Finding Her Cowboy Read online

  After she’d helped him into the kitchen and set him in the large wicker chair, she dialed Mark. When he didn’t answer, she left him a voicemail. “Hey, Mark. I need to cancel tonight. I’m spending the evening with my dad, and I met someone since we spoke last. I hope you understand. Wish you the best. Bye.”

  “Tell me about this new guy,” her father said, patting the cushion on the chair next to him. “I could use some good news.”

  “Sure thing, Daddy,” she said, setting the tea kettle on the stove. “Sure thing.”

  Chapter Four

  At six a.m. Monday morning, Jack stepped into his garden store to the familiar scent of pine chips and compost.

  “Did it work?” asked Harlan.

  “How do you beat me into work every single day?” Jack said with a grunt as they walked through the livestock food aisle on their way to their offices.

  Harlan’s lips curled up into a satisfied smile. “Guess I’m more dedicated than you. Did it work?”

  “Did what work?” Jack asked as he turned his office light on, illuminating the bare room, holding nothing more than a tall filing cabinet and a desk with a laptop.

  “Taking your shirt off and asking her out?”

  Jack slumped into his chair. “I thought it did, then she went out with another guy.”

  Harlan twisted his lips as he leaned against the wall. “Was the date set up before, or after, she saw you with your shirt off?”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck and thought for a long minute. “Before. There was only about fifteen minutes of deadtime when I was showering.”

  Harlan’s brows rose into his hairline, insinuating Jack had left out important information.

  Jack slapped his desk. “Nothing to tell.”

  Harlan snapped his fingers. “No problem. You got this.”

  “No. I don’t got this. She flat out told me there’s no point because I’m moving, then I see some guy walking around her house late last night. Really late.”

  Harlan angled his face away from Jack and glanced at him sideways. “You’re stalking her?”

  “Is it really stalking if I look out my back window and happen to see in through her back window?”

  Harlan scratched the side of his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of stalking.”

  “Fine. I won’t look out my windows anymore.” Seeing the guy wandering around her house had only sent him into a rage anyway. He didn’t need that aggravation; he was too stressed as it was. “Point is, I didn’t get to her first.” He smacked his fist into his open palm and clenched his jaw. “There’s only one thing left to do. Fight for her.”

  “There’s my boy,” Harlan said, sitting in the chair across from him. “I applaud your tenacity, but could you fight this guy after we open the new store?”

  “Absolutely,” Jack lied.

  Harlan released a sigh of relief.

  “But I need your help first.”

  “Knew it,” Harlan said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “What d’ya need?”

  “A crew of five or six guys who don’t need to be at either store, and who are willing to work heavy labor from seven a.m. to seven p.m. tomorrow through Friday. I’ll help when I can. I want to plant Becca’s yard before the heavy rain hits and I won’t know what I need to order until the earth and cement work is ready.”

  Harlan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in protest. “The contract I sent her didn’t include a grounds crew. You’re going to lose money on this project.”

  Jack stared him down.

  “You’re gonna kill yourself.” Harlan wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve dramatically. Comical, considering the sun hadn’t even risen yet. “And me along with you.”

  Jack leaned his elbows onto his desk. “I didn’t ask you to be on the crew, Harlan.”

  “You didn’t have to. You need me, and you know it. I’m your compass.” He raised an arm in the air and tilted his chin up as he stared off into the distance as if he were at a pulpit giving a speech to the masses. “I’m your trusted companion and confidant. I’m there to push you forward when you want to quit. I’m—”

  “How much?” Jack asked dryly, cutting him off.

  Harlan looked at him with surprise. “How much what?”

  “How much of a raise do you want?”

  Harlan waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Don’t offend me.”

  Other than a blink, Jack maintained a deadpan expression. “How much?”

  “Ten percent.”

  “Twenty,” said Jack, rising from his seat. He smacked Harlan on his back and walked out of his office to speak to his growers and purchasers. “Now, go get me a crew.”

  Monday blurred into Tuesday, which blended into Thursday, completely skipping over Wednesday. Jack’s week had been a mad run, but things were almost in place for the Dallas store’s opening.

  At five minutes to seven, Jack sped up his driveway, jumped out of his car and sprinted into his backyard. He wanted to catch the grounds crew before they left for the evening to instruct them on what needed to be done the following day and there only remained a few more minutes of natural sunlight. Tomorrow, he’d be in meetings all day in Dallas and these guys needed direction on their final workday in Becca’s yard.

  He’d gotten the crew started their first day, but when he caught sight of a man in Becca’s window, his blood boiled. He had no claim on her—which upset him all the more. She’d never verbalized romantic interest in him. He only had himself to be upset with for allowing his temper to reach breaking point.

  “Hey!” Harlan greeted Jack as he walked through the gate and onto Becca’s groomed dirt. “You have to try this,” Harlan said, offering Jack a caramel apple.

  “Where’d it come from?” Jack took the slice with the most caramel and drizzled chocolate and popped it into his mouth. He savored every chew as he walked the perimeter of the garden. The tart crunch of the apple, mixed with the sweet gooey caramel, was the perfect combination of sweet and sour. He walked up to where the grounds crew gathered. “I’m impressed with your work today. Good job,” he said as the men clustered together, enjoying their caramel apples. “I see you’ve tilled in the compost, amended the soil, and built up the beds where I’d roped them off. Tonight, I’ll mark where I want you to place the stone pathway and where you’ll need to leave room for the water feature and gas fire ring.”

  Becca walked to the end of the screened deck and pushed the metal door open with a screech. Her eyes widened, straining to see in the fading light. She wore his sweater and a pair of cropped white shorts that showed off her toned legs. Jack experienced a flashback of her walking in the rain, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, the rain droplets dripping down her creamy skin that blushed pink from the cold.

  “Ah, Jack…you okay?” asked Harlan, staring over at his dazed cousin.

  “Jack?” said Becca, stepping off the porch and walking toward him in long graceful strides. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come around.” She hugged him tight. Her hair tickled his nose as she pulled away from him; her vanilla and rose-petal scent lingered in the air between them. “Come inside. I have a caramel apple for you.”

  “They’re delicious,” he said. She took hold of his hand and pulled him up the back steps, through the screened porch, and into her house. She acted as if she were overjoyed to see him, which sent his mind and body into overdrive. “You made caramel apples for the guys?”

  “Oh, good heavens, no. I bought them from a local high school student who’s saving up to take a humanitarian trip to Nepal. She and her mom came into my store today. The apples looked so scrumptious, I bought them all.”

  “I can see you doing that,” Jack said, removing his boots and hat.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” shouted Harlan in a sad, lonely voice from the yard, but Jack finally had Becca to himself and he wasn’t about to invite Harlan inside. He nodded to Harlan as he closed the door.

 
; Becca leaned her back against the kitchen counter. “You work with some great people, Jack. They’ve been so attentive.”

  Jack coughed. “How attentive?”

  She dipped her chin and blinked. “You’d know if you’d been around this week.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, but his words came out like a grunt.

  “You okay, Jack?” she asked.

  “I’m alright. Been stressed with the grand opening.”

  “I know what you need,” she said, opening the kitchen cabinet next to the sink and pulling out the mugs he’d bought her at the market.

  “Tiger grass tea?” he asked, relaxing into her wicker chair.

  “Exactly. Tea hasn’t done the trick for my daddy.” Her voice kicked up a decibel. “He’s ornery, bad tempered, and irritable as all get out because I won’t let him smoke. Right, Daddy?”

  A man with tanned, leathery skin and brown hair, speckled with white, stepped into the kitchen.

  Jack did a double take. “He’s your dad?” This had to be the same man who he’d seen in the window, but much older in person.

  “Don’t drink it,” her father warned him in a raspy voice. “It’s nastier than all get out.”

  “See? Ornery,” Becca said with a sigh, turning to Jack, but all Jack could do was smile like a love-sick fool, a fool for having thought her father was her boyfriend. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip.

  Jack didn’t always cue in on female signals, but he knew good and well what the hand-on-the-hip body signal meant. “Like what?” he asked, attempting to suppress a grin.

  She clicked her tongue. “You look like you find my father’s unbridled humor entertaining.”

  Her father walked up to him.

  Jack stood from his chair and said, “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “Royce.” Her dad shook Jack’s hand firmly. “There’s no harm in me smoking outside, right, Jack?”

  Jack stole a glance at Becca, who shook her head. Jack cleared his throat and motioned for them to sit. Royce sat across from Jack, then leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in anticipation for what Jack would have to say. Jack took a minute to choose his words carefully.

  “I can see your dilemma, sir,” Jack began. “I personally haven’t experienced the effects of nicotine addiction, but I know people who have, and it’s one of the hardest habits to kick. The young, fragile plants that we’ll be bringing into Becca’s yard next week would also face a major dilemma, severe trauma really, if they were to be exposed to cigarette smoke.” By Royce’s blank expression, Jack had already lost him, but he still held Becca’s attention while she brewed the tea, so he kept talking. “Much like how the tar in cigarettes clogs our arteries and coats our lungs, it’s been proven that cigarette smoke clogs stomatal pores in plants, basically choking them to death.”

  Becca leaned her back into the counter and looked at her father with compassion. “My daddy really is a kind, reasonable man…most of the time.”

  Jack stood and asked, “How can I help?”

  “Try my tea,” she said, handing him one of the blue mugs.

  With marked apprehension, he sipped slowly. The warm liquid pricked his tongue with the essence of rotten wheat. “It’s not that bad. Maybe with a little cream and honey it would go down easier?” he offered.

  Becca carefully drank from her own glossy mug. She lowered the cup and coughed. “Or maybe a lot of cream and honey,” she said through pursed lips. “Daddy, I think I owe you an apology.”

  Royce slapped his knee and laughed. Jack enjoyed the man’s candid nature. The world needed more men like him.

  “Stay for supper,” Royce said to Jack.

  Jack glanced around the kitchen but didn’t notice any sign of dinner preparation. “Thank you, sir, but I should be going,” Jack said, not wanting to impose.

  “Please stay,” Becca said, taking his mug from him. “We could use the company and laughter right now.” Her eyes shot to her dad who sank back in his chair, as if his troubles had settled once again onto his shoulders.

  Jack rubbed his hands together. “Then put me to work. What can I do?”

  Becca pulled at her ear. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to help you cook dinner.”

  Becca and her father exchanged a look, then laughed. “I don’t cook,” she said. “Not really.”

  “Oh. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Royce chimed in. “You made pasta two days ago.”

  Becca lifted her brows. “Boxed mac and cheese don’t count as home cookin’, Daddy.”

  Royce pointed to his chest. “It does in my book. Ain’t no way I could be prouder of you, darlin’. Look at everything you’ve accomplished. You put yourself through school and built a successful business that helps poverty-stricken women around the world. And none of that thanks to your old man,” he said with downturned eyes.

  Jack knew Becca sold sustainable goods, but not how much she was helping women become leaders in their communities. He paused, watching her through new eyes of admiration.

  She walked over to her father, bent over, and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “Actually, it’s all because of you.” Becca’s undeniable respect for her father, even with his gruff exterior, caused Jack’s chest to swell with pride.

  A loud knock came at the front door.

  “And there’s dinner,” Becca said with a slight hop, her eyes smiling with excitement. “Hope you like Chinese, Jack.”

  “Love it,” he said, following behind her to the door, mesmerized by how her hips swayed from side to side. “But you weren’t expecting me. I don’t want to eat your food.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, a few steps shy of the door, glancing back at him with a smile that quickened his heart. “We always have leftovers.”

  “Becca,” he said softly, taking her hand as she reached for the round, copper doorknob.

  She turned and blinked slowly, her eyes dilating as she stared back at him. “Yeah?”

  “I think I’m fal—” His words transformed into a tender kiss. He didn’t know who started the kiss, but once committed, he was all in. It felt so comfortable and right having her in his arms, sharing the same breath, the same touch, the same moment. She backed into the door as her fingers caressed the back of his neck, then held firm, pulling him in closer. She reciprocated his longing, causing his desire to escalate.

  “Take out!” screamed a voice on the other side of the door, followed by heavy pounding.

  “Ow,” said Becca, covering her ears. Jack took a few steps back, giving her space to open the door. She tossed her hair and shook out her arms before reaching for the door handle again.

  The door opened to a delivery guy. He couldn’t have been a day over seventeen. He held up three large brown paper sacks. “I wasn’t sure if I had the right house,” he said with an expression of relief as he handed Becca the bags, “—or if this old place was haunted. When the door started to shake, I broke out in a cold sweat.”

  Becca glanced at Jack, her face flushing bright red. “Thank you,” she said to the young man, then offloaded two bags to Jack and closed the door.

  “Smells delicious,” Jack said, bringing himself out of the clouds and back into Becca’s home as they strolled into her kitchen.

  “It sure does,” responded Royce, standing from his chair. “What took so long, Becca? Did you have to pay the guy in pennies?”

  “Sheesh!” Jack blew a breath out the side of his mouth as he lifted the leaves on the table to give them more room. “That guy was so slow. Maybe we should’ve invited him in for some tiger grass tea to get him moving.”

  Becca erupted into a fit of giggles.

  Royce’s eyebrows knit together. “You okay over there, Rebecca?”

  She held up a hand. “Yep, aha, yep.”

  Royce bumped his shoulder into Jack’s, soliciting his attention. “You bring this out in her,” he said in a low voice, not loud enough for Becca to hear from acr
oss the room.

  Jack scratched the stubble on the side of his face until a light clicked on in his brain. “You think I have a chance with her?”

  Her father nodded slowly. “I’d say the odds are good.”

  “What about the other guy? Do you think I’ll end up at the top of her list?”

  Royce rocked back and forth from heel to toe and back, while he pulled on his big, round belt buckle. “I guess that would depend on how hard you’re planning on fighting for her.”

  Jack flexed his arm muscles and did a few air punches. “Call me Rocky,” he said in a Philly accent.

  “What are you two talking about over there?” asked Becca, elongating her neck.

  Jack lifted his chin and said, “Just some good, old-fashioned male bonding. Still want to know?”

  She flicked her wrist. “No, thanks,” she said dismissively. “But let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  Six white plates, filled with colorful sautéed meats and vegetables, lined the kitchen counter. Jack dug into a dish with beef and broccoli, then finished loading his plate with ham fried rice, skipping over the plate of pork that looked like it had been dipped in candy-red sugar coating.

  “You’re not going to try the sweet and sour pork?” asked Becca, reaching into a high cabinet and pulling down a water pitcher.

  “Battering, frying, then coating meat in gooey, red food coloring glaze should warrant a prison sentence,” he responded, straight-faced.

  “Tell me how you really feel about it,” she laughed out as she filled the pitcher in the sink.

  His eyes averted from Becca to a phone that sat on the counter next to the pork dish, its screen lighting as it shook from an incoming call. When the vibrating ceased, a text from Mark popped up. Jack leaned over the phone. Hey, Beck! can I stop by for a minute?

  Jack’s first instinct was to grab the phone and text back, “No. You’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested.”

  “Jack?” called Becca, waking him from his moment of seething. For all he knew, she could still be seeing the guy—and most likely was, considering Mark had asked if he could come over.