Charm School for Cowboys

by Meg Maxwell

  Emma had a feeling these two could go at it for hours, but would be right there if one needed the other. And she wondered what Jake’s “yeah, but” was about. Yeah, but I’m dating someone and we’re serious and she can’t go tonight so I can’t, either. She sure hoped that wasn’t it.

  “I heard the association fund-raisers are dress up,” Jake said. “That true?”

  Hank nodded. “There’ll be a line at Joe’s all day. He’s the barber in town. Has a place right on Main Street next to the drugstore. Can’t miss it with the spinning red-and-white pole outside.”

  “I’ll bet you’d look very handsome with a haircut and beard trim,” Emma said to Grizzle.

  “Then I guess I won’t be going,” Grizzle griped. He dropped the sponge he’d been using to wash the mare’s neck into the bucket, then dried her off and led her to her stall.

  Emma’s face fell. “What’s that about?” she whispered.

  Jake shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Maybe he’s used to looking like a mountain man,” Hank said. “You get used to your ways and then you can’t imagine changing. Like Michelle, the librarian. She hasn’t changed her look since high school and that was 1994. She has bigger shoulders than I do.”

  Emma glanced down toward the mare’s stall. She couldn’t see Grizzle from where she was standing by the bulletin board. She looked at Jake, then headed over to the stall, where Grizzle was checking the mare’s hooves. “I’m sorry about poking my nose into your business, Grizzle. That wasn’t fair of me.”

  Grizzle glanced up. “Oh, no worries. Way I see it, if women don’t like how I look, they’re not the ones for me.”

  She smiled. “That’s actually a very good philosophy.”

  He checked the hind hooves. “Of course, the few women who’ve turned my head since my wife died don’t like the way I look. Michelle, the librarian Hank was talking about? I asked her to lunch a couple weeks back and she said yes, but when I picked her up she marched up to my truck and said she expected I’d at least clean up some and she couldn’t very well go to lunch with me looking like I just came off a mountain after fifteen years. She went right back in her house.”

  Huh. That must have made Grizzle feel awful. But the man really did need a haircut. The wild gray-brown hair was long, wiry and stuck up in every direction, and the beard did the same.

  He stared off into the middle distance for a moment, then sighed and dropped down on the stool at the back of the stall. “You want to know the last time I cut my hair and shaved and wore a suit and tie?”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  “My wife’s funeral. Hell, I don’t ever want to look like that again. I don’t ever want to be reminded of that day.” His face tightened and he stared down at the hay on the floor.

  Oh, Grizzle. “I understand. The day my mother died, my hair was in a braid and I was wearing sparkly blue nail polish. I’ve not been able to braid my hair or wear blue polish since.” Violet Hurley’s lovely face came to mind and she missed her mother so fiercely, again wishing more than anything she were there. “I definitely understand the sentiment. Being reminded of who you were on a particular day.”

  Grizzle glanced up at her, nodded, then let out a breath. “It’s not like anyone could hold a candle to Liza, anyway. I don’t know why I bother.”

  “Well, no one will ever be Liza, but someone will light up your heart regardless. You asked out the librarian for a reason. You must find her attractive.”

  He shrugged. “Only reason I asked her out is that she’s tall, like me. Tallest woman in Blue Gulch. You’re tall, and she’s got three or four inches on you. I’m six-four.”

  Emma laughed. “Well, maybe you’ll meet another tall woman at the dance. Someone who has other attributes you find appealing too.”

  He shrugged. “Not if I don’t clean up, though. No one will even give me a chance.”

  “Well, maybe there’s a compromise. A comb instead of scissors. A little hair gel. You could just trim your beard a bit too.”

  Grizzle let out quite a snort. “Me with hair gunk? CJ would laugh his head off.”

  “Have you seen the amount of hair product in CJ’s hair?” Emma whispered with a grin.

  Grizzle chuckled. “Well, maybe. Will you come by the bunkhouse ’bout an hour before the dance and help me?”

  “I sure will,” she promised.

  “Oh, and, Emma?” Grizzle called as she was leaving. “I don’t actually have a comb. I don’t think Hank or Golden will let me borrow theirs.”

  Emma smiled. “I’ll pick one up for you at the drugstore today. I’m going into town for my shift at Hurley’s anyway.”

  He nodded at her, and she headed outside. Jake was standing near the open barn doors at the other end, just on the other side of the stall where she’d been talking to Grizzle. He was signing off on papers a man she didn’t recognize was handing him. The guy got into his truck and drove off, and that’s when she noticed the stack of hay bales on the other side of Jake. Hay delivery. She wondered if Jake had heard their conversation. She wasn’t sure if Grizzle would like that.

  “Jake?” she said. “I need to head to Hurley’s for my lunch shift, and I thought I’d do the grocery shopping after. You’re very low on fruit. And based on last night and this morning, the fridge and cupboards won’t last more than another couple of days. Could you give me the basics on what everyone likes and if there are any allergies?”

  “No picky eaters or allergies among us,” Jake said. “We all pretty much like good basic home cooking. Meat and potatoes, chicken, pasta, fish. Big sandwiches for lunch. The usual for breakfast. The guys love their chips and pretzels.”

  “Got it,” Emma said with a smile.

  “We also all agree on pie, any kind,” Hank added, coming from the barn. “And chocolate chip cookies, the crunchy kind.”

  She smiled again. “On my list. Well, see you at dinner.” She glanced at Jake and found she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Dammit. Why was she so drawn to him? The man was good-looking, yes. But it was more than that; there was something about him that made her feel...she didn’t even know. Made her feel what?

  Stop staring at the man and get in your car, she ordered herself. She could feel Hank eyeballing her, and given how Hank did seem to catch most things, except his own gaffes when it came to dealing with Fern, apparently, she didn’t want the foreman to think she had a crush on the boss. She hurried to her car and got in. She lowered the windows to let in the gorgeous fresh country air.

  Jake jogged over and leaned down, bracing those strong forearms on the window. “Grizzle okay?”

  Hmm. Maybe he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to think he’d been eavesdropping. Regardless, she loved how much they all seemed to care about one another, despite the ribbing. “He’s letting me at him with a comb before the dance.”

  Jake grinned. “Good work. Again.”

  She grinned back. “So I suppose you’ll have to go to the dance, after all, given what Hank said about supporting the rancher’s association.”

  He groaned. “Well, since it’s bucks’ choice, I have the choice of not asking anyone to dance.”

  “I hear ya,” she said. “No thanks. Dances lead to dates lead to kisses lead to more dates lead to relationships and heartache.”

  One dark eyebrow raised. “That’s exactly right.”

  So why was she suddenly imagining herself in his arms for one sensuous slow dance, his hands on her waist, his body so close she could smell his shampoo?

  And why did she like the idea of Jake not asking anyone to dance?

  Chapter Three

  Jake watched Emma’s small silver car disappear up the long drive, and then he headed back to the house to answer calls and look at more auction sites, his mind on
the idea of his beautiful new cook in his arms for a slow dance. Would not be happening. As he’d told her, he might have to go to the dance, but that didn’t mean he had to ask anyone to dance. And he doubted she’d go, either, based on what she’d said about being off the market for a relationship.

  He was definitely off the market for the time being. His entire life had shifted when he’d met his birth mother the first week of May. Until five years ago, he’d never planned on even seeking her out. He’d always believed that his birth mother had given him up to provide him with a better life than she could, for whatever reason, and he’d admired her for that. But his heart and soul were with his parents, the Morrows, who’d adopted him. They’d been great parents, sturdy and steady, and when their surprise baby had come along ten years later, they hadn’t loved CJ, their biological son, any differently than they loved Jake.

  He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t feel about his twin brother any more or better or differently than he felt about CJ, who was his brother, period. But Jake felt the call to see the man, to meet him, to know something about this twin brother he’d shared a womb with for nine months. That meant something too; it all meant something, every part of Jake’s birth story—from Sarah Mack’s pregnancy at sixteen years of age to how Jake felt right now. He had to find his twin and connect with him, even in the slightest way—a letter, an email, hell, even a text. Connection. That’s all he wanted. If they met and got to know each other and formed a relationship, even better.

  Though, of course, CJ might not think so of that last part. He glanced out the window and could just make out CJ’s tall, strong silhouette on Shadow, their black gelding, as he checked on grass levels in a far pasture where they’d be moving the sheep. Yes, CJ was a player and a flirt and hadn’t been careful with people’s feelings, women’s feelings, but Jake wondered if the combination of the death of their parents and Jake’s discovery of his biological twin had done a number on the then seventeen-year-old. For the past five years, CJ had broken up with every young woman he dated, from one date to a few months, even if he’d really seemed to like her. Was he leaving them before they could leave him? Hurt him? Break his heart? Maybe. Jake wasn’t sure. CJ had a fun-loving exterior, and it was hard to tell just how deep he truly ran, even if Jake had seen his brother’s body shaking with sobs over their parents’ deaths, the day it happened and several times after. CJ felt; Jake knew that.

  Jake stared at his cell phone, sitting on top of a glossy brochure for LoneStar Ranch, a breeding operation in town. Just call Carson Ford and tell him to get the search for your twin started, he told himself. It could be just a first step, seeing if the man could be found. But even that seemed a breach of trust. If he was going to look for his twin, he should let CJ know, not start a big inquiry on the down low as though he was sneaking behind his brother’s back.

  He’d talk to CJ about it tomorrow.

  And who knew if Carson Ford would even be able to find his twin? The private investigator had easily found Jake, at his birth mother’s request, because he’d left his contact info for his file at the adoption agency. Because, then again, the case had been personal to Carson then and it would be personal this time too. Jake sat back and smiled at the story Carson had finally told him about how he’d come to be involved in looking for him.

  Apparently, Carson’s father, a widowed banker in Blue Gulch, had gone to a fortune-teller who’d told him that his second great love would be a green-eyed hairstylist named Sarah. Carson had thought his father was nuts for believing in that “malarkey.” But his father had believed, and so Carson had gone on the hunt with the fortune-teller’s daughter, Olivia Mack, to prove his father wrong—and because Olivia had been sure the mystery woman was her own estranged aunt. Only thing Carson had done was prove his father and the fortune-teller right: Sarah Mack and Edmund Ford had fallen deeply in love. And so had Carson and Olivia—when neither of them was looking for love. There was going to be a big double wedding in the fall, to which Jake was invited and would attend. And considering that Olivia ran the Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen food truck, where Emma sometimes helped out, he had no doubt his new cook would be invited too.

  The thought of Emma Hurley brought her pretty face to mind, her big blue eyes and the long lashes. He sure wished she was going to the dance.

  Would he feel ready for a relationship, for love and marriage and all that, if he found his twin and settled that part of his life? Maybe. Then again, he still felt a bitter sting anytime he thought of his ex, how she’d bailed on him when he’d wanted to wait, for CJ’s sake, to dig through his past. He’d realized as the days and months and years had gone by that he’d stopped trusting, stopped expecting anything from anyone.

  So, no, this buck would not be asking anyone to dance tonight. And especially not the only woman he wanted to dance with.

  * * *

  Parking in the center of town at 10:00 a.m. was a breeze; Emma found a spot right in front of the apricot-colored Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. She loved Blue Gulch. Though the town bordered Oak Creek, where she’d grown up, she hadn’t spent much time with her Blue Gulch relatives. Her father had had some long-ago falling-out with his uncle and his wife, Essie Hurley, and according to what her dad had said over the years, he’d tried to tell his uncle and Essie how to run the restaurant, then had gloated when it ran into financially slow patches. The relationship had quickly soured, and Emma had grown up barely knowing Essie or her cousins, who Essie had raised after their parents had died in an accident. But the past weeks that Emma had been in town, living in the Victorian, sneezing up a storm over the puppies despite her allergy medication, had been absolutely wonderful. Emma’s dad drove people away with his bossy, controlling way, and right here she had all this family—kind, welcoming, and with a love of cooking in common.

  “How’s the new boss treating you?” Essie asked, giving Emma a hug in the big country kitchen. Seventy-six-year-old Essie had had a health scare last year, and though she’d cut back on too much time on her feet, her granddaughters had had special chairs made just for her that could reach varying heights, from the worktable to the ovens, to the counters, so she could sit and make her famed sauces and soups and amazing entrées.

  “I came downstairs at four thirty this morning to start breakfast, and guess what?” Emma said, tying on her Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen apron. “The whole crew—Hank, Grizzle, Golden and CJ, he’s Jake’s brother, were all in the kitchen cooking already—everything from eggs to bacon and pancakes with blueberries. They’d felt terrible when they heard I’d come to the ranch looking for Joshua—Tex—only to hear that he’d died in a riding accident. They’re a really nice group of cowboys.”

  “Wait. Grizzle was cooking?” Annabel Hurley Montgomery asked with a grin. She was dredging chicken wings in flour, and Emma went over to take on the prep.

  “You know Grizzle?” Emma asked.

  “Sure do,” Annabel said. “He used to work at a farm nearby and would come in for lunch every day. When I was thirteen, Georgia and I were picking herbs in the fields out back when we saw that the stray dog that was always hanging around in the river had gotten caught in a current. Georgia and I almost drowned trying to save it and we made so much noise that some people came running. Grizzle jumped right in and saved that dog. But the dog was so scared she bit him. Blood was running down his arms but he held on tight and brought that dog to the riverbank.”

  “Aww,” Emma said, her huge platter of wings ready for the fryer. She grabbed another platter and started on another batch, flour and egg wash under her nails. “Was the dog all right? Was Grizzle all right?”

  Annabel nodded. “Both were fine. That dog had taken off the minute its feet hit land, but that night it laid down right on the front porch of Grizzle’s house. Grizzle adopted her and named her River. She never bit again. When River was dying and it was time to let her go,
Grizzle invited me and my sisters to the little funeral he had in his yard, since we were the ones who brought them together. Remember how we sobbed?” she said to Georgia.

  Annabel’s older sister, Georgia Hurley Slater, who baked for the restaurant, smiled. “River turned out to be the sweetest dog ever.”

  Clementine Hurley Grainger, the youngest of her cousins and head waitress, came into the kitchen and said hi to Emma and announced they were having two big groups for lunch, the library’s book club, which had close to twenty members, at twelve thirty, and the rancher’s association bigwigs at 1:00 p.m. There were only six of them, but they always ordered enough food for double, and Hurley’s portions were generous to begin with.

  Emma glanced at her cousins, their wedding rings gleaming, and a bit of envy poked at her. The three Hurley sisters had found wonderful husbands, and both Annabel and Georgia had babies. Clementine had a daughter who she’d adopted from foster care and her husband’s orphaned twin nephews, and sometimes Emma would see the big family together, wives, husbands, children, and she’d wish she could have that for herself. She had the extended family, sure. But her baby’s father was gone. Her mother was long gone. Her own father was, as usual, demanding she live according to his rules for her, so she didn’t even have the comfort of her dad in her life right now. She thought of him, missing those rare times when he could be so loving and kind. She sure wished he was by her side right now, but that just couldn’t be. She was on her own and would be fine. She had the Hurleys of Blue Gulch, and she’d found a perfect job and place to live. She’d raise her baby among friends, loving friends. I can do this, she reminded herself. I want to do this.

  “Oh, and I ran into Olivia Mack this morning,” Clementine added. “She mentioned she’d be coming in for lunch at noon with her husband-and in-laws-to-be.”

  “Does Olivia need me to cover the food truck this afternoon, then?” Emma asked, dredging what had to be her hundredth chicken wing in flour, then dipping it in the egg wash and coating it in flour again before laying it on the platter. When Emma had first started working at Hurley’s, she’d trained at their food truck, which was parked on the other end of Main Street and served po’boys of all kinds and the best cannoli Emma had ever had. Olivia, the cook and manager, had met the man she was marrying this fall while working in the food truck.