Hard Loving Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  She squeezed her daughter’s hand and smiled at him. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me and Papa, yes?” she asked with a mild French accent. He might not have known it was there if Violet hadn’t mentioned it. “Quelle surprise for our anniversary to see you happily matched as well.”

  “What?” Violet asked. “No, Maman, this is—”

  But the older woman broke away from her daughter and, despite the cane, strode toward Walker with a measured grace.

  She stood before him, rested her cane against one of the dining room chairs, and cupped his cheeks in her palms. “Merci,” she said. “Thank you for putting a smile on Vee’s face. It’s been a long time since she’s found a reason to do it on a regular basis.” She tilted his head down and kissed both his cheeks. “I’m Camille.” She lowered her hands.

  “Walker Everett,” he said. “And you’re welcome. I quite enjoy putting a smile on Vee’s face, so it’s really no trouble at all.”

  Hell. He was going to hell for lying to this woman—or at least not being the one to break first. But after the few seconds that he’d known Camille Chastain, he didn’t want to disappoint her. Her daughter seemed to have a similar effect on him.

  “I want to hear everything—how you met, how long this has been going on—but I have to finish getting this place set up for the party.” She reached for her cane and glanced at the cake box on the table. “I see your papa went overboard on the cake. If I was feeling up to making one myself, it would have been much more sensible.” She shook her head. “I’ll wait for him to finish up down at the restaurant to open it together. Walker, would you take it into the kitchen for me? I can pour you and Violet a pastis?”

  Now he understood why Camille nicknamed her daughter Vee. When she said Violet’s name, she pronounced it Vee-oh-let.

  He didn’t know what a pastis was, but the fact it was something she could pour was information enough.

  “Nothing for me, thank you,” he said.

  “But you are staying for the party?” Camille added.

  Walker cleared his throat. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Then he grabbed the cake and headed for the kitchen. He heard Violet’s heels on the wood floor close behind him.

  He stopped at the first open space and set the box down in time for Violet to plow straight into him. He braced his hands on the counter to keep from face-planting into the cake.

  “What are you doing?” she whisper-shouted.

  Walker exhaled slowly. This woman was trouble, and he should run far and fast—until he saw her at the winery on her first day of work. He guessed there was no real escape.

  He spun to face her. “I have no damned clue. She seemed so happy. I didn’t want to be the one to disappoint her.”

  She gave him a nervous smile. “I know. It’s like she casts some sort of spell, and all you want to do is make her smile. I’ve been dealing with it my whole life.” She blew out a breath. “I tried to correct her, but then you went along with it and I froze. Look, you’ve done enough already. Why don’t you sneak out while you can, and as soon as you’re gone I’ll tell her the truth—that you’re my employer and nothing else and that she made an incorrect assumption?”

  He ran a hand through his overgrown hair. He needed a cut. And a shave. But then he’d look like the guy who fell through a tavern window, and he was afraid if he looked like that guy, then he’d still be him. Who was he kidding? That scared the shit out of him no matter who stared back at him from a mirror. The boy who wanted to save his mother died along with her. The man he’d become was a stranger. But he still remembered what it was like to want to make her smile—to ease her pain if only for a few minutes or an hour. Whatever he could do. He wasn’t sure what Camille’s situation was—what the cane meant—but Violet had that chance right here and now.

  “Or maybe I eat some dinner.” He shrugged. “Who am I to say no to a free meal?”

  Looked like Camille Chastain wasn’t the only one he couldn’t say no to.

  Violet’s eyes softened. “Walker, I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t ask. It’s only dinner, right? A man’s gotta eat. Whatever you tell her after I leave is up to you. What are the odds of me seeing your parents again? I mean, you will be providing your own transportation to and from Oak Bluff from here on out, right?”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Yes. I have my own car. Today was a onetime thing, promise.”

  “Then if it will help—you and me pretending for a couple hours—tonight can be a onetime thing, too.” Because for the first time in too long, he wasn’t itching to get home to an empty apartment and to shut the world away. He wasn’t itching to say good-bye to Violet Chastain.

  Walker knew it wasn’t his place to ask, but if he was going to do this, he needed as much information as he could get. “Is she—sick?”

  Violet’s brown eyes glossed over, and she nodded. “She has MS. Multiple sclerosis. And it’s hit her pretty hard in the past few years. The last thing I need is to be the one to put extra stress on her.” She blew out a shaky breath. “Say no, Walker. This is a crazy, terrible idea, so please say no and force me to be straight with her.”

  He thought about the kiss, about the ninety-four minutes in the car with her that he actually didn’t hate, and there was traffic. He thought about the woman who welcomed him into her home like he was already part of the family—and about the bottles on the buffet.

  This absolutely was a crazy, terrible idea.

  “You work for my family now,” he said, stating the obvious. “As much as I enjoyed meeting like we did this morning…”

  “Of course,” she said. “No kissing. Strictly business. Trust me, once this party gets going, my parents won’t be paying any attention to us. All you have to do is hang out, eat some amazing food, and maybe make a little small talk with my family’s friends.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t do small talk.”

  She waved him off. “Don’t worry. I’ll be your wing woman. Most of them will do all the talking anyway. And tomorrow, when they’re still basking in the glow of their thirty years together, I’ll tell my parents that we had a fight and broke up, and that will be that.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You gonna make me the asshole in this fight?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Not a chance, not after all you’ve done for me. The only asshole in this scenario will be me.” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, a smile spreading from ear to ear. “Thank you, Walker. You have no idea what this means.” She hugged him then, but quickly pulled away. “Sorry. Instinct. I’m a hugger. I promise that will be it as far as physical contact. Despite my impulsive actions this morning, I can behave.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but he fought back a grin. Because if she was anyone else at any other time in his life—sometime maybe in the not too distant future—he wouldn’t want her to behave. Something in that kiss felt almost too right for it to be wrong.

  “I just need to make a quick call,” he said. “Is there somewhere I can get a little privacy?”

  She nodded. “The balcony. Follow me.”

  Once he was outside and the door shut behind him, Walker pulled out his phone and dialed his brother Jack. He mentally prepared himself for the third degree from his oldest brother but figured it was better than the hell he’d get if he disappeared for the day without any notice. It wasn’t like he had to clear his impromptu drive down the coast with anyone, but if his brother found his makeshift workshop abandoned, he’d think the worst.

  “Where are you?” Jack said after one ring. “Tell me it’s not at a bar or behind any.”

  Looked like his brother thought the worst of him no matter what, not that he blamed him.

  Walker ground his teeth and took a steadying breath. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, big bro. I’m in Santa Barbara. No bars of any sort involved.”

  His brother sighed. “Okay, so what the hell is in Santa
Barbara?”

  “Long story,” Walker said, “but that woman you’re hiring for the know-it-all job at the winery? She lives here, and she needed a ride home. I’m gonna hang out in town a bit before heading back. Thought I’d let you know.”

  It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it also wasn’t a lie.

  “So the interview went well?” Jack asked.

  Walker let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. She knows her shit. And she can start as soon as we need her. I can tell her what day is best if you want.”

  Jack was silent for a few seconds. “Are you with her now?”

  “Yeah. I just dropped her off.” Every bit of information he withheld made Walker realize he was skating on pretty thin ice. His inpatient recovery included group therapy sessions with the other addicts where all that was required of him was to tell the truth. Be honest—to himself and those around him. He knew the importance of maintaining that on his own, but it hadn’t been his strong suit when he was drinking, and it still didn’t come naturally now.

  “Ava’s free Wednesday morning. How about you tell her to come in then. Ava can show her around the place, let her know what she can help out with in the months before the grand opening. We can also take care of her paperwork and make it official.”

  “Will do,” Walker said. “I’ll be back by the ranch in the morning.”

  “Walker…Please don’t do anything stupid.”

  There was nothing but concern in Jack’s tone, but it still sent the same message.

  You’re gonna screw up. It’s simply a matter of when.

  “When have I ever let you down, golden boy?” Walker asked. It was a dick move, and he knew it. If it wasn’t for Jack putting himself at risk to protect Walker and Luke from their father when they were teens, things would have been a lot different during those five years, though he wasn’t sure if he’d have ended up as anyone other than who he was.

  Jack Senior laid a hand on Walker once, and that was all it took to alter him for good. Or maybe this was always going to be his path. He’d never really know for sure.

  “Hey,” Walker said when his brother didn’t respond. But the word “sorry” sat there, stuck on the tip of his tongue.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Jack said. Then he ended the call.

  “Shit,” he said out loud, then took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp ocean air. He couldn’t see the beach from here, only the white stucco of another building on the next street over. But he knew it was close, just like back in Oak Bluff. That gave him the tiniest notion of comfort.

  He allowed himself a few more minutes of that comfort before heading back inside. Violet and Camille were sitting on the sectional, both with glasses of a milky-looking drink that must have been pastis.

  “Everything okay?” Violet asked, looking up at him from the couch. She was no longer wearing her interview attire but instead a long cotton sleeveless dress that was white with blue flowers.

  “Yeah,” he said, his gaze drinking her in. “You look beautiful.” The words came out without any warning, and at first he thought he might have overstepped but then remembered his role. He was the boyfriend tonight. It wasn’t simply okay to say these types of things to her but was probably required.

  And who was he to ignore requirements?

  Chapter Four

  Despite what he’d said about not doing small talk, it looked like Walker was holding his own with Thalia, Bistro Chastain’s weekend hostess, and her girlfriend Liz. The three of them had been chatting since Violet left to go check on her dad fifteen minutes ago.

  Guests had been filing in for the past hour, yet her father was still down at the restaurant with his chef and sous chef, putting the finishing touches on the food for the party before the place officially opened for dinner service.

  She found her mother in the kitchen slicing more French bread to add to the meat and cheese platter that was already disappearing thanks to Maman’s mango chutney that not even her gourmet chef of a father could replicate.

  “Maman, let me help,” Violet said when she saw her mother’s hand shake as she held the knife—one of the telltale signs she was in pain. “Papa will be here soon with the hot appetizers.”

  But the other woman set down the knife and held up her hand to halt her daughter from getting any closer.

  “Go,” she simply said. “Do not watch over my shoulder like I am un bébé who cannot be trusted.”

  There was an unexpected bite to her mother’s tone.

  “Did something happen today?” Violet asked. “You seemed so happy when Walker and I got here. The party is off to a great start. I don’t understand—”

  “Dr. Martinez called while you were downstairs.”

  Violet’s brows pulled together. “On a Saturday?” she gasped, her heart filling with renewed hope. “Does that mean his practice has cleared him to do it?”

  Her mother’s usually proud shoulders slumped, but she didn’t turn to face Violet.

  “Non, mon trésor. He cannot. His practice will not do it without FDA approval.”

  My treasure. Her mother always called her that when Violet was sad and she was trying to cheer her up. But now it was she who needed cheering.

  They’d recently read about stem cell treatment for MS. Though still experimental, in some patients who were able to go through with the procedure, a transplant had slowed the progression of the disease and even offered some relief.

  “It is so much money, Vee. And it might not even work,” her mother had said when they first looked into it. “Do I want to make myself so sick possibly for no reason?”

  But the truth wasn’t that her mother, her father, or she had been afraid of it not working. They’d been afraid to hope, and apparently it was for good reason.

  “We’ll find another doctor, then. Dr. Martinez can’t be the only one qualified.”

  Her mother shook her head. “He is the best in the area, and you know that. I will meet with him this week to talk about changing one of my medications. And I’m going to try some more holistic methods for relief, too. One of the cooks—his wife does acupuncture.”

  Violet blew out a long breath. “You can still do all that while we research more. I’ll research more. This isn’t the end of the road yet.”

  Her mother laughed. “Such a headstrong girl.”

  Violet didn’t argue. But she realized she was raising her mother’s hopes only to possibly have them dashed again.

  She laid a hand on Maman’s shoulder, and the other woman let out a shuddering breath.

  “What about the doctor in Paris we read about?” Violet asked. “Maybe it’s time for you and Aunt Ines to bury the hatchet so you can go back home and—”

  Her mother’s trembling hand dropped the knife onto the cutting board. She spun, eyes narrowed at Violet.

  “Violet, don’t.”

  “But she would want to know. So would your parents,” Violet nearly yelled. “What if they could help coordinate the treatment? If they knew you were sick—”

  “Je ne suis pas malade. It is something I have to live with. And I do not need to worry my own parents with something they cannot fix. They have their own health to deal with. The stem cell treatment was a long shot. I will fight the progression of my condition another way. End of story.”

  Her mother’s jaw was tight.

  “Où est ma belle mariée?” Papa’s voice boomed from the apartment’s front door.

  Where is my beautiful bride?

  “Not a word to your papa, okay? Tonight is for celebration.” She sniffed and swiped at the dampness under her eyes.

  Violet cleared her throat. “Okay.”

  Her mom kissed her on the cheek, grabbed her cane from against the cabinets, and went to greet her husband.

  Violet waited for a count of ten in order to collect herself. Ten seconds to contemplate the aunt she’d never met who lived halfway around the world—the aunt who, for whatever reason, her mother hadn’t spoken to in over thirt
y years.

  The aunt who could possibly help, but Maman was too damned proud to ask her to do it.

  “Headstrong woman,” Violet mumbled. Then she made her way into the growing sea of people toward the corner of the living room where Walker now stood alone, sipping what looked like a Long Island iced tea.

  “Can I have some of that?” she asked when she approached.

  He handed her the glass.

  Violet sucked hard on the straw and swallowed. Her brows pulled together. “This is just iced tea,” she said with disappointment.

  He raised a brow. “With three lemons. I’m living on the wild side.”

  She pouted. “I really need something stronger.”

  “How about some air?” he said, setting his drink on the windowsill. And without waiting for her to answer, he took her hand in his and directed her toward the balcony door.

  His grip was firm, and she could feel the calluses on his palm. She’d normally balk at such a gesture—at someone insinuating she could be led—but she wanted to go with him, wherever he was taking her, even if it was simply across the room.

  He was all rough and unpolished yet genuine and sexy as hell.

  And your boss, Violet. Your. Boss.

  For someone as smart as she was—and Violet considered herself an intelligent woman—she seemed to have the worst instincts when it came to men.

  She blamed her parents for setting too good of an example. They made falling and staying in love look as easy as breathing. Even after her mom’s diagnosis when Violet was in high school, her parents’ relationship seemed to only grow stronger.

  That was what she wanted. Easy, uncomplicated, unconditional love. She was beginning to think, though, that it only existed for a select few.

  They slipped through the open balcony door. Without really thinking, Violet pulled the curtain across the opening, effectively closing them off from the rest of the party, if only from immediate view.