Taming a Texas Tease (Bad Boy Ranch Book 7)

by Katie Lane

  “Because we’ve been too busy with the store to seriously look.”

  “You’ve dated plenty.” More than he cared to think about.

  “But not seriously. And you need to stop tomcatting around with all the single—and married—women.”

  “I have never gone after a married woman.”

  “Delia Stevens.”

  He cringed. “Okay, but in my defense, she told me she was divorced. I didn’t know it wasn’t final until Wylie showed up at the hardware store looking for me. Thanks again for pointing at me ducked behind the counter.”

  She shrugged. “Do the crime and you need to pay the fine. And you talked him out of punching you anyway. You can talk anyone out of anything so it should be easy to talk some unsuspecting woman into marrying you. Of course, we don’t have to actually get married in three months to get the store. We just need to be in a serious relationship.”

  “And how will the other person know it’s serious and not fake?” he asked.

  “An engagement ring. I have to be offered one and you have to offer one. Even you wouldn’t be so low as to offer a woman a ring if you didn’t love her. And I certainly wouldn’t accept one if I wasn’t in love.” Her blue eyes turned sad. “Our parents are right, Boone. It’s time we both grew up. If you’re not ready to, then leave me the store and go. Please.”

  He should leave her. He knew it was for the best. But damn if he could do it.

  He got up and picked up his cowboy hat. “Fine.”

  Her eyes widened. “Fine, you’ll let me buy the store?”

  “Not a chance. But I’ll take your challenge. The first one to get engaged wins the store.”

  “And the other one has to leave Simple for good,” she added.

  The addendum to the bet almost had him backing out, but then he realized that he wouldn’t want to stay in Simple if Emma won anyway.

  “Okay.” He pulled on his hat and turned to leave, but she placed a hand on his arm. It was the first time she’d touched him, except for arm punches, in years. Her fingers felt like hot brands against the skin of his forearm.

  “One more thing, Boone,” she said. “We can’t fight anymore. My mom is right. No one wants to get in the middle of our feud. Which means we have to act like we’ve mended our fences.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Mend our fences? I think most folks in Simple know our fence is shot to smithereens.”

  “Then we’ll have to convince them otherwise. We’ll have to convince them that we’re friends.”

  “And you can do that?”

  She hesitated for a long moment before she nodded. “For the hardware store, I can do anything.”

  He didn’t know why the comment made him so pissed off. Probably because it was the truth. Emma would do anything for her beloved hardware store. Even act like she liked him.

  He held out his hand. “Then may the best man win.”

  She sent him a sardonic look as she shook his hand. “Don’t you mean the best woman?”

  Chapter Three

  Once Emma had a plan, she jumped right into it. Bright and early the next morning, she ignored her slight hangover and started making a list of potential single men around her age.

  It was a short list.

  In fact, there were only two names on it. Jeff Harding, who worked on his daddy’s cotton farm. And Marty Rucker, who worked at his family’s barbershop. Both men had gone to high school with Emma and Boone. Marty had been a drummer in the school band and had the annoying habit of drumming his desktop with his pencils. And Jeff had been in the 4H club and always smelled a little like animal manure. But they were both nice, and she was willing to give them a chance to claim her heart.

  She was going to win the store. Not just for herself, but also for her father.

  Boone was right. She was a daddy’s girl. It was hard not to be when you had such a perfect father. While her mother had high expectations and judged her on everything she did, her father had no expectations and loved her for who she was. When she screwed up her ballet dance recital and went the opposite direction of all the other ballerinas, he’d given her a big hug and told her that dance should always be freestyle. When she’d struck out and lost the state softball game, he’d taken her for ice cream and talked about all the hits she had made during the season. He’d been her rock all her life and the shoulder she’d cried on when that life had felt like it was falling apart. He had given her everything and, in return, had asked for nothing. But she knew how much he loved the store. How much he wanted to leave some legacy behind.

  He hadn’t been the one who came up with the idea to sell the store out from under her. Dean Murphy had no doubt convinced him to do it. Dean was just as persuasive as Boone and had always railroaded her father. Well, he wasn’t going to railroad her. And neither was his son.

  She sat up in bed and grabbed her cellphone off the nightstand, then dialed the Simple Barbershop. She figured Marty was the most logical husband choice. They both worked at their family business and had lived in Simple all their lives. When the automatic voice message came on, she realized it was too early for the barbershop to be open. The beep had her scrambling for something to say.

  “Oh! Hi . . . umm . . . this is Emma Johansen. And I was just calling to see if maybe Marty would want to . . . ” What was she doing? You didn’t ask people on a date on a message machine. Especially at their place of employment. “Uhh . . . if you could just have Marty call me and—” The message cut off with a beep.

  She sighed. “You’re getting off to a great start, Emma.”

  A loud, mournful howling pulled her out of her thoughts and had her gritting her teeth. She jumped out of bed and hurried across the room. She pushed up the blinds with a snap and then struggled to open the stuck window—just something else on her long list of things that needed to be fixed in the old Victorian house. Once the window was halfway open, she leaned out and glared at the overweight Bassett hound that sat amid her flowerbed, baying mournfully. Instead of yelling at the dog, she yelled at his owner, who stood on the back porch of the house behind her, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

  “Do you mind? People are trying to sleep.” It was exactly what she always yelled, and she expected Boone to reply like he always did—with an arrogant smile and “Dogs will be dogs.” But this morning, he surprised her by calling to his undisciplined animal.

  “Come on, Romeo. Do your business and quit annoying the neighbors.”

  She watched in stunned silence as Romeo lifted his leg and peed on her azaleas before trotting his chubby body back to his owner. Boone crouched and gave the dog a good ear scratching before they both headed inside the house—leaving Emma standing at the window feeling more than a little shell-shocked. Had Boone taken their conversation last night to heart? Or was this all just a trick to lure her into thinking he was going to be nice when actually he was planning something devious?

  Like his devious plan of moving into a house right behind her.

  The first morning Romeo had woken her up with his howling and she peeked out the window to see Boone standing on the back porch of Elsa Wrigley’s rental house, Emma had thought she was seeing things. When she realized she wasn’t, she’d wanted to put Boone six feet under with Mrs. Wrigley’s husband. Emma viewed her cute little Victorian house on Maple Street as her sanctuary. The one place she could get away from her nemesis. And Boone had even ruined that by renting the house directly behind her.

  She’d had to put up with his howling dog that used her yard and flowers like his own personal outhouse. She’d had to put up with his loud bluegrass music blaring at all hours of the day and night. And she’d had to put up with his inappropriate state of dress. It was like the man didn’t realize all his neighbors could see him strutting around his backyard in his underwear.

  Although she was the only neighbor who minded. Raynelle Coffman loved to talk about how well Boone filled out a pair of Fruit of the Looms at the Simple Book Club meetings. He
r friends laughed and joked about how hot Boone was while she sat there seething with anger at being stuck with such an uncouth jerk for a neighbor.

  Of course, Emma could’ve moved. But she refused to move when she’d been there first. And when she was renovating her house exactly the way she wanted it. Or attempting to renovate it. She wasn’t having much luck in that area. Probably because Boone was right. She didn’t know one end of a screwdriver from the other. She had at least twenty incomplete projects. The only thing she’d finished was painting the exterior of the house. Even that had turned into a fiasco. When she’d accidentally ordered the wrong paint for a customer, rather than admit her mistake to Boone, she’d claimed the paint as her own. Now she had a Pepto-Bismol pink house that was the talk of the town.

  No wonder her parents wanted to move. Her feud with Boone really had gotten out of hand. But if this morning was any indication, maybe it was fixable. Maybe she and Boone could live in the same town and not kill each other.

  She shook the absurd notion from her head.

  There was no way she could live happily ever after with Boone living in the same town. If she wanted to be happy and move on, she needed him gone from her life completely. This was her only chance. If she could win their bet, the store would be all hers and Boone would be gone.

  Then, and only then, would she be completely free of him.

  She glanced once more at the house behind her before she closed the window and headed to the bathroom to get ready for work. She usually took a quick, efficient shower. But this morning she stayed in a little longer than normal and let the shower steam get rid of the headache she had from her dirty margaritas. After toweling off, she took her time choosing an outfit to wear and spent a few extra minutes on her hair and makeup.

  On the way out the door, she noticed the petunias in the flowerpots on her front porch needed water. As she bent to turn on the hose, she realized what she was doing. She was stalling because she was scared. Scared of changing her and Boone’s relationship. Hating Boone was comfortable. Liking him was not. At least, it hadn’t been comfortable for the last eleven years.

  Of course, it was all a pretense. Underneath the niceness, he would still hate her and she would still hate him.

  She reminded herself of this on the short drive to the hardware store. But when she saw his Dodge truck parked in back, her nerves didn’t listen. Her hands shook as she turned off the Civic’s engine and climbed out. She walked into the back room to find Boone unboxing a new shipment of nails. She started to get on him about checking off the order form to make sure the shipment was complete, but then stopped herself.

  He had made the effort. She could too.

  She pinned on a smile. “Good morning.”

  He started and dropped a bag of nails to the floor. He stared at her for a few seconds before he picked up the bag and replied, “Good morning.”

  She hung her purse on one of the hooks by the door, then started to remove her blue jean jacket. It was the short, tapered kind that wasn’t easy to get off. A warm brush of fingers at the nape of her neck had her releasing a startled huff of breath. She whirled to see Boone standing there.

  He held up his hands. “I was just going to help you with your jacket.”

  “Oh. Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

  They stood there looking at each other as the awkwardness grew. He wore his usual western shirt and jeans. But usually his shirt looked like he’d picked it out of a rumpled pile. Today, it was ironed and the stripe of green in the plaid brought out the splashes of jade in his irises.

  “So I guess we’re really going to do this,” he said.

  She didn’t know if he was referring to being nice or the bet. Either way, the answer was the same. “If not for us, then for our parents.”

  He gave a brief nod and turned back to the nail shipment while she headed into the store to unlock the front door.

  Emma’s days usually went by quickly. When she wasn’t busy stocking shelves, doing bookkeeping, or helping customers, she was busying mentally formulating comments or replies that would totally tick Boone off. She hadn’t realized how much time their verbal sparring had occupied until it stopped. The morning dripped by like a leaky faucet as they worked in awkward silence. When the bell on the front door jangled, she jumped up from the bookkeeping desk in the back and raced to greet the customer.

  Unfortunately, Boone headed for the doorway at the same time. Old habits were hard to break. Neither one let the other go first. With shoulder bumps and elbow jabs, they each tried to get through the doorway to the waiting customer. They stumbled out into the store at the same time, but Emma tripped over one of Boone’s big cowboy boots and went sprawling to the floor.

  “You clumsy oaf!” she yelled as she sat up and glared at him.

  A big, goofy grin split his face. “I knew you couldn’t pull it off. I knew you couldn’t be nice for long.”

  “Me? You were the one who body blocked me when I was trying to get through the doorway. A gentleman would’ve allowed me to go first. You have the manners of a goat.”

  His grin got even bigger as he held out a hand. “Better than the disposition of an angry badger.”

  She ignored his hand and got to her feet. “It’s easy to be angry when you work with an annoying jerk like you. I’ll be so glad when you’re gone, Boone Murphy.”

  “Mr. Murphy is leaving?”

  At the question, they both turned to the teenage girl standing at the counter. Cheyenne Daily was Cal Daily’s daughter. Emma had said “hi” in passing, but didn’t really know the teenager well. Boone seemed to. Although Boone knew everyone well.

  “Hey, Cheyenne,” Boone said. “I’m not going anywhere. Emma was just joking around. What can we do for you?”

  The teenager fidgeted nervously. She was at that awkward age Emma remembered all too well. Like Cheyenne, she’d been skinny with acne and had used too much eyeliner when she’d first started wearing makeup. Although her clothing had been a little more fashionable. The dress Cheyenne wore looked like it had come from a grandma’s closet. And maybe it had. Cheyenne’s grandmother had passed away a year earlier and everyone knew the Dailys were strapped for cash. The Simple Book Club had come up with all kinds of ways to help Cal and his daughter, but Cal had refused them all. So the only thing Emma could do for the family was to pretend like her car was broken and take it to Cal to get fixed. Which hadn’t worked. Cal had taken one look at the new car and known it was still under factory warranty. He’d called the dealership in Abilene and set her up with an appointment. An appointment she’d had to cancel as soon as she got home.

  But here was a way she could help the Dailys. Whatever Cheyenne needed, she was going to get at a major markdown.

  “It’s your lucky day, Cheyenne,” she said. “Today we’re having a seventy-five percent off sale on everything in the store.”

  Boone shot her a look of disbelief and she thought he was going to blow her cover. But then he nodded. “She’s right. It’s the Early Memorial Day Sale. So what can we get you?”

  Cheyenne swallowed hard. “Actually, I was wondering if you needed some help this summer.” She hurried on as if she’d rehearsed the speech a million times. “I’ll do anything—mop the floors or wash the windows—or scrub the toilets. I’m a real fast learner and a hard worker.”

  Emma smiled. “I’m sure you are. But aren’t you a little young for a job?”

  “I’m fourteen, but I’ll be fifteen soon.” Cheyenne’s cheeks flushed. “Or at least in five months. And I really need a job.” She swallowed. “I want to help my dad save up to buy his own garage. He tried to get a loan to buy the gas station, but the bank wouldn’t give it to him because my mom screwed up his credit and now he has to work twice as hard.” Tears filled her eyes. “And it’s just not fair that my mom can continue to ruin our lives. It’s just not fair!” She burst into tears.

  “Holy shit,” Boone said.

  Emma swatted him on the arm as she hurried a
round the corner and pulled Cheyenne into her arms. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She glanced at Boone, who was standing there looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. She knew how much girl tears freaked him out and took pity on him. “Why don’t you go in the back and get Cheyenne a soda from the fridge.”

  He didn’t have to be told twice. He disappeared into the back room. When he was gone, Emma rubbed Cheyenne’s back and spoke softly. “You’re right. Life isn’t fair. One second everything seems to be going perfectly, and then next second, your entire life is in the garbage can.”

  “I hate my m-m-mom,” Cheyenne sobbed.

  “No, you don’t. You’re just hurt. And sometimes it’s easier to hate than it is to confess that hurt.” Emma knew all about that.

  Cheyenne drew back and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a nasally voice. “You must think I’m the biggest crybaby ever.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’ve cried my share of tears.”

  “But probably not in front of people.”

  “Actually, I cried at my high school prom.”

  Cheyenne’s teary eyes widened. “In front of everyone?”

  “Just my date.”

  “That must’ve been totally embarrassing.”

  Emma shrugged. “I got over it.” It was a lie. She still wasn’t over it.

  Cheyenne sniffed and nodded. “Thanks for making me feel better. And I don’t need a soda. I better get going.” She turned for the door, but Emma stopped her.

  “I thought you wanted a job.”

  Cheyenne turned around. “I do, but I thought I was too young.”

  Boone walked back in with a can of soda. He popped the tab before he handed it to Cheyenne. “Emma and I have worked in this store since we were eight. I figure fourteen is plenty old enough. But there is the issue of you shoplifting at the pharmacy to deal with. If we hire you, are you going to rob us blind?”