"Bo! Go back to your bed," she called out to the kitchen.
Travis noticed there was no answering noise from the kitchen, but she appeared satisfied with her command to her dog, wasting no more time on him as she turned back to the table and handed out menus. "Tonight's special is blackberry pie. Can I get you all drinks?"
There was a vote for a round of coffee, and then she headed back toward the counter.
Travis watched her as she grabbed a glass and poured him some water. "You don't have a dog, do you?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
She looked up sharply, a moment of alarm on her face. "Of course I do. You want to see?"
"I'm not the guy you have to protect against," he said gently. As if he would ever lay a hand on a woman, no matter what. He studied her, searching for the truth in her dark brown eyes. "You ever get called on that bluff?"
Her shoulders suddenly sagged. "It only works on newcomers. There will be a lot this week with the fair."
The door jingled again, and they both looked toward the door as a crew of ten dusty cowboys walked in, loud and dominating. He narrowed his eyes as he watched them take over the small establishment. He knew very well what could happen late at night when cowboys were out hunting for entertainment. "What other backup do you have if Bo doesn't work?"
She shrugged as she grabbed a stack of menus. "I usually have a waitress who works with me, but she quit today to elope, so it's just me for the week."
"Elope? She ditched you on fair week?" He might not have lived here for years, but he was well aware that for many of the storefronts in town, fair week accounted for almost half their annual income.
"Well, you know love. It can't wait." There was the slightest bit of irony in her voice, barely there, but he heard it. Maybe because he was so bitter and skeptical about love that he was ultra-tuned to someone who shared his bias. "I'm sure I'll find someone to help out the rest of the week. Just have to get through tonight."
The door opened again, and two more men walked in. These two were young, barely out of high school, and they walked with a cockiness that spelled trouble. "You're pretty popular for a place that doesn't sell alcohol," Travis observed.
"I'm the only place open this late that has a kitchen," she said, watching the party of ten move several tables together. "Everyone who wants to eat late comes here." She glanced at Travis. "Did you decide what you wanted?"
What he'd wanted was takeout to eat in his truck while he avoided contact with all human beings. But as he watched the fair competitors get settled, he decided he'd changed his mind. "I'll have some coffee, and a number two burger."
"For here or to go?"
"For here." The door jingled again, and more cowboys came in, this time with several women that reminded him of the groupies that used to hang around him back when he'd go out at night, before he'd retreated into the antisocial survival mode that had kept him going the last few years. "Yeah, I'm definitely eating here."
She flashed him a brief smile, one that almost reached her tired eyes. "Great." Then she turned away and hurried across the restaurant, welcoming everyone with the same cheeriness she'd given him...except she was showing them only the façade.
He was the only one she'd allowed past her shields to her weariness, to her vulnerability, to her truth. It had been a split second of honesty they'd shared, but it was more than he'd had in years.
As he watched her move around the floor, deftly handling the rowdiness of her customers, Travis realized that, for the first time in years, he wanted to stay right where he was. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. Just right there, in the Wildflower Café, being the backup for a dog that didn't exist.
She hadn't asked him for a damn thing, except his order. She hadn't asked for a smile, for a flirt, for a ticket to his show. She hadn't treated him like Travis Turner royalty, or Travis Stockton scum. He was pretty sure she hadn't recognized him. What she'd given him had simply been herself, her truth, her honesty.
Which is why he was planting his ass on that stool and staying there all night, until every single potential troublemaker was gone.
Chapter 2
She tried.
She really tried not to be so aware of him.
But there was no way for Lissa McIntyre to ignore the man sitting at her counter.
When he'd first walked into the café, she'd been a little unnerved by the sheer size of him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and he wore his leather duster as if he were an outlaw from the Old West, owning every joint he walked into. His dark brown hat was low over his eyes, casting his face into shadows, and he moved as if every muscle in his body was primed and ready to pounce...on her.
She never dated. She was careful not to even look at a man in a way that might make him think an overture would be welcome, especially not when she was working and had a café full of cowboys. Men were trouble, dangerous, and a threat to everything that mattered to her, which was a very short list.
And yet, the moment he'd raised his head and looked at her, she'd felt herself falling into the depths of his steely blue eyes. He was pure male, loaded with testosterone. His clothes were old and worn. He was soaking wet. And...God...she couldn't lie. He was insanely, irresistibly sexy. Sensual. Tempting. Every word she would never dare apply to a man had been rushing through her mind for the last hour.
He hadn't said much, except to ask for a refill on his coffee and to thank her each time she refilled his water, but the way he spoke made chills rush down her spine. His voice was deep, almost melodic, filling her with a longing so intense that she wanted to sit down on the stool next to him, prop her chin up on her hands, and ask him to just talk for a while so she could lose herself in the magic of his voice.
Before he'd arrived, she'd been feeling sorry for herself, dreading fair week, and all the chaos and long hours it brought with it. If she didn't need the money, she would shut down for the week and take her daughter, Bridgette, to all the events. Instead, she'd had to pawn her daughter off on her amazing neighbor, Martha Keller, who had become the grandmother that Bridgette would never have. Martha was the one taking Bridgette to all the events of fair week, while Lissa worked. Of course, it would be worth it when her bank account had enough money in it to make it through another slow winter, but on the first night of the fair, she always felt cranky, wondering how she'd ended up with this as her life.
When her counter cowboy had shown up, he'd been a welcome distraction, drawing her out of her negative thinking and into the present. He made her think of a time when she'd thought life was full of opportunity and sunshine, before everything had crashed down around her. Plus, a little eye candy always made a girl's day brighter, right?
The door jangled again, and she grimaced when she saw another group of competitors from the fair walk in. She was already at max capacity, and the crowd was getting boisterous and impatient with the slow service. Even if her waitress hadn't eloped, it would have been tough to keep up, but alone? It was impossible, and she knew it. It wouldn't take much for word to get out about the Wildflower Café to the rest of the tourists and competitors. If tonight was a bust, no one would be coming back this week. Fear rippled through her at the thought of losing all that income. She desperately needed a profitable week. Desperately.
"Hey." Her counter cowboy waved at her.
She hurried over to him, grabbing her water pitcher as she went. Sweat was trickling down her spine, but she knew she had to find a way to go even faster. "What's up?"
"You got anyone in the kitchen watching those burgers while you're out here?"
She spun around. "Why? Are they burning?" She couldn't afford to burn them. Her customers had already been waiting too long. "I'll go check—"
He stopped her with a hand on her forearm.
She froze, her belly flipping over. His hand wrapped all the way around her arm easily, but his touch was gentle, so gentle that she knew he wasn't trying to trap her. She could pull away if she wanted...but she didn't want to. "What?"
He gestured at the café. "There's no way you can handle this alone. Want help?"
"Help?" She blinked at him. "Who? You?"
"Yeah. I can cook." He still had his hand on her arm. "I'm too antisocial and bitter to socialize with the public, so I'm not waiting on tables, but I'll flip some burgers."
God, she needed help. There was no way she could manage both the customers and the cooking by herself tonight. A part of her wanted to throw herself over the counter, hug him fiercely, and then put him to work…but there was no way. "I really appreciate the offer, but I don't even know you. I can't have a stranger in my kitchen, but thanks." She started to turn away, but he tightened his grip on her arm.
Her breath caught, and she looked at him. "Yes?"
He hesitated, emotions warring on his face. For a long moment, he said nothing, and she frowned, turning back to face him. "What is it?"
He flexed his jaw, his blue eyes fixed on her face. "You're new to town, right?" he finally said. "You didn't grow up here, did you?"
She blinked at the random question. "I've been here eight years. Why?"
Again, a long moment of silence, as if he were waging some massive internal debate about whether to speak. She leaned forward, her curiosity piqued while she waited.
Finally, he met her gaze. "You know Chase Stockton?" His voice was low, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear.
"Chase?" He was all worked up about Chase? "Of course. He comes in here once a week. He supplies my pies when I don't have time to bake them. Why?" But even as she asked, his penetrating blue eyes took on new meaning. She'd seen eyes like his before. Exactly like them...on Chase. "You're related to him, aren't you? One of his brothers? Aren't there like nine of you or something?"
His face became shuttered, but he didn't pull away. "Yeah." He said nothing else, waiting, watching her face.
"Oh, wow." Relief rushed through her. Chase was one of the nicest guys she'd ever met. Yes, he was intimidating, but there was a kindness beneath the surface that was true and honorable. He'd helped her out on more than one occasion, and she adored his wife, Mira. She'd met his brothers, Steen and Zane, a couple times, and the loyalty between the brothers was amazing. Everyone in the family was incredibly kind, despite the fact that the men were tall, broad-shouldered, and more than a little intimidating when they walked into a room. "Which brother are you?"
He raised his eyebrows, still watching her warily. "Travis."
"Travis Stockton." She frowned, trying to remember if she'd heard anything about him, but she didn't think she had. No matter. The fact he was Chase's brother was enough, given the level of her desperation right now. "Well, if you're as good a guy as Chase, then I trust you in my kitchen."
Surprise flashed across his face. "Really?"
She hesitated. "Why? Is there something about you I should be afraid of?"
He paused, looking hard at her. "I'm completely fucked up in a lot of ways," he said, his voice hard, almost warning her. "People in this town don't like me."
She raised her brows at his defensiveness. His face was dark and almost angry, and his fingers had tightened around her arm. Her heart turned over, and she wanted to hug him, because she knew what it felt like to suffer under a town's disdain. It was a brutal, horrible way for a child to grow up, and the scars never went away, no matter how hard one tried. "Well, townspeople suck sometimes."
He blinked. "What?"
She shrugged. "Does the fact that they don't like you mean I can't trust you in my kitchen?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head once. "No. It doesn't."
Of course it didn't. "Then please, please, please help me out tonight. I'm desperate."
A grin flashed across his face then, a smile that was so genuine that her chest tightened. "I'm on it." He slid off the stool. "Give me the ninety second tour, and then I'll be good."
As he stood up, she realized how tall he really was. He towered over her, taller, wider, and so much stronger than she was. He was gritty and tough, a man who wouldn't stand down from anything. She hesitated for a split second, suddenly nervous. Her kitchen was her sanctuary, her world, the only thing that had saved her eight years ago. Having Travis in there felt dangerous, like she was turning over her foundation to someone she barely knew—
He shoved open the kitchen door and disappeared inside, not waiting for a second invitation.
She rolled her eyes and laughed softly as she followed him. "No one can control you, can they?"
"Control is an illusion." He slung his leather jacket and his hat on a hook, and then started scrubbing his hands in the sink, his kitchen instinct obvious.
"Control is all we have sometimes," she mused, completely unable to drag her gaze off his muscular forearms. She was surprised he had no tattoos. With all his talk about how messed up he was and how the town hated him, she'd have thought he might have engaged in a few teenage acts of rebellion. Though, she supposed, he could have some ink elsewhere... Her gaze slid up his arms and over his shoulders, which were really not well concealed beneath his black tee shirt. No, not hidden at all—
Travis shut off the sink, and she just managed to avert her gawking gaze before he turned toward her. He raised one eyebrow, and a small grin quirked the corner of his mouth.
Oh, God. He'd caught her checking him out. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she quickly grabbed some plates and started setting them on the counter, pretending to be intently focused.
"So, let's start with the grill." He grabbed her pink, flowered apron and slung it over his neck, not even blinking an eye at the fact it was pink or barely covered even part of his massive torso. He strode over to the grill and eyed it, looking completely ridiculous and endearing in her apron. "So, the new patties are on the left, and the almost done on the right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Got a menu so I can see what's coming?"
"Yep." Relieved he hadn't called her out on the fact she'd been obsessing over his body, she handed him a menu, quickly pointing out where she kept the seasoning, and which sauces, soups and other items she'd prepped earlier in the day. It was mostly assembly and cooking at this point, and they could fake the rest of it for the night.
He didn't hesitate, flipping burgers as she talked, rapidly assimilating everything she said. His questions made it clear that he knew his way around a commercial kitchen. "Are you a chef?" she asked.
"Nope, but I had to scrape together money when I was younger, and I worked a few joints." He waved her off. "Go deal with the tables, and if anyone gives you shit, let me know. I'll bark and growl and pretend Bo is pretty pissed off."
She laughed, imagining what it would be like to have Travis howling from the kitchen. "I'll do that." She hesitated. "Travis?"
"Yeah?" He didn't look up as he opened the walk-in fridge and started pulling out salad fixings.
"Thank you."
He paused and looked over at her. "No," he said softly. "Thank you."
"For what? Putting you to work?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he studied her, his gaze so penetrating that she shivered. "What's your name, Boss?"
"Boss?" She laughed again. "I'm Lissa. Lissa McIntyre."
"Lissa." He repeated her name, his deep voice almost an intimate caress the way he said it. "I like it. It fits you." He looked at her thoughtfully, as if he were seeing past her shields right into her core.
She stepped back, suddenly unnerved, by the man, by the intimacy, by the fact he'd somehow wound up in her kitchen, helping her when she so desperately needed assistance. "I need to go."
"I'll be here."
I'll be here. His words stuck with her as she whirled around and hurried out into the café. I'll be here.
She couldn't lie. Those words felt amazing. Katie had been a fairly efficient employee, but she'd been flighty. Lissa had suspected all along that it was only a matter of time until she quit. Travis, however, gave off the aura of solid, reliable dependability, something she didn't have much, if any, experience with. It
was only for a couple hours, but she knew he'd meant it. He wasn't leaving, and that felt so much better than she wanted it to.
Help was great.
But the way her insides had turned over when he'd said he wasn't going anywhere?
She couldn't afford that, on any level.
Chapter 3
"Cheers!" Lissa tapped her water glass against Travis's several hours later, as they sat down to what was left of the evening's dessert stash. The last customer had left, they'd finished cleaning up, and then she'd invited him to stay for dessert.
He'd said yes without hesitation. Actually, he'd accepted before she'd even finished asking him. And now, they were sitting across from each other in a back booth, while she assembled their desserts to her satisfaction.
"Nice job tonight." Travis lounged back in the booth, studying Lissa. She looked tired, but also pleased. It had been a profitable night. The place had been packed, they'd kept up well, and now they were off the clock. He felt good too. Like he'd actually accomplished something tonight, something that mattered. He hadn't felt like that in a long time. "You don't need to feed me, though."
"It's tradition." She cut two pieces of blueberry pie and set it on the plates. "At the end of the day, I always take a moment to just sit, eat dessert, and celebrate another day when money actually landed in my cash register. Since you worked here tonight, you get to join me."
"Savoring the moment, eh?" He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat and did nothing but chill. He generally shoved food in his mouth on the run, barely tasting it, not caring what it was. He did it on purpose, because the last thing he wanted was to slow down enough to feel his life. But tonight, sitting there, across from Lissa...yeah...he liked sitting there. Being still. Not doing a damn thing but watching her and experiencing the moment. "I like that idea."
"Me, too," she agreed cheerfully, as she dished up some vanilla ice cream and set it on each pie.
The ice cream was local, from a dairy farm he recognized from his youth. He'd noticed lots of local labels on everything in her kitchen. She clearly supported the town, and they supported her. "Why'd you come to Rogue Valley?" he asked. "You like it?"
A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) Page 2