by Dylann Crush
Dwight snickered. “But it’s funny. He was so trashed—”
“Really.” Beck turned his attention to a group of giggly coeds and took their drink orders. They wanted three fuzzy navels, a sex on the beach, and buttery nipple shots all around. “Uh, Shep? Can you take this one?”
When Shep stepped over to mix the drinks, Beck bailed from behind the bar. Should have known better than to try to engage Dwight in conversation. There was something missing upstairs with that one. He’d have to ask Charlie about it when and if she ever decided to start speaking to him again. He worked his way around the room, shaking hands with locals who wanted to introduce themselves, clearing empty bottles and mugs from the tables, and sidestepping an older woman who reached out and claimed a handful of his ass.
He finally made it back to the kitchen to drop off the empties, where Angelo passed him a trayful of food and asked him to deliver it to the Ellisons. How was he supposed to know who the Ellisons were? He couldn’t very well pass through the crowd asking people to give him their names.
A flash of red hair caught his eye. “Hey, Dixie?”
She whirled around, the same wide-eyed look of surprise on her face. “Yeah?”
“Can you take this to the Ellisons for me?”
“Sure thing.” She snagged the tray along with another load of beverages and took off toward the stage.
Beck stumbled down the hallway in the direction of the office. A few minutes later, he collapsed into Charlie’s chair and attempted to pull the boots off his swollen feet.
Before he had the chance to examine the burning blisters covering his heels, someone knocked on the door. “Hey, Boss?”
“Come in.” He sat up straight in the chair. Never let ’em see you sweat. That was his dad’s motto. Or maybe some slogan he’d heard on a TV commercial at some point. His head swam with drink orders, names of the people he’d met, and the food orders he’d turned in to the kitchen.
Angelo stuck his head through the doorway. “We got a situation. One of the college kids is trying to throw a saddle on Baby Back.”
Huh? The name sounded familiar, but Beck couldn’t remember. Was that one of the neighbors he’d met a few hours ago? No, it was…damn, Charlie’s pig!
He thrust his feet back into his boots and cringed as the raw skin rubbed against his sock, next to the stiff leather. “Be right there.”
Angelo ducked out, and Dwight strolled in.
“Couple of city boys are about to throw down in the parking lot out front. Thought you might want to know.” Dwight shrugged, like fights happened all the time. For all Beck knew, they probably did.
“Where’s the bouncer?” He staggered to a standing position, his heels silently screaming in protest.
“He’s out there. But he might need some backup. It’s kind of like one frat house takin’ on another.”
“Dammit.” Beck ran his hand through his hair. “What would Charlie do?” Well crap, he hadn’t meant to utter that out loud. The last thing he wanted was for word to get back to her that he couldn’t handle a lousy Saturday night alone.
“She’d probably turn the hose on ’em and send ’em back to Austin with their tails tucked.” Dwight snickered. “She’s good at that kind of stuff.”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. Can you take care of the hose while I head out back to save the pig?”
“You bet.” Dwight strolled toward the door. “I’m assuming there’s gonna be a mini-keg with my name on it for helpin’ you out of this hot spot, hey, hoss?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just get out there, okay?” He waited until Dwight cleared the corner then limped toward the back door.
Someone had pulled a truck up in front of the pigpen, letting the headlights illuminate the action taking place in the mud. A buzzed hotshot stood on the perimeter of the pen, a saddle of some sort in both hands. Based on the way he swayed back and forth, he must have been more than a little inebriated. A crowd of onlookers shouted encouragement. Beck scanned the pigpen. Where was the pig?
He walked around to the gate and stepped into the pen, making sure it latched behind him. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Go home. Party’s over.”
The kid sneered at him. “Who the hell are you? Party’s not over until me and my buddies get a picture riding the pig.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Beck crossed his arms and took a deep breath, extending to his full height, which had to be at least a few inches taller than the beanpole in front of him. “Come on out of here, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
“No way. I ain’t even ever seen you around before. I’m not leavin’ until I sit on the pig.”
Finally, Beck’s gaze landed on Baby Back. She had backed herself into a corner opposite the guy like she wanted to get a running start to charge him. Beck took a few slow steps her way. Why did he think climbing into the pen was a good idea? The porker had to outweigh him by a hundred pounds. She could probably fend for herself without his help.
“You’re not touching the pig. You’ll have to go through me to get to her, and I’m warning you, it’s not worth the headache you’d wake up with tomorrow to even try.”
The guy looked unsure of himself, but his buddies kept at him. Finally, he lunged toward the pig. Beck grabbed him by the back of his jeans and the collar of his shirt to set him on his feet. But Beck’s hand slipped, so instead he sent him flying into the mud. The kid landed with a splat. His friends’ cheers turned to snickers.
“Get out of here,” the hopeful pig wrangler yelled to the crowd. Sensing the excitement had come to an abrupt end, they began to head back inside. The kid turned toward Beck. “You can’t throw me around like that.” Dripping in mud, he scrambled to his feet.
Beck dodged him the first time, but the kid charged again, catching him by surprise with a shoulder to the gut and sending both of them crashing into the bottom rail of the pigpen. The board split, cracking in two.
Beck looked up just in time to see Baby Back sail past him, through the fence and out into the parking lot.
“Dammit.” He got to his feet, half limping, half staggering after the pig. The kid grabbed on to his ankle, holding on with both hands. Beck dragged him halfway across the pigpen before Baby Back rounded the building toward the front parking lot and disappeared.
Beck struggled against the death grip preventing him from chasing after the pig. Teeth sank into his calf and he went down, dropping an elbow into the center of the kid’s back. The grip loosened. Finally free from his determined opponent, Beck tried to catch up to the pig before she hit the open field.
He rounded the corner. Even Baby Back paused at the scene unfolding before them. A mass of denim, hats, and western shirts scuffled under a torrential spray of water. Dwight and Shep stood on the porch, wrestling a giant fire hose between them. That was the hose? If Beck thought the mud was a problem before, it was a catastrophe now. Tires spun, splattering mud and water all over the other parked cars. The guys who were still throwing punches were quickly being covered in a thick layer of muck.
Baby Back dove into the fray, splashing through the mud. She paused every once in a while to roll around in a particularly attractive puddle or two. Anytime Beck got near, she’d take off again, barreling through the crowd, knocking cowboys over like bowling pins.
Beck chased after her, hopping over the fallen men Baby Back left groaning and moaning in her wake. “Catch the pig! Can someone please catch the damn pig?”
A few guys tried to slow her down. One stood in front of her, waving his hands in an attempt to get her to break her stride. She paused long enough for Beck to wrap his hand around the strap of leather Charlie had secured around her neck. Was this supposed to be a collar? Before he could brace himself to jerk her back toward the pigpen, she took off again. Only now instead of chasing her, he was being dragged next to her, his hand still c
lasping the hot-pink band around her neck.
As his ass bounced over the combination of dirt, mud, and gravel, he tried to get his feet underneath him. She was fast. Faster than he ever imagined a pig could be. But then again, he’d never ridden sidecar to a runaway sow before.
The roar of water continued to rain down, drenching everyone and everything. Hands grabbed for Baby Back’s collar, but she prevailed, shaking off any potential capture attempts. Beck had almost had it. He was ready to let go and let the pig be on her way. If she wanted her freedom this badly, maybe she deserved it.
The crack of a shotgun rang out. The water went from a blast to a spray to a dribble. Even the pig stopped—at least long enough for Beck to get to his feet and secure her collar in both hands. A sheriff’s SUV blocked the exit to the parking lot. Lights flashed, bouncing red and blue off anything that hadn’t been covered in mud.
“Where’s Charlie?” The brawny deputy lowered the gun and shouted into the crowd.
Beck cleared his throat. “Charlie’s not here tonight.”
Brown eyes, pissed-off brown eyes, turned his way. “Then who’s in charge?”
He swallowed. “That would be me. Hi, I’m Beck. Beck Holiday.” He made a move to offer his hand but realized he was still holding on to the pig. Afraid to let go, he shrugged. “Charlie took a night off.”
The deputy let out a gruff laugh. “Some night off. Somebody’s going to have hell to pay tomorrow.”
Shep rushed over with a rope and secured it around Baby Back’s neck. “Hey, Cash. Some Saturday night, huh?”
Cash nodded toward Beck. “Beck Holiday, nice to meet you. I’m Cash Walker.”
Walker, dammit. Another one of Charlie’s brothers.
By the time they’d patched the pigpen and secured Baby Back, the party had mostly wound down. While the rest of them had been outside, Presley and Lamb Chops had taken it upon themselves to do an impromptu battle of the bands and blown a fuse. Half the building sat in darkness, including the kitchen and the bar, which meant no more food, no more music, and no more beer.
Beck learned that was the fastest way to shut down a honky-tonk in Texas—telling the crowd they couldn’t serve any more beer.
Before tonight, he’d thought he was tough. He’d thought he could hold his own in any situation. He’d thought wrong.
At this rate, three months would feel like three hundred years. He needed to suck it up and make up with the hardest-working, hardest-headed, hardest-hearted gal he’d ever met.
But first he needed to salvage what remained of his pride and limp back to his temporary home to shower away the mud, the poop, and all the memories of what had happened tonight. Especially the bit with the pig.
Priorities were a bitch.
Chapter Nine
Beck tucked in the front of his shirt with one hand while grasping the mini-mart bouquet of red, white, and blue carnations in the other. He licked his lips and knocked on the massive wood door of the Walker family compound. Cash had said it would just be a family dinner, but from the number of pickup trucks parked in the tree-lined drive, it looked like half the town was there. The humidity had to be at least ninety percent, and the air clung to him like he was being wrapped in plastic wrap. How could everyone around here strut around in jeans all year long?
This was a bad idea. He should have just returned the rental car and caught the flight out of Austin this afternoon, not forced his way into a Sunday family supper. But the night before, Cash had pretty much ordered him to come. Said he owed it to Charlie to apologize in person for the way he’d handled things at the Rose. Plus, if he wanted to make a go of it at the bar, he needed to meet the family. Cash had said his parents could tell Beck more about his grandfather in an hour than Mr. Hill could in the next six weeks.
So he’d changed his flight to Monday and booked another night at the B and B. And here he was, spending his third day in a row in a pair of new jeans and the blistering boots. He hadn’t found his loafer in the mud pit, so he’d earn a few more blisters before he could hobble back to NYC.
A herd of footsteps clambered on the other side of the door before someone cracked it open.
“Who are you?” The voice came from hip level, and he lowered his gaze to a curly-haired little girl in hot-pink cowgirl boots, surrounded by mini versions of the Walker brothers.
“I’m, uh—”
“That’s Mr. Holiday, Allie.” Presley came up behind the small crowd of kids. “He’s the new owner of the Rose, and that makes him our new neighbor, too.”
“Does that mean Aunt Charlie doesn’t work there anymore?” Her brow furrowed, and she chewed on her bottom lip. With her two front teeth missing, it gave her the look of a tiny vampire cowgirl.
“Not exactly. Why don’t you go tell Grandma that Mr. Holiday’s here? And y’all go play out back.” Presley ruffled the hair of the nearest kid, a towheaded boy wearing a button-down oxford and boots that came up to his knees. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”
Beck followed Presley into the blessedly cool house. No mistaking a serious cowboy lived here. A stone fireplace stretched from the floor to the ceiling, a giant cow head with three-foot-long horns hung above the mantel, and a wall of windows framed both sides. The house sat on a bit of a hill, and acres of pasture stretched as far as he could see.
“Is that Sully’s grandson?” A woman rounded the corner, her face lit up in a warm, welcoming smile.
“Yes, ma’am. Beck, this is my mother, Ann Walker,” Presley said.
Ann shook his hand with one hand and slid the other around his back to give him a half hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Beck.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Walker.”
“Oh, call me Ann. Now come on in. I want to introduce you to everyone.” She led him into a huge kitchen where a group of what he assumed were Charlie’s brothers and other relations stood around an island filled with snacks.
“These are for you.” Beck handed Ann flowers that seemed to have wilted even more in the ten minutes since he’d bought them.
“How thoughtful. Thank you. Charlotte, honey, grab a vase, will you?”
Beck’s gaze lit on Charlie, who shoved a tortilla chip in her mouth and climbed off her stool. She didn’t even bother to look at him. The way she slammed the crystal vase down on the counter in front of him told him she was already well aware of his failure to keep things under control the night before. Looked like he had some major sucking up to do if he wanted to make sure the Rose would still be standing when he came back.
Ann put a hand on his shoulder, propelling him closer to the island. A couple dozen eyeballs focused on him, their curiosity pressing down on him, causing his stomach to tighten and a tic to pulse in his temple. Why was he so nervous? He’d made presentations in front of some of the most influential men on Wall Street and spoken before thousands of real estate investors at conferences. Somehow the small crowd of Walkers set him more on edge.
“Y’all, say hi to Beck, Sully’s grandson and hopefully our new neighbor.” Ann arranged the flowers in the vase and nodded toward her children. “You know Charlie and Presley. Have you had a chance to meet the rest of my offspring?”
“Hey, I’m Waylon.” A grizzly-sized bear of a man grasped his hand in a tight shake. “You’ve met my wife, Darby.” Charlie’s best friend lifted her hand in a tiny wave, bounced a wide-eyed baby on her hip, and winked at him. “The welcoming committee belongs to us, too, at least most of them. Ryder’s eight, Luke is seven, Allie’s five, and June here just turned thirteen months.”
“We had the pleasure of meeting last night.” Cash reached across the island and shook his hand. “My daughter, Kenzie, is running around here somewhere. Probably getting her cousins in all kinds of trouble.”
Beck’s head spun already with the new influx of names. He’d never be able to keep them all straight. He no
dded at Cash and turned to the next body. Thank goodness, a familiar face.
“Statler. We met at the bar yesterday.”
“That’s right. Good to see you again.” Before he had a chance to try to commit any names to memory, Ann pressed a small plate into his hands.
“Help yourself. Supper will be ready in just a bit. Charlotte, where’s your father? I want him to meet Beck.”
Charlie rested a hip against the island, her arms crossed over her chest. She had on a long, flowy skirt and a tank top that bared her sun-kissed shoulders. With her hair swept up in a knot of some sort, he could better appreciate the graceful curve where her collarbone and neck met. She was soft in all the right places; he knew that from experience. But she was also hard. Hard like steel, or what was it Shep had said? Hard like the armor of an armadillo—that’s right.
What was it about the woman that sent inappropriate thoughts crashing through his brain? He was standing in her mom’s kitchen…with her mom, for Christ’s sake.
“Dad’s out back messing with the four-wheeler. The kids want to go riding.” She leaned over the counter onto her elbows. He couldn’t help but toss a glance her way—and accidentally got an eyeful right down the front of her shirt. She frowned and stood as he quickly looked away.
“I told him not today. It’s too hot out, and we’re going to have supper in just a bit. Honey, will you go tell him Beck is here?”
“I’ll go with you.” Darby handed the baby over to her husband, and she and Charlie disappeared down a hallway, their boots clacking on the tile floor.
“How about a beer, Beck?” Presley clapped him on the shoulder. “Dad keeps a stash out on the porch. Let’s get a cold one.”
Now there was an idea he could get behind. Beck set the plate on the counter and let Presley lead him out onto an enclosed four-season porch that looked more like a game room. A full-size refrigerator sat in a corner, and a pool table took up a good portion of the floor space. A huge flat-screen TV blared a fast-moving cartoon. Presley snagged the remote and hit the power button.