them anyway. “Show me what to do.”

  For thirty minutes, they moved the bales of hay from one location to another. Sweat built on her brow and she wished she’d taken Anita up on her offer of a meal. Her stomach growled again and again and she attempted to cover it with coughing and grunts. At that moment hunger was synonymous with weakness. And she couldn’t have that. He needed to know she was strong.

  “Good work . . . for a city girl,” Wes said, passing her a mason jar filled with ice water.

  “Now can we talk?”

  “Not yet.” He walked past her, and headed for the horse stalls at the far end of the barn. The boards creaked beneath his heavy boots. Whitney followed behind, savoring the icy cold water as it slid down her throat.

  “We need to spread some of this hay in Rifle’s stall. He also needs a brushing.”

  “Rifle?”

  “My horse. He’s right over here.”