Hard Loving Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  His hands traveled south, and he waited for her to object, but she only kissed him harder. So he squeezed her round, firm ass as their tongues and mouths and lips spoke a language they both understood.

  Need.

  Sure, the tenets of his therapy strongly recommended no dating within the first six months of his sobriety, but this could hardly be interpreted as dating. He didn’t even know this woman’s name, only that he’d been in the desert for eight long weeks, and she was either an oasis or the best damned mirage he’d ever seen.

  And working at the vineyard wasn’t an issue—yet. He’d cross that precarious bridge in the fall when the vineyard officially opened. Right now his brothers were happy to let him do all the necessary busy work. After all, all work and no play meant no falling through tavern windows, right?

  “Bien!” Walker heard the other man call, but he wasn’t about to cut short whatever was happening to acknowledge him. “Vous gagnez. You win. You want me out of your life? Au revoir. Perhaps your new man would like to take you home.”

  His words were heavily accented and dripping with disdain.

  She didn’t respond, but kept up with the charade as Walker heard the car door slam, the engine rev to life, and then finally, the frantic sound of tires spinning too fast to gain purchase before finally squealing onto the main road and eventually, out of earshot.

  “You gonna tell me what the hell that was all about?” he said against her lips. “Wouldn’t mind your name, either.”

  She lowered herself onto the spikes of her heels, the shoes apparently not enough to reach Walker’s six-foot-four-inch frame. Her pink lips were swollen and the copper skin of her chin was rubbed pink from his beard. She absently brushed her fingers over it as her eyes searched far down the now empty road.

  “How about I start?” he said when she made no move to answer him. “Walker Everett. You seem to be stranded at my ranch.”

  She cleared her throat, her eyes—brown with flecks of gold—finally focusing on his.

  “I thought this was a vineyard.”

  Walker grunted. “Depends on if those grapes out there make anything worth drinking, but I’ll let my brother and his fiancée worry about that. I’m more interested in that mighty friendly greeting of yours. Not that I’m complaining.”

  She smoothed her fitted black skirt and refastened the button of her crisp, white shirt that had undoubtedly popped open when she was making his acquaintance. Not before he snuck a glance at the lavender lace that peeked out from beneath.

  “I’m here for the interview,” she finally said. “Though I realize now I’ve most likely already lost the job. Damn it, Ramon.”

  “He your boyfriend?” Walker asked.

  The woman crossed and uncrossed her arms, then started looking around desperately.

  “My bag!” she yelled. “He left me without my bag?”

  Walker squinted, then strode past her to the empty parking area where he retrieved a tan leather tote. Her expression brightened when she saw it, but when she reached for the bag, he retreated with it still in hand.

  “First your name,” he said.

  She blew out a breath. “Violet. Violet Chastain. I have an interview with Jack Everett for the sommelier position, and that was my boyfriend until a picture of him with his wife and daughter fell out of the passenger-side visor and right into my freaking lap. That kiss—I mean, what I did when I got out of the car? I guess that was my pride going into fight or flight, though I’m not sure which category my behavior falls under other than entirely unprofessional.” She reached again for her bag, and this time Walker gave it to her. She pulled out her phone. “I’m going to call an Uber, and you can forget I was ever here.”

  As she strode to where the parking area met road, Walker’s own phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a text from Jack.

  Running late. Supposed to interview wine expert. Fill in for me? Her references are great. She’s been in the restaurant industry a long time. Just make sure she knows how to talk about and sell wine. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Walker laughed. Of the three Everett brothers, he was sure he knew the least about wine, winemaking, and what you needed to know to sell it. She could say whatever she wanted, and he’d have no choice but to believe her.

  He dropped the phone back into his pocket, then retrieved his shirt from the ground. He beat as much dust off of it as he could before pulling it back over his head. Then he made his way to where Violet stood on the side of an empty road, furiously tapping the screen of her phone.

  “How’s that Uber working out for you?” he asked.

  She groaned. “It’s not. The closest driver is thirty miles away.”

  He chuckled. “Not sure where you’re from, gorgeous, but you’re in Smalltown, USA now. This little part of San Luis Obispo County almost doesn’t exist on the map. Closest you’ll get to an Uber is an Everett pickup truck or a horse. Can I interest you in either of those? Also been instructed to fill in for my brother Jack, so if you still want that interview…”

  Her head shot up, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re kidding, right? After what I just pulled?”

  He raised a brow. “Do you hear me complaining?”

  “No but…I mean, you’re not…Wait, now that I think of it, you did kiss me back, didn’t you?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I sure did.”

  “Thank you, by the way, for putting your shirt back on. Not that I didn’t like what I saw—or felt—and ohmygod I should not even be commenting on your bare torso, but the whole being clothed thing is making it slightly easier to look you in the eye.”

  He looked down at his attire, then let his gaze travel up from her sleek three-inch heels all the way to her starched collar.

  “I’m not exactly dressed for an interview,” he said. “But Jack doesn’t want to have to reschedule. So if you’re still looking for a job…”

  “I am,” she assured him. “I most definitely am.”

  “Then I guess we’d better head into my office,” he said, backing toward the winery’s entrance. He held the door open, and she followed him inside. “Why don’t you get a lay of the land while I head in back to wash up. Then we can talk about your qualifications as a…” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened back up to Jack’s text. “…sommelier,” he said.

  “Yay,” she said wincing.

  “Glad you’re excited.”

  She shook her head. “You said suh-mel-yer. But it’s actually suh-mel-yay.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “That French or something?”

  She nodded.

  “Does it mean someone who knows about serving wine?”

  She nodded again.

  “Then I’m gonna go wash up. When I get back, we’ll talk about your qualifications as a person who knows about serving wine.”

  He left her standing in the entryway as he headed toward the office on the other side of the building.

  “Suh-mel-yay,” he said under his breath. This woman with her fancy words and shoes and lips that were far too soft was in a league all her own. Good thing he was in the penalty box until further notice.

  Chapter Two

  Violet watched him walk away. Stared at him was more like it. How could she not when he sauntered with all his gritty swagger? But as the backroom door snicked shut behind him, reality flooded back to greet her.

  Her boyfriend—and former boss—was married. And a father. And he’d made a fool of her before leaving her stranded ninety minutes from home. Not the auspicious start to her interview that she’d hoped for, so naturally she’d made things even better by kissing her potential employer.

  After a month of dating Ramon, she expected to be hit with a wave of heartache, but all she felt was white-hot indignation.

  The score was most definitely Life with fifty bajillion and Violet at zero. How much worse could it get?

  Her phone chirped, which meant a text from her mom.

&n
bsp; Can you pick up the cake on your way here? Papa’s got too much on his list already.

  Sure, she texted back without thinking. She supposed she could find a car rental place somewhere in the vicinity. Or a bus. It wasn’t like Oak Bluff was that far off the beaten path. She’d found it, hadn’t she?

  Violet gave herself a tour while she waited. The round bar was beautiful. She loved how it was the focal point of the space, right in the center of the room. The earthy tones of the travertine floor along with the warm wood panels on the walls made her feel like she was wrapped in a snuggly blanket.

  Her fingers trailed the beveled edge of the bar trim.

  “You like that, huh?” Walker’s deep voice came from behind, the sound of it transforming her skin to gooseflesh.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, not yet ready to turn around. “Expert craftsmanship.”

  “Appreciate the compliment,” he said.

  Her curiosity got the better of her, and she spun to face him. “You did this?” she asked, tapping the edge of the bar.

  “Yep. Not the whole structure, but that edge? All me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and she realized he was wearing a fresh white T-shirt. His blond hair was damp, too.

  “Did you—is there a shower back there or something?” Then her hand flew over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s so not a question to ask a possible future employer, whether or not he showered.” She rolled her eyes at herself. This day was growing more awkward by the minute.

  He grinned. “Is that your way of telling me you noticed I cleaned up? No shower. Just a sink, a bar of soap, and a clean shirt. So, tell me about being a wine expert person and why we should hire you.”

  She set her bag on the bar and pulled out a leather folder that held copies of her résumé, then slid one in front of Walker.

  “I’ve been in the restaurant business since birth, pretty much. My dad owns this French fusion place in Santa Barbara. I may not have formal training in the hospitality industry, but I know more than any four-year degree could teach me. I’ve lived in that restaurant for as long as I can remember, and I learned everything I need to know about food and wine from him and his staff.” She cleared her throat. “And maybe a bit from Ramon.”

  Walker scanned the document, eyebrows raising when he got to the bottom.

  “This lists a Ramon Martin as a reference. Is he your—”

  “Boss? Yes. I mean, he was. I recently quit.”

  “How recently?” he asked.

  She forced a smile. “About twenty minutes ago, right before I kissed you. I did it in French. The quitting, I mean. Not the—” Oh God. What the hell had she been thinking?

  The ghost of a smile teased at his lips. He scratched absently at his short beard, the one that had rubbed her chin raw.

  “Look,” she said. “I have never gotten involved with an employer before Ramon. I assure you it isn’t a habit, and I have no intention of doing it again. He just caught me off guard with being married and all. I had to save face, you know?”

  He was still reading the résumé.

  “You list a former employer as Gabriel Chastain. Any relation?”

  Her throat tightened. “That’s my father. He had to make some recent payroll cutbacks. I didn’t want him to have to fire a longtime employee, so I got another job at Ramon’s.”

  “The job you just quit.”

  “Correct.”

  Walker looked up. “So you were going to work this job and your job with the French guy? I don’t follow.”

  “Look,” she said, fighting to keep her emotions in check. Ramon had already humiliated her in front of him, and then—in case she hadn’t already sealed her coffin—she’d gone and kissed him. Now she had to beg him for a job. Oh, how low she’d sunk in a matter of minutes. “I need a paycheck. I was hoping to have two. Now I have none. Your brother said the winery’s grand opening wasn’t until early fall, that there was a wedding to plan, and whoever got hired would help prep for both and get paid, and…I know wine. I can tell you what the bouquet of a cabernet is like compared to a merlot. Want to know the perfect port to pair with a crème brûlée? I’m your girl. And don’t even get me started on rosés. I could talk for days.”

  “Please don’t,” Walker said.

  Violet laughed. “I’ve helped plan all sorts of events at my father’s restaurant. I revamp his wine menu each season to account for new vintages, and I’ve hosted countless tastings to teach patrons the difference between a Syrah and merlot, or an oaked versus unoaked chardonnay. I will sell the hell out of your inventory when you open.” She paused for a breath. “I’m doing everything short of begging here, which probably doesn’t bode well as far as negotiating pay…”

  Walker scratched the back of his neck. “Jack has the final say,” he started. “But if I tell him the interview went well, I can almost guarantee you’re hired. What happened outside, though, that can’t happen again.”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. Trust me. I have learned my lesson. No way in hell I’m getting involved with another employer.”

  “Then I guess it’s settled.” Walker held out his hand, and she shook it. “Welcome to Crossroads Vineyard, Ms. Chastain.”

  She beamed. A paycheck was a paycheck. She liked wine and sure as hell knew enough about it. It came with the territory of growing up in a restaurant. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her passion, only that it got her one step closer to helping her parents fund an experimental medical procedure that might make life easier for her entire family.

  “Thank you,” she said with as much professionalism as she could muster after having kissed her new employer until she was breathless. “Jack can contact me later with my hours. I suddenly have no conflicts. Now, if you could point me in the direction of a taxi service or maybe a car rental place?”

  Walker laughed. “Closest one is at the airport, and I don’t go near that place.”

  “What’s your problem with airports?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Crowds. Bumper-to-bumper traffic with people who can’t seem to drive for shit. Everyone in such a damn hurry to get somewhere else.”

  Violet laughed. “I’m guessing you don’t travel much.”

  “Why leave when I have everything I want right here?” He held out his arms to gesture at the impressive space and likely the ranch beyond the vineyard grounds she knew the Everetts owned as well.

  Yet there was a bitterness to his tone she couldn’t reconcile, as if all he wanted was to get the hell out. For a guy probably not much older than her twenty-five years, he and his family seemed to have it all.

  “Okay, well, don’t car rental places pick you up if needed? I’ll call Enterprise or Hertz or—”

  “I’ll give you a lift,” he said, pulling keys out of his pocket. “A rental will cost you more than a tank of gas even if it’s only for the day. Where you headed?”

  She winced. “Santa Barbara?” The answer came out like a question.

  His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, taut biceps flexing as he did. “You mean to tell me you just accepted a job more than an hour from where you live?”

  Violet chewed on her bottom lip. “Ninety-four minutes,” she corrected. “In good traffic.”

  “No such thing,” he said. “It’s either open road or too many damned people.”

  “Wow. You really don’t like being around other people, do you?”

  He spun his key ring around his index finger, then caught the keys in his hand with a quick and stifled jingle. “Truck’s out back. Got nothing else to do today, so I might as well drive you home.”

  How did she refuse such a welcoming offer? She was actually about to, but Walker pushed off the bar and began striding toward a door kitty-corner from the office. He pushed through it, and the sun shone through from the outside.

  “Wait!” she called after him, then tossed her folder back into her bag. She burst through the door behind him and stopped short before tumbling over a circular saw and
a stack of two-by-fours. He was standing just beyond the outdoor workshop with the saw that had almost cut her in half, leaning against the passenger side of a beat-up white pickup. As she approached—with more caution this time—she noticed the bed was filled with scraps of wood in all different shades from chestnut to what looked like a pale birch. There was also a rocking chair in need of some finishing touches, like sanding and staining, secured with bungee cords. It was rough around the edges, but she could see past it, to what it would be, and it was beautiful.

  “I thought you were a winemaker,” she said. “And a rancher.”

  “I’m a rancher by birth. Winemaker by inheritance.” He knocked an elbow against the truck. “This I do for me.” He opened the passenger door. “Your Uber, Ms. Chastain.”

  Violet felt the heat rush to her cheeks before she could will it away. She was not going to let his small-town cowboy charm get to her, though. This was her only job now, one she needed to keep.

  “Thanks,” she said, climbing into the seat. Note to self: Next time riding in a truck, leave the three-inch heels at home. But no one else she knew had a truck, so it was probably safe to assume this would be her one and only time. Besides, she loved her bargain-buy ombré pumps. They went with everything.

  A few seconds later, Walker was in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut and caught Violet brushing sawdust off her skirt.

  “Wasn’t expecting any guests today,” he said.

  “Or else you’d have tidied the truck up?” she asked.

  “Nope.” He handed her his phone, which he’d opened to a GPS app. “Punch in your address, and we’ll get on the road.”

  She entered the address to the bakery where she needed to pick up her parents’ anniversary cake. It was only half a mile from their house, so if Walker balked, he could leave her at the bakery and she’d walk from there. In her heels. Carrying a cake. It wasn’t the best plan, but she felt like asking him for any more when they’d barely pulled away from the winery was not in anyone’s best interest. She’d wait and see how the next ninety-four minutes went.