Finding Her Cowboy Page 11

“Does this have something to do with Rob?” He needed to know the truth, even if it had the potential of ripping his heart apart. “And a kiss?”

  “Jack,” she said, then paused, causing his gut to twist with anticipation.

  “Yeah?” he forced himself to prompt her.

  “I need you to trust me when I say that you’ll never have to worry about me and Rob. Please don’t ask again.”

  “That’s all I needed,” he said, closing his eyes and telling himself to get a grip.

  “But don’t get too comfortable. He’s your ugly brother, right? Are your other brothers any cuter?”

  “Do you really want to send me on a one-way trip down deep depression lane?” he asked.

  “Whatever,” she said with a laugh, obviously not taking him seriously.

  “Since you’re at the garden shop already, could you check out the ornamental grasses, flowering bushes, and trees, taking notes of which ones look and smell the best, so I can get an idea of your preferences?” He played it off, but she had no clue what kind of hold she had on him, and how leaving him for his brother would decimate him. “If I can’t see you for three weeks, can we at least talk on the phone?”

  “I think that might be too difficult for both of us. Why don’t we see it as taking a break?”

  Break! Like break-up? Screamed through his mind. But things are just starting to heat up, he whined internally. “You say you don’t want to be the boss, but you sure sound like one.”

  “And I’m one step ahead of you,” she said, ignoring his boss comment. “Harlan, here, is already taking notes on my plant preferences.”

  “Harlan, huh?” Jack clenched his jaw. “After you’ve finished up, will you please ask Harlan to call me? I’ve got a bone to pick with him. We need to discuss something I sent him over there to do.”

  “Oh, no,” she said with urgency. “Do you want to talk to him now?”

  “No. This could take a while, and I tend to get a little loud when I talk.”

  “You’re not talking loud now,” she pointed out.

  “Men tend to speak loudly with each other. I wouldn’t want you to have to witness that.”

  “Bye, Jack.”

  “Catch you in three weeks,” he said, not wanting to end their conversation, but he was already late for a call. Even with the insane hours at the garden center, he had a bad feeling that these upcoming three weeks would be the longest weeks of his life.

  Two days later, Jack stood on his front porch and watched the horizon intently as the sky dimmed, transitioning from day to night.

  “Come on green dot,” he encouraged the heavens as the sun slowly melted below the horizon.

  If the green dot appeared, it would give him the perfect reason to call Becca. He’d thought about her nonstop and found the only thing to bring relief to his dampened spirits was to watch her painting video. If young trick-or-treaters hadn’t been organizing on the street in front of his house, he would watch it now. Instead, he poured his seventh and final jumbo-sized bag of assorted chocolate candies into an orange Home Depot bucket, filling it to the brim—the perfect size and color for the never-ending clusters of Halloween trick-or-treaters in his neighborhood.

  For the next hour and a half, a constant stream of lively kids giggled and skipped as they ran from porch to porch.

  “Hey, Jack!” yelled Holly from the sidewalk with a wave.

  “Holly. How are you?” he asked, walking to meet her on the sidewalk. As she approached, he got a good view of her Halloween costume: a bubble gum dispenser. Her big round belly acted as the glass ball, filled to the brim with colorful gumballs. He chuckled. “Great costume. Here,” he said, handing her a mini chocolate bar.

  “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her hand over her belly. “Nick is dressed up as a quarter. You decided not to dress up?” she asked, looking him up and down.

  “Not this year.”

  “That’s too bad. The neighborhood kids loved it the year you were a vampire. You should’ve paired up with Becca. She is the cutest little …” she started to say, then stopped herself. “Why so glum? Everything okay with Becca?”

  “I’m not glum,” he said, shaking his head. Glum wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the past two days without Becca. It was more like a hunger no food could appease, a craving he couldn’t satisfy, as if for the past two days he’d been hankering for a medium-rare steak, but the only thing on the menu was a dry, well-done slice of ham. “We’re both really busy right now.”

  She glanced at his orange bucket. “You’re both really busy tonight doing what? Handing out candy? It would be a shame to miss her; her costume is so adorable.” She looked at him as if waiting for a response. When he didn’t speak, she continued, “I’d better get back and help Nate.” She looked toward her house. “I can’t leave him for too long to fend off the natives alone, but I think you’d be okay stepping away from your candy bucket,” she said, motioning with her eyes to Becca’s house. “I think most of the young kids are finished trick-or-treating. You wouldn’t miss much.”

  “Good night, Holly,” he said as she waddled down the sidewalk.

  “Hey, coach!” a young boy in a ghost costume yelled from across the street.

  Jack waved at the mini ghost, who he assumed was one of his ten-year-old little league players. He searched for a familiar face in the crowd of zombies and action heroes until he spotted Dan, a dad to one of his players.

  “Hey, there, Grant, I like your ghost costume,” Jack said to the boy as he crossed the road with his father. “Take a handful,” he added, lowering the pail.

  “I thought you’d moved,” said Grant, reaching in with two hands and pulling out an armload of candy.

  “I’ll be here until the end of November.” Jack held up his arm to shake Dan’s hand. “How’s the trick-or-treating going?”

  Dan shook Jack’s hand, then stretched out his back. “I don’t know how these kids pound the pavement asking for candy for hours on end. Good thing this is our last street.”

  “But, Dad,” whined Grant. “Mom said I could trick-or-treat for another hour.”

  Jack pointed to the street. “Dan, the crowds are starting to thin. I wouldn’t mind leaving my candy out and walking the last few blocks with Grant. I’d get him home to you within the hour.”

  “Really?” said Dan. “You sure?”

  “Please, Dad,” begged Grant, pulling his father’s sleeve as he jumped up and down.

  Jack interjected, “We could toss a ball around. Get a little practice in.”

  “I guess that’d be alright,” Dan said with an expression of relief. “You mind your coach now, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” Grant replied with enthusiasm.

  Dan nodded to Jack as he disappeared into a clump of Hogwarts students.

  Jack jumped inside his house and grabbed his leather hat from off the shelf. Grant pulled a grass-stained baseball from the front pocket of his white sweatshirt, tucked beneath his ghost costume—not much more than a white sheet with holes.

  “Now there’s a real player,” Jack laughed out, placing his hat on his head and snapping his fingers.

  “Where’s your baseball cap?” asked Grant.

  “Good question. Different occasions call for different hats,” Jack said, tipping his hat. “Don’t underestimate the power of a hat.”

  Grant tossed the ball in the air, then caught it behind his back with a self-congratulatory grin. “Someday, I’m gonna be as good as you, coach.”

  “You’ve got the makings to be ten times better than I ever was,” Jack said, pointing at the boy. Grant beamed. “And if you keep a ball in your pocket like that, you’re sure to be. Let’s get a move on. We’ll finish trick-or-treating on my street, then wrap around the block,” he said, glancing at the back of Becca’s house with a smile. He’d learned when he was a kid how to circumvent the boss’s rules—when necessary. And today, Becca’s rules needed some serious bending.

  “Wanna see how fast I can run,
coach?” Grant asked, excitement lighting his face.

  “Absolutely,” said Jack. Running would get them to Becca’s house quicker.

  For the next fifteen minutes, as Grant sprinted from house to house, Jack followed along the street, his mind reeling over what Becca might be wearing and if her face would brighten when she saw him. When they finally reached Becca’s home, Jack stopped Grant one house short and bent down. “Grant, can I borrow your baseball?” he petitioned in a whisper, even though no one was close enough to overhear their conversation.

  “Sure,” Grant said with a shrug, producing his ball from under the white sheet.

  Jack took the ball in his hands as they walked up Becca’s driveway. Pressing the hard leather between his palms, he stared into Becca’s back yard, examining the trajectory and distance from where he stood on the street. “Left outfield, eighty feet,” he said, winding back his right arm. “How fast should I throw it?” he asked Grant with wiggle of his brow.

  “Twenty miles an hour.”

  Jack tsked his tongue. “How about forty?” There was a time when he could throw a ninety mile an hour fast ball, but not after the brutal tear and subsequent surgery. He released his arm, causing his shoulder to scream in pain, but it was worth it to watch the ball drop exactly where he’d wanted it to. “How was that?” he asked Grant, fully expecting his player to congratulate him, but the boy whimpered instead, his face crumpling into a heartbroken expression.

  “Where’s my ball?” asked Grant, choking back tears.

  Jack held his palms out. “Don’t worry. This was all part of the plan. I promise. We’ll get your lucky ball back and loads of candy. Okay? Just follow me,” he said, leading Grant to Becca’s front door.

  “You sure about this?” asked Grant.

  “Yes. You’re going to get some sugar. And if we’re lucky, so will I.” He stood back as Grant rang the doorbell.

  The door slowly creaked open, causing Jack’s breath to quicken with anticipation of seeing Becca.

  “Trick or treat,” said Grant.

  “Hey there,” said Royce in his deep, raspy voice as he stepped into the doorway and handed Grant a single piece of candy.

  “Thanks,” said Grant in a deflated voice as the candy dropped into his bag. He shot Jack a look of disappointment.

  Jack took a step forward. “Good evening, sir.”

  Royce raised his eyes to Jack. “Jack!” he exclaimed. “Good to see you. Hold on,” he said, motioning for them to stay put. “Let me go find Becca. She’s cooking what she calls a proper meal.”

  After Royce disappeared down the hall, Jack turned to Grant. “What’s a proper meal?”

  In response, Grant simply shrugged.

  Royce returned to the door a minute later. “Come on in. She can’t leave the stove.”

  Jack shook Royce’s hand as he stepped past him into the house. “This is my young friend and neighbor, Mr. Ghost,” he said, motioning to Grant.

  “Welcome, Mr. Ghost,” said Royce with a chuckle.

  “Can I get my baseball back?” asked Grant.

  “Your baseball?” asked Royce.

  Jack jumped in to explain before Grant could say too much. “We were tossing the ball around and it landed in Becca’s back yard.”

  “It went so fast,” said Grant with excitement. “Like forty miles an hour.”

  “Forty, huh?” Royce replied with sarcasm.

  “Yeah, it was flyin’!” Grant exclaimed as they stepped into the kitchen to the smell of burnt bread and hot oil.

  Becca had her back to them, dressed in a skin-tight, full body, black leotard with a long thin tail attached to her back side that swished from side to side, opposite her hips as she danced to a Christmas song that played loudly through a speaker on the counter. Jack stood behind her, quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

  “Becca!” her dad shouted. “You have visitors.”

  Becca spun around and gasped, her cat-painted eyes widening as they locked with Jack’s. “Jack, you’re here,” she stated with a surprised blink. “In my kitchen.”

  “And you’re dressed like a cat woman,” he said, stepping to her side. “I like it.”

  Her face blushed deep crimson. “And you caught me dancing,” she added.

  “Yep, that was almost as good as the table painting video.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “You saw that?”

  Grant tugged on Jack’s shirt. “My ball,” he reminded him.

  “Becca, do you mind if Grant goes into your back yard to search for his baseball?”

  “Not at all,” she said, wiping her hands on her red apron.

  “I gotta tell ya,” said Jack with a teasing smile as he opened the back door for Grant. “I never envisioned Catwoman in a red apron, making dinner.”

  “When you say, ‘making dinner,’ that denotes that the end product will be edible. I’m not sure that what I’m doing could be classified as ‘making dinner,’” she said with finger quotes and a self-deprecating laugh.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, coming up behind her and leaning down to smell her vanilla scent in the guise of seeing what was on the stove. “What are you cooking?”

  “Fried bread for Navajo tacos,” she said with a shake of her head. “But they look and feel like flat rocks, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to taste like rocks.”

  “Didn’t Catwoman wear a mask?” he asked, tucking a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

  She placed her hand on her hip and faced him. “Have you ever seen a cat wearing a mask?”

  “Valid point. Can I help you cook?” he asked, holding his hand above the pan to check its temperature. “It’s set too low.” He adjusted the dial, turning up the gas a hair. “And you’re standing a little too close to the stove,” he said, placing his hand on her hip to pull her back.

  She looked at him with questioning eyes. He wasn’t typically attracted to women when they wore heavy make-up, but the thick black eyeliner swiped across Becca’s eyelids caused her blue irises to explode in an array of shimmering blues that had his heart palpitating out of his chest.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asked, pulling her close.

  Her tongue played at the corner of her mouth before it ran across her lips in an enticing way. He slowly lowered his face.

  “Found it!” shouted Grant, bouncing in through the back door. “We can go now.”

  Becca rested her forehead into Jack’s chest and exhaled, then took a step back. “That’s great,” she said, fanning her face. “Let’s leave the back door open. The heat from the stove is suffocating.”

  Grant wrinkled his nose as he stared at Becca, causing the white sheet to ruffle over his face. “Are you a cat?”

  “Cat!” exclaimed Jack. “That’s right. I almost forgot. Grant loves cats. He wanted to pet Navi. Is she around?” Before he’d finished his sentence, he felt Navi rub up against his leg, her body shaking as she purred. He motioned for Grant to sit in the large wicker chair while he reached down to pick up Navi.

  “Are you sure?” Grant asked with apprehension as Jack placed Navi onto his lap.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry. Navi’s super chill,” Jack said, taking Becca’s hand and pulling her into the hallway. “Where were we?” he whispered, cupping Becca’s face in his hands. “I dream about kissing your lips every night,” he said, running a finger across her soft, moist lips. When she released a sigh, he couldn’t wait any longer. Their lips met, sending an explosion of heat through his body.

  The material on Jack’s sleeve pulled down. “Jack, can we go?” said Grant, standing at Jack’s side. “I’m tired and itchy. I wanna go home.”

  Jack moaned. “Okay, kid. Let’s go,” he said before stealing one last quick kiss from Becca while he still had her in his arms.

  Walking out of Becca’s house took every ounce of his willpower.

  “Jack,” Becca said in a pained voice, placing her warm hand on his cheek as he stepped out onto her porch. “L
et’s take this break.”

  “You sure?” he asked, hoping she’d change her mind, and at least let him call her. Ever since her conversation with Mark and her kiss with Rob, she’d pushed him away. He had a sinking feeling that this separation wasn’t just for their businesses, but he couldn’t allow her to see his jealousy.

  She nodded. “This will be best for both of us.”

  He stared into her blue eyes with longing. “Okay, boss. You win. But plan on celebrating with me that evening.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, giving him a quick peck on his cheek, then dipping back inside her home. “Bye.”

  “Later,” he said as the door closed. He felt Grant’s presence at his side as they walked down the street as the crowds thinned. “Do you want to hit a few more houses on our way back to your house?”

  “No. I’m tired and really itchy,” Grant said, reaching inside his sheet with both hands and scratching.

  “Grant, are you allergic to peanuts? Did you eat any new candy?”

  “Uh, no,” said Grant. “My mom doesn’t let me touch my treats until she’s checked them.”

  “That’s smart,” said Jack, realizing he wouldn’t have batted an eye if Grant had eaten half his bag of Halloween candy in front of him. “When did you start itching?”

  As they walked up Grant’s driveway, the boy shrugged. “I guess in your girlfriend’s house.”

  Dan opened the door as they approached the front door. “Hey, scary ghost, do you want some candy?”

  “No thanks,” Grant said, trudging past his dad. “Bye, coach.” His voice died as he walked up the stairs.

  “He’s tuckered out,” said Dan with a broad smile. “Thanks for finishing trick-or-treating with him.”

  Jack pointed inside the house. “I think Grant might be allergic to cats.”

  Dan rubbed his eye. “We all are. That’s why we have a dog,” he said with a furrowed brow.

  “Shoot. I’m sorry. He pet a cat at the last house we were at,” Jack said with a cringe.

  “Jump in the shower!” Dan yelled to Grant.

  Jack backed off Dan’s step with a wave as a group of tiny monsters congregated on the step around him, wondering how he could make it up to Grant—the boy who’d unwillingly sacrificed so his coach could catch that kiss, a kiss that would have to sustain him over the next two and a half weeks.