All-American Cowboy

by Dylann Crush

  She turned to look at Beck. He smiled, catching her hand up in his. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted. Although all the concrete, glass, and skyscrapers scared the crap out of her. She’d never felt so confined, so fenced in. How could so many people live in such a small, condensed space?

  “Here’s what I wanted to show you.” Beck slowed to a stop next to the curb. A dilapidated old building crumbled away beyond a chain-link fence.

  “Please tell me this isn’t your apartment building,” she joked.

  “No. It’s the lot I want to buy.”

  “Why?” Graffiti dotted the sides of the building, at least the sides that were left. Broken glass and trash littered the lot. What could Beck possibly see in a place like this?

  “A promise to an old friend. I told you my nanny was German, right?”

  Charlie nodded. He’d mentioned it once or twice.

  “She used to bring me home with her on the weekends sometimes, when my dad was out of town. I never thought of her as having a place of her own. I guess I used to think she appeared and disappeared when I needed her. But as I got older I got to know more about her and the neighborhood kids she considered family.”

  “And she lived here?” Charlie couldn’t make a connection yet. What did his nanny have to do with a lot in what appeared to be a questionable part of town?

  “She lived on the next block over. We used to play kickball on a vacant lot. Up until recently, the kids still did.” His eyes held a far-off, dreamy look like he’d stepped into the past. “But then my dad bought it to build some luxury apartments.”

  “I don’t get it. What does this building have to do with your nanny?”

  Beck turned the full strength of his baby blues on her. “Nonni made me promise that when I grew up, I’d make sure the kids in the neighborhood had a safe place to play. She knew I’d follow in my dad’s footsteps, that I’d be in real estate someday.” He shrugged. “Didn’t seem like too much to promise the only mother figure I’d ever known.”

  Charlie squeezed his hand. “Where is she now?”

  “She died a few years ago. I didn’t even find out she was sick until after she passed. Dad and I were entertaining some investors on a golf trip to Scotland when I got the news.” He looked at the steering wheel. “Now’s my chance to make good on my promise.”

  “I’m sure she’d be proud of you.” It seemed like the right thing to say, although it didn’t do justice to the overwhelming feeling inside her. This was the kind of thing Sully would have done. How could he have known his grandson would turn out to be just like him?

  Beck shifted into gear. “I wanted to show it to you. Next time you see it, hopefully there will be a park here.”

  Charlie brought her thoughts to her lips. “Sully would have liked this, too.”

  He rewarded her with a grin, making her glad she’d said something. Back when he’d first arrived in Holiday, any comparison to Sully had made his hackles rise. Now he seemed almost proud of the fact that he was like his grandfather.

  Beck took in a breath and gave her hand a squeeze. “I wish we could put it off, but tonight’s our only chance. Are you ready to meet my old man?”

  An icy knot tightened in Charlie’s gut. This was the one part of the weekend she hadn’t been looking forward to—meeting Beck’s dad. How could she keep her tongue in check when facing the man who’d broken Sully’s heart?

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She took in a deep breath. For Beck. She’d do it for Beck.

  * * *

  Charlie rubbed Sully’s lucky coin between her fingers while Beck passed his keys to the valet. Throngs of well-dressed couples waited on padded velvet benches near the entrance. Her gaze darted from one supermodel look-alike to the next. She and Beck stuck out like two trees on the open prairie with him in his jeans and her in her boots. The hostess greeted Beck by name and immediately led them back. Mr. Holiday must have been waiting.

  He stood as they approached the table. A look of thinly veiled disgust floated across his face. Charlie let her gaze travel over his paunchy frame that had been well disguised by an expertly tailored suit. A smile that her mama would have called a “snake-oil salesman’s calling card” slid over his lips.

  Beck didn’t seem to notice. “Dad, this is my girlfriend, Charlie Walker.”

  “Charlie?” His eyebrows quirked as he offered a hand.

  “Charlotte’s my given name. But everyone calls me Charlie.” She slipped her hand into his. He held it for a few beats too long.

  “You’re Tom’s daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “How is old Tom doing nowadays?”

  Charlie gave a little tug to pull her hand away from his. Beck held out her chair, and she slid onto the seat. “Dad’s doing fine, thanks for asking, Mr. Holiday.”

  “Oh, call me Holiday.” He sank into the chair next to her. “Wine?”

  The hostess immediately signaled the waiter, who’d been standing by on alert.

  “No, just some water for me.” Charlie smiled at the waiter. His gaze hit the floor.

  “Let’s get some sparkling.” Holiday gestured to their glasses. “Can we get some sparkling water over here?”

  “Right away, sir.” The waiter disappeared for a moment, then returned with a large bottle of sparkling water.

  By that time, Beck had pulled on a jacket the hostess had given him and taken his seat on Charlie’s right.

  “I see you didn’t bother to dress for dinner,” his dad observed.

  Charlie’s cheeks burned. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize we’d be going somewhere so fancy.”

  “It’s okay, Charlotte. Beck should have warned you.” Ice clinked against a glass, and Charlie looked up, casting a watchful eye over Mr. Holiday, who sat across the table with a tumbler of amber liquid between his hands.

  He made her nervous. Something about him was off—that was the only way she could explain it. Not that he’d been rude or said anything specific to make her uncomfortable. He simply put her on edge. Made her apprehensive. He seemed to be biding his time, waiting for something. It was just a sense she got. Like the way she could always tell a storm was coming even though the sky might still be a bright, brilliant blue.

  Beck’s dad cleared his throat and smiled. Like a cat who hadn’t quite eaten the canary. Like a cat who wanted to bat the poor canary around a bit before taking the first bite. “So, Charlie, tell me more about this little bar you run.”

  She swallowed a gulp of her water. The bubbles hit the back of her throat, making her cough.

  “You okay?” Beck’s hand rested on her shoulder.

  Nodding, she cleared her throat. “I’d hardly describe the Rose as a ‘little bar.’ We’ve got about seven thousand square feet.”

  “That’s right. Plus that swanky outside area. Do you still serve beer by the pigpen?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Beck clasped her hand under the table. “Charlie single-handedly manages the entire operation. She books the talent, takes care of the staff—”

  Mr. Holiday interrupted. “I’m sure your folks told you they knew me way back when.”

  Piercing blue eyes caught her mid-sip. She held the glass inches from her mouth, and it hit her. He and Beck shared the same eyes. But while Beck’s could sometimes reflect the same coldness as his dad’s, she’d also seen compassion, affection, and plenty of heat there. And not the kind of heat she imagined his dad had a flair for. Beck’s eyes held the kind of heat that made her want to run away from him and bury herself in him at the same time. She doubted the older Holiday had the ability to channel that kind of passion.

  “They mentioned it once or twice.” What did Holiday want from her? Obviously he was trying to get a rise.

  He downed the remainder of his drink. Had to be sco
tch or whiskey. She’d bet the Rose it was scotch. Some single-malt, expensive variety. “I doubt they shared many kind words about me over the years.”

  Charlie shrugged, not willing to play whatever part he’d cast her in. Putting on her big-girl britches and braving the plane and airport had taken its toll. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Beck and feel his fingers trail down her arm, over her back, under the hem of her tank. Goose bumps raced down her limbs, and she shivered.

  “You cold?” Beck removed the borrowed jacket to drape it over her shoulders. Holiday signaled to the waiter who showed up in less than a minute with another blazer.

  Even though she’d only spent a half hour with the man, she couldn’t stand the way Beck’s dad treated him. Like he was a toddler who needed to be tolerated, not one of the most confident, capable men she’d ever known.

  Thankfully, the food arrived, relieving her of any obligation to respond. As the waiter set the platters down in front of them, Beck explained each dish. Spicy salmon rolls, fresh sashimi, seaweed salad. Nothing looked familiar. And with fresh flowers decorating the plates, nothing even looked edible.

  The men confidently used their chopsticks to lift chunks of fish and rice to their plates and then into their mouths. Charlie struggled with hers for another minute before stabbing a piece of pink fish and letting it drop onto the plate in front of her.

  Holiday motioned to the waiter, who always seemed to be standing by. He slipped a fork next to her plate. Charlie set the chopsticks down and tried to cut the piece of fish in two.

  “Do you need a steak knife, Charlie?” Holiday asked.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Beck gulped, washing down a chunk of salmon. Charlie smiled, then slipped the oversized bit into her mouth. She preferred her fish blackened or panfried, but this wasn’t exactly horrible. Her tongue tried to make sense of the saltiness of the soy sauce and the firm, sweet texture of the fish.

  “They still probably don’t serve much besides barbecue in Holiday, is that right?” Mr. Holiday gave her a smug grin, as if he were mocking her for her inability to use giant toothpicks as utensils.

  “Mmm.” With a mouth full of food, all she could do was nod.

  “I sure am glad I managed to escape.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that.” Beck set his chopsticks down on his plate. “What happened to make you leave?”

  Holiday tapped his napkin against his lips. “I don’t think now is the time to discuss that, Son.”

  Charlie’s gaze bounced back and forth between them.

  Beck continued to push. “But I want to know. Mr. Hill said you and Sully had a falling-out.”

  “A falling-out. That’s one way to put it.”

  “What do you mean?” Beck took a sip of his water. He appeared to be casually interested in a response, but Charlie knew better. She could have sliced the tension between him and his father with that steak knife Mr. Holiday had offered.

  “My father never wanted me involved in the business. The more I tried to be a part of that dumb bar, the more I tried to help him out with new ideas, fresh marketing concepts, the more he pushed me away. Things between us were never like the way they are between you and me, Son. I want you to take an active role. You’ll hold the reins of Holiday Enterprises someday.” He leaned back from the table. “My old man couldn’t stand the thought of us working together.”

  Beck’s shoulders dropped. He reached across the table to cover his dad’s hand with his. “I didn’t mean to bring up a painful topic.”

  Couldn’t he see how his dad manipulated him? She wanted to give Holiday a good kick to the shin, or an even more sensitive body part, under the table. But Beck needed to see his father for what he was on his own. Hopefully, he’d catch a good, long glimpse before it was too late.

  Holiday brushed Beck’s hand away and signaled to the waiter for another drink. “That’s okay. No harm done. Now, Charlie, tell me, how’s your family? Still trying to get by with that little ranching operation?”

  Beck managed to change the subject and get her out of the hot seat when he asked his dad about the itinerary for his cruise. She spent the next twenty minutes pushing food around on her plate while listening to his dad go on and on about the ports he and his wife would visit. Athens, Barcelona, Santorini…the names were familiar yet foreign to her way of life. Making it to New York City felt like a major accomplishment. Another vivid reminder of how insignificant her little corner of Texas seemed compared to Beck’s experience as a lifelong world traveler.

  Finally, blessedly, dinner came to an end. Beck took care of the bill while his dad took care of finishing his third drink.

  “Did you want to come back to the house for dessert? I know Marion was upset she didn’t get a chance to meet you.” Mr. Holiday stood and swayed slightly as the waiter returned.

  “I’m sure Charlie wants to settle in. It’s been a long day”—Beck brushed his hand down her back—“for both of us.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed; he didn’t seem the sort to miss a thing. “Of course. Charlie, I hope you enjoy your weekend.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “You want to wait here a sec while I give the valet my ticket?” Beck squeezed her hand. “Dad, you’ll keep her company for me for a minute or two?”

  “My pleasure.” Holiday sat down again and nodded toward the door. “Take your time. It will give us a chance to chat.”

  Beck gave her a reassuring grin and took off toward the door. Left alone with his father, she wrapped her arms across her midsection, feeling the need to protect herself from his steely gaze.

  “My son tells me you’re a whiz at managing that little bar.”

  “I enjoyed working with Sully. It’s not the same now that he’s gone, but the town needs the Rose.”

  He nodded. “That hellhole won’t be much without it.”

  Something about his tone made Charlie bristle. He meant wouldn’t, not won’t. “But Holiday won’t have to be without it. Beck’s doing a great job.”

  “I’m sure he’s enjoying his little vacation down in Texas. But he’s going to take over Holiday Enterprises someday, and he’ll be worth a hell of a lot more than…Sully. You probably can’t even wrap your gorgeous little head around numbers with that many zeros after them.” He brushed an invisible speck of lint off his sleeve.

  Charlie’s head spun, trying to make sense of Mr. Holiday’s verbal assault.

  “Ready to go?” Beck rejoined them, reaching for Charlie’s hand.

  She and Mr. Holiday stood at the same time. He made a move to embrace her with all the stiffness and grace of a scarecrow with a two-by-four stretched across its arms. “Enjoy your time in the city, Charlie.”

  She let him air-kiss her cheeks, then nestled back into Beck’s side. The good manners her mama had trained into her won out over her urge to stomp on the man’s shiny, tasseled loafers. She pasted on a neutral smile. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

  Mr. Holiday turned his attention to his son. “Beck, we’ll touch base in the morning. I need you to send over that contract before my flight leaves.” It was an order, not a request.

  Beck nodded and pulled Charlie closer. When his father finally turned away and made his way to the front of the restaurant, he let out an audible sigh, and she felt his chest deflate like he’d been holding his breath through the entire encounter.

  “Well, he’s got all the charm of a cow patty in a china bowl.”

  Beck’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “What?”

  “Sorry. Just something Sully used to say.” Her last interaction with Beck’s dad had thrown her. Thank goodness they wouldn’t have to spend any more time together during her stay. “Did you get what you wanted out of the conversation?”

  “Not quite. But at least it’s a start. You okay?”

  “Your
dad didn’t seem to be a big fan of Holiday. Or me.” What if Beck thought the same now that he saw how out of place she was in his neck of the woods?

  The smile he gave her sent any lingering doubts scuttling away. “Well, darlin’, you’ve already got a number one fan.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his brazen response. “Now are you going to take me to your place before I get tired of waiting and hop the next plane home?”

  “Ms. Walker, I thought you’d never ask.” He let go of her long enough to hold the door open for her. “Shall we?”

  “Yes. And I hate to ask because I’m sure this is a fantastic restaurant, but—”

  “What?”

  Her stomach growled. She squinted up at him, not wanting to offend.

  Beck let out a laugh. “Not a fan of the raw fish, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Any chance I can grab a slice of pizza from one of those places I saw on the street?”

  “I’ll get you a whole pie.”

  She linked her arm through his, eager to get the fun part of the weekend under way. She’d been apprehensive about taking time away, but now that she was here, she wanted to make the most of the trip. The tension and stress of getting there and the uncomfortable aftermath of her conversation with his dad eased away under Beck’s touch. With another seventy-two hours of having him all to herself spread out in front of her, she couldn’t wait to get started.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beck tried to see his place through Charlie’s eyes. She hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten off the elevator and he’d unlocked the door. His apartment was nothing to be ashamed of, but he couldn’t quite swing the payments on a penthouse suite like his dad. She’d really flip if she ever stepped foot in that monstrosity. Beck preferred his cozy two-bedroom in Chelsea to his dad’s two floors of gaudy nouveau riche decor.

  “Are you going to say something?” He wheeled her bag next to his black-leather sofa and put a hand on her back.

  Charlie whirled around from where she’d stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Something. Your place is really something.”