For Love of a Cowboy

by Yvonne Lindsay - For Love of a Cowboy

  The young woman behind the counter near the front of the store was on the phone. Willow didn’t make a habit of eavesdropping but standing where she was, she couldn’t avoid hearing the one-sided conversation.

  “Little brother, you worry too much. I’m a big girl now and I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  The woman put her hand over the mouthpiece for a second to smile in Willow’s direction.

  “Sorry about this. I’ll be right with you.”

  She rolled her eyes in a manner that reminded Willow strongly of Booth Lange. And Willow knew exactly why with what the woman said next.

  “Yes, she’s just walked in.”

  Three

  So, last night’s rescuer was already on the phone and probably warning the store’s owner all about the crazy woman driver who’d almost hit him head-on. Willow forced herself to loosen the tension that had crept into her shoulders at the thought of him and drifted away from the counter and through the store.

  Long and narrow, it was neatly fitted with rows of cubbyhole shelving on either side and had a run of stands staggered in a line in between. One side of the store appeared to be devoted to yarn and knitting and crochet, the other to crafts and quilting. A small area at the back was set up like a workroom. Perhaps for classes? It was perfect if that was the case.

  This was her kind of place. Willow’s fingers itched to reach out and stroke the mohair shawl draped on a store dummy. The pattern was intricate and lacy and exactly the kind of thing she loved to knit when she had the patience and the time, and the colors were a delicious blend of soft pinks and purples through to peacock blue and back again.

  “Hi, I’m Ness.” The voice came from behind her. “Sorry about the phone call. What can I help you with?”

  Willow turned to return the greeting and instantly noticed something she hadn’t seen before. While the woman was tall and slender, she was also very definitely pregnant.

  “Willow Phillips,” she replied, putting out her hand to introduce herself properly. “I’m new to town. I love your store and particularly this.” She gestured to the shawl. “Did you knit that yourself?”

  Ness smiled. “I did. Are you a knitter, too?”

  “I am. I do a range of my own hand-dyed yarns. I was hoping I could show you some of my stock and that maybe you would be interested in taking some on consignment?”

  Ness looked rueful. “I’m pretty heavily inventoried at the moment, as you can see but, please, show me what you have. I never turn down an opportunity to look at something new. Maybe we can work something out.”

  Willow hastened to oblige and removed the samples she’d brought from her pack. Ness expressed her delight with appreciative sounds, her hands quickly going to the yarn and the knitted samples and inspecting them.

  “These are good. Better than I expected.”

  “Than you expected?” Willow repeated, confused.

  “My brother, Booth? I understand he picked a lot of these up off the road out of town for you after you had your accident last night?”

  A hot blush suffused Willow’s cheeks. And had he also told her that Willow was an incompetent driver at the same time? Ness patted her gently on the arm.

  “Don’t worry, he can be a bit abrasive at times. I don’t imagine he was overly friendly?”

  “Not friendly, no, but he was helpful,” she felt compelled to say.

  And he had been. He’d helped her out of Daisy, he’d collected her yarn and he’d called for the tow truck. He just hadn’t been all that happy about it.

  “It’s just his way.” Ness sighed. “I really wish I could take some of your stock, Willow, but I don’t have the space right now.”

  Willow felt her hopes plunge to the soles of her boots. She reached for her things and started to pack them back in her bag. “No problem. It was worth a shot.” She took in another breath then let it out carefully. “I noticed you’re looking for help in the store?”

  “Are you interested?” Ness asked, the regret in her eyes brightening a little.

  “Who wouldn’t be? This is heaven.”

  Ness laughed. “You have an accent. Australia?”

  “No, New Zealand. My mom was a Kiwi but my Dad is American. I’m here to meet him, actually.”

  “Oh, so you have dual nationality. That’s great.”

  Willow didn’t do anything to disabuse Ness of the idea that she was eligible to work in the U.S. It pained her to have to resort to subterfuge, but with repairs to be made on the bus, she had to find an income stream to supplement the small stash of cash she’d arrived with, and quickly. There was no way that the money she’d put aside for this trip would stretch to repairs. As it was, it didn’t look like it would last her very much further than the end of the next couple of weeks, especially as she had no idea how much longer she’d be able to sleep in the van. Paid accommodation would make a nasty dent in her budget. She’d counted on being able to get in touch with her father before she ran out of money.

  Ness went into a spiel about the store and how long she’d owned it, gently rubbing her swollen belly as she did so. “As you can see, Junior’s not too far from making his appearance—he’s due mid-September—and I find my energy levels are definitely flagging. That and with the booth I’ve booked at the county fair, well, I guess I’m just overreaching a little. Tell me a bit about your experience.”

  Willow plunged straight in, skirting around the fact that most of her experience had come from craft and gypsy fairs run back at home. How hard could it be? She was good with people—well, most people, she reminded herself, pushing aside thoughts of Booth Lange—and she’d never shortchanged a customer yet.

  “That sounds great. How about we give you a trial for the next week and take it from there?” Ness suggested.

  Willow could barely contain her relief. “Really? Oh, that would be fabulous, thank you so much. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  Another customer came in and stood at the front counter. There was no doubt, given her posture and the way she was giving Ness “the eye” that she expected service—this minute.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Ness said with a small wave in the woman’s direction. “How about you start tomorrow morning, say nine o’clock? We can go through the paperwork and get you all set then.”

  Paperwork. Willow felt a frisson of unease tickle at the base of her neck. That was going to be harder to skirt around than she’d thought. “Lovely, that’ll be great,” she said with a brightness she was far from feeling.

  “And maybe we can work something out for you with your yarns through my booth at the county fair coming up?”

  “Awesome, I’d really appreciate that. Thank you so much. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Willow made for the front door, only to run straight into just over six feet of broad male as Booth Lange stepped over the threshold. Without thinking she put out a hand to steady herself, her fingertips coming into contact with a washboard stomach covered in warm soft cotton. Beneath her fingers she could feel his muscles contract at her touch. Every nerve in her body went on instant alert and she couldn’t help herself, she sniffed. God, he smelled good. Warm and male with a subtle blend of spice and leather.

  She looked up and met cold gray eyes and took a step back at the banked anger reflected there.

  “Dillon’s waiting for you at the garage,” he said bluntly with the implication that she ought to be there and not gallivanting about clear in every syllable.

  “Oh, he’s worked up the estimate? Great, I’ll head straight over.”

  A broad hand on her arm stopped her in her retreat. His touch sent a ripple of electricity along her skin.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, here? In the store? Well, Ness has just agreed to hire me. Isn’t that great?”

  His arm dropped from hers as if she’d suddenly combusted into dancing flame. “Hire you?” His head turned toward his sister, who was serving the woman at the register. �
��Ness? What the f—!”

  “Young man!” The customer bristled. “I’ll remind you to keep a civil tongue in that mouth. And your sister is serving me right now. Wait your turn if you want to speak to her.”

  Willow couldn’t help it. A tiny giggle escaped her mouth despite the hand she’d clapped over her lips. The sound earned her a fulminating look from the “young man” in question.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Bingley,” he said gruffly and then took Willow by the arm. “We’ll be right out of your way.”

  He all but frog-marched her out of the store. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Willow called out before the door swung closed behind her.

  “Oh no, you won’t,” Booth replied grimly. “My sister doesn’t need the likes of you working for her and likely stealing from her.”

  Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip. People had often poked fun about her because of her lifestyle and the way she dressed and it had been clear that Booth Lange had been quick to form his own opinion of her yesterday. But to accuse her of being a thief? No one had ever quite had the gall to do that before.

  “I believe my agreement is with your sister, not you,” Willow said with all the dignity she could muster before spinning on a heel and marching away from him as quickly as she could. Horrible man, how dare he assume that because she was a little bit boho that she was a whole lot of bad news into the bargain. People like him, they just made her hot under the collar.

  Strong fingers snagged her hand again. Forcing her to stop mid-stride.

  “What now?” she demanded, wheeling around to face him.

  “You’re headed the wrong way.”

  She closed her eyes a moment and uttered a brief curse under her breath. “Thank you,” she said through tight lips.

  She felt his eyes upon her the full distance of the next block and, when she went to cross the street and looked back, he continued to stand there on the sidewalk. A long cool lick of cowboy with his legs braced slightly apart and his arms crossed over that taut belly of his. Not that she cared how taut he was. He was nothing but a pain in the butt with his preconceived notions and his hard-ass attitude. She stepped straight out onto the street and crossed quickly, only feeling the tight coil of tension that bound her in its grip begin to ease as, finally out of his line of vision, she crossed Fourth and zipped through the Catholic church grounds to head toward Dillon’s.

  “Bloody man,” she muttered.

  How dare he get under her skin like that? And how dare he assume anything about her?

  “Bastard!” she spat through gritted teeth, only realizing at the last minute she was striding past the sheriff’s office and a deputy getting out of his car by the sidewalk was giving her a funny look.

  Not about to add getting arrested to her list of experiences for the day, Willow looked both ways and shot across the street to Tanner’s Garage.

  *

  Booth fought the urge to march on down the street and follow Willow. Thing was, what did he plan to do when he caught up? Shake some sense into her and make her leave town, or kiss her senseless? Kiss her senseless? What the devil was he thinking? He no more wanted to kiss the irritating hippie than he wanted a kick in the groin from an angry steer. The sound of a throat clearing from behind him made him turn around. He stifled an inner groan. Carol Bingley was unarguably Marietta’s biggest gossip. She wouldn’t have missed one second of the interaction between him and Willow and he’d just bet that news of it would be around town by lunchtime. He gauged the expression on her face. Probably sooner.

  “Mrs. Bingley,” he said, nodding in acknowledgement.

  She didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. “Who is that gal?”

  “Just a drifter, ma’am,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “She’ll be in and out of town in no time, I’m sure.”

  “Humph, well, she isn’t your usual type, I’ll say that for her.”

  His what? He hastened to correct her. “Oh, she’s not—”

  “Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes, young man. I might not be as young as you are but I can see attraction when it’s right there in front of me. You two strike sparks off each other, sure as the nose on my face.”

  Booth bit his tongue. Hard. The more he argued with her the more ammunition she’d have when she started tattling. He settled for a smile, albeit a grim one.

  “Was there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Bingley?”

  “Nothing at all. I can do fine for myself, thank you.”

  And with that she strutted her portly self down toward the Main Street Diner where he had no doubt she’d be holding court very shortly. Booth shook his head, not quite believing the exchange they’d just shared. He looked back down the street in the direction where Willow had marched when she’d left him. Was she at Dillon’s now? He certainly hoped so. Because the sooner she got there the sooner she could okay the repairs on her van and the sooner she’d be out of here.

  There was just one more thing to take care of. He turned and pushed open the door into his sister’s store.

  “Ness?” he called, when he didn’t see her straight away.

  “Out back,” she replied.

  He went through to the small nook at the rear of the store that doubled as storeroom and kitchenette and gave access to the stairs that led to the small apartment upstairs. Ness was pouring coffee into a mug and handed him his as he came through the curtain.

  “Here, you obviously missed your coffee this morning,” she said with a twinkle in gray eyes that matched his.

  He accepted it without another word. Older than him by three years, his sister knew him inside and out—to his detriment.

  “I suppose you’re here to talk me out of hiring Willow,” she said after taking a sip of the mug of herbal tea she’d brewed for herself.

  “She’s trouble.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know her.”

  “And you do?” he challenged.

  “No, but my instincts tell me she’s okay.”

  He made a noise somewhere between a guffaw and a snort, earning a look of censure from his sister. “I’m just looking out for you, is all.”

  Ness sighed. “I know and I love you for it. But I have to learn to stand on my own two feet without Rob now, especially with Rob Junior making his appearance soon.”

  “You never have to stand on your own if I’m around, Ness. We’re family.”

  “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to direct some of that protective attitude towards someone of your own once in a while.”

  He shook his head. One day, sure, he’d settle down. But only when he had a spread to call his own and a future to offer someone—which was certainly more than his father had done. Besides, working for his uncle was all well and good but he wanted to be his own boss, his own man. Not someone else’s beck-and-call guy.

  “I don’t like you hiring someone you don’t know from Adam. How do you know she’s not going to rip you off?”

  “I’ll just have to take that risk. And, I’ll remind you,” she said, her tone strengthening to warn him she would brook no argument on this one, “it’s my risk to take. This is my store and I’ll run it my way.”

  “Fine, but I don’t like it.”

  “Duly noted. Now, what are you doing in town? I thought Uncle Kyle said you’d be baling this week.”

  “We are.”

  Ness raised one brow at him.

  “I just wanted to check up on her. Make sure she was moving on out of town.”

  “Why do you dislike her so much?”

  He responded with a shrug. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but his reaction to Willow Phillips had been immediate. Every instinct had yelled at him to get away and stay away. And yet he still felt bound to keep checking on her. Even now, he wanted to know what she was up to. That desire to know was driven by self-preservation and preservation of his family only, he assured himself. His instincts had never let him down before and this girl had trouble, with a capital
T, written all over her.

  “Maybe you’re protesting too much. She’s very pretty, isn’t she? Nice figure, too. Perhaps you should think about that,” Ness suggested softly, giving him a pat on the shoulder and moving back into the store.

  Think about that? What was it with the women of this town? First Mrs. Bingley, and now his own sister. He was not attracted to the hippie. He’d sooner jump straight in the Marietta River during spring thaw than admit something as stupid as that.

  Even so, he could still feel the burn of her fingertips where they’d brushed against his belly, could still smell the enticingly sweet musky fragrance that swirled around her like a gentle cloud. His cock hardened as his wayward thoughts imagined what those slender hands would feel like wrapped around its length.

  Booth swore a blue streak under his breath. No way, no how was that ever happening. But, even though he’d rejected the thought vehemently, it settled like a stubborn burr under his skin.

  Four

  Willow woke to the steadily building sound of traffic on the road outside the yard and sat up with a sick feeling in her gut. Dillon had mentioned yesterday that he was closing early and she’d had to sneak into Daisy and hide before he locked the gates and took off for the day. As a result, she hadn’t had dinner, again, and her stomach wasn’t at all happy about it. Adding to her trouble, it now looked as if—after a night being serenaded by the drunken comings and goings at the Wolf Den—she’d gone and slept in. She rubbed at bleary eyes and reached for her cell phone to check the time before she suddenly remembered it was broken beyond repair.

  Another thing she couldn’t afford to replace. She sighed. Maybe she’d be able to find a cheap watch somewhere—hopefully something with an alarm. Although she didn’t know what she was going to do for sleeping arrangements once the ridiculously expensive parts Dillon had ordered to fix Daisy arrived, and the VW was put inside his workshop.