All-American Cowboy Page 2

  “Sir?” the voice came through the speaker.

  “Dad?” Beck murmured. “You okay?” He put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

  With a quick shake of the head, Holiday swatted Beck’s hand away and regained his bearings. “Meeting’s over. Can I have a few minutes?” The team stood and filed out of the conference room. “Beck, stay.”

  Once the room cleared, his dad shifted the speaker to the end of the table. “Go ahead and patch him through.”

  The phone line clicked. Beck cleared his throat while he studied his old man. How would he feel if his father died? A fleeting twinge passed through his gut. They saw each other every day. They worked together, wined and dined connections as a team, and both appreciated a day spent on the golf course.

  But they’d never been close. Emotional distance ran deep in his family, at least based on how Holiday seemed to be handling the news of his own father’s death.

  “Beckett Holiday here. To whom am I speaking?”

  “Hi there, Mr. Holiday. This is Buddy Hill calling from Holiday, Texas. Your father, well, he passed. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Based on his father’s reaction, they could have been discussing the weather. No flicker of pain, no momentary hint of grief, no sign of emotion crossed his face.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Hill?”

  “He asked me to, well…upon his death, he wanted me to contact you. We need to know what kind of arrangements y’all would like to make. And then there’s the matter of the will.”

  Holiday reached for a pile of papers and tapped them into a uniform stack. “I trust you to make any necessary arrangements.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “And you can send a copy of the will to my attorney. I’ll have Joyce get the contact information for you. Now if that’s all—”

  “Wait.” Mr. Hill must have sensed the conversation was coming to an abrupt end. “About the will. One of the stipulations is that it must be read in person.”

  “Figures that old bastard would find a way to pull me back there one way or another. Couldn’t do it while he was alive, so—”

  “It’s not for you, sir. Your son, Beckett Sullivan Holiday the Third, is the only beneficiary named in the will. We’ll need to know how to reach him.”

  Beck shifted in his seat as his dad’s blank gaze settled on him. He’d never met his grandfather. Never even had a conversation with the old man. What could he possibly have left him in Texas?

  “Sir?” Mr. Hill’s voice floated through the phone.

  “Beck’s right here, Mr. Hill. Just give us a moment.” His dad pressed the mute button, then pushed back from the table and stood. “Good timing, Son. Since you won’t be wasting your efforts on that park anymore, you’ll have time to scoot on down south and find out what kind of lame inheritance the old geezer left for you before you get started on that new hotel.”

  Beck grappled for a response. He didn’t have time to take off for Texas. Not with everything else going on. But the lawyer with the Southern twang had piqued his curiosity. Why would his grandfather, a virtual stranger, name him in his will? There was only one way to find out.

  He unmuted the phone. “Hi, Mr. Hill. What can I do for you?”

  “Beckett Sullivan Holiday the Third?”

  “Yes, sir. But please call me Beck. How long do you need me down there?” he asked.

  “Well, ideally a few days. At least on this initial trip.”

  “What do you mean ‘initial trip’?” Visiting his dad’s hometown might be fun for a day or two. Maybe he’d get a chance to learn about the mysterious family Holiday had left behind. But more than one trip? He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I can explain everything when I see you in person. How soon can you be here?”

  Beck swiped through the calendar on his phone. His schedule was jam-packed for the next week and a half. But it would be best if he got down there and took care of things as quickly as possible. He wanted to ask about his grandfather—how did he die, did he suffer at all, was he alone at the end—but a quick glance at his dad’s frigid profile made him bite down before he uttered a word.

  “Are you there, Beck?” Mr. Hill asked.

  “Yes. The earliest I can make it would be next week. I can fly down on Friday morning and spend the weekend.”

  “Per your grandfather’s instructions, we’ll have to have the service before that.”

  Beck glanced up as the door clicked shut behind his dad. “That’s fine. I understand.”

  “I’ll have my secretary contact you with the details.”

  Beck gave the man his cell number and ended the call. He stood, taking a deep breath while he replayed the past few minutes in his head. What would he find in Texas? He stepped to the window to study the controlled chaos of the city streets far below. His father rarely mentioned the small town where he was born and raised. Beck knew his grandmother had died before he was born and that his grandfather once owned some tiny little hole-in-the-wall bar. But he’d never heard from the man, and his dad had always been a stone-cold wall of silence on the subject.

  His gut twinged with a pang of regret. He should have pushed harder. Now he’d never have the chance to learn more about his roots. Maybe there would be someone in Holiday he could ask about his family. There had to be records, photos, something left over from his dad’s younger days.

  He glanced at the larger-than-life picture of his dad that decorated the conference room wall and felt that flicker of regret fade. Holiday had come a long way from that tiny Texas town. If he’d wanted Beck to know about his childhood, he would have shared. His dad was right. The old man probably left him a hound dog or a pickup truck. Beck would get in and out of there as fast as possible. It would be a pain to rearrange his schedule to make the trip, but he’d be back before the Manhattan society page even knew he’d been gone.

  He blew out a breath, then turned his attention back to his laptop to pore over the details of his rejected proposal. He was many things but not a quitter. There must have been an angle he hadn’t explored.

  With the sun beginning its descent over the Manhattan skyline, he settled in for another long night of work, his mind already back on business and his thoughts thousands of miles away from whatever waited for him in the Lone Star State.

  Chapter Two

  Beck wrapped one hand around the steering wheel and used the thumb of his other hand to jab at the buttons on his phone. His cell service had drifted in and out since he’d turned off the main highway. Damn technology. Rocks pinged against the underside of the giant SUV he’d rented in Austin, and a cloud of dust floated up behind him as he navigated down the deserted dirt road.

  No attorney would have an office out here in the middle of nowhere. He must have made a wrong turn. The map flashed across his phone, and he focused all his attention on the tiny screen, trying to figure out where he was before the image disappeared again.

  No luck.

  He glanced up just in time to see something charge across the road. Squinting behind his dark shades, he tried to see where it went. Was it a cow? Were cows that agile? He’d only ever seen them on TV, and even then, they just stood around chewing.

  He’d been sweating since he’d landed in Austin. Even with the air-conditioning blowing on high, the heat and humidity made him feel like he’d stepped into a steam room. His sunglasses slipped down his nose. As he reached up to push them back in place, whatever he’d seen before darted into the road again, this time so close it nearly clipped the bumper.

  What the hell? He slammed his foot on the brake. The SUV fishtailed. “No, no, no.” His hands turned the wheel, trying to straighten out the back end, but it was too late. The tires couldn’t catch on the gravel. He ended up doing a one-eighty before sliding down the embankment and coming to a stop in the drainage ditch. The vehicle sat at abou
t a thirty-degree angle with the passenger door on the low side next to a field of tall grass.

  “Dammit!” He slapped both palms against the steering wheel, his heart battering against the walls of his chest like a pissed-off bird shoved in a cage. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. No pain. Nothing broken. Everything was okay.

  The driver’s side door groaned in protest as he pushed it open. With a grunt, he extricated himself from the seat belt and scrambled up the embankment to the side of the road. Hands on his hips, he assessed the situation. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to get the SUV out of the ditch on his own. When would he catch a freaking break?

  A glance at his phone confirmed he still had no service. The attorney had probably given up on him by now. It was pushing four o’clock, and their appointment had been scheduled for three. How was he supposed to know his flight would be delayed and it would take him an hour to get the rental car from the Austin airport? With no cell service, he didn’t have a way to call. He should have just printed the directions Hill’s secretary had emailed him.

  He didn’t even know which way to walk. Hadn’t seen another car on the road for more than a half hour. And what the hell had run across the road? Hopefully whatever it was had fared better than his SUV.

  He put his hand to his forehead to block the unforgiving sun and tried to determine which direction offered the better option—an endless dirt road to the right or…oh yeah, an endless dirt road to the left.

  Screw it. He reached into his pocket for a quarter, ready to let fate choose for him, when he noticed a cloud of dust in the distance. As he baked in the hundred-degree heat, without even a stirring of a breeze, the dust ball moved closer. With his luck, it was probably a stampede of runaway longhorns coming to crush him into the dirt.

  He knew he should never have left New York.

  * * *

  Charlie sang along to the radio, performing an impromptu duet with her country crush, Blake Shelton, as she made her way over to the stretch of dirt cutting through the Martinez’s acreage. Where could that ornery pig be? Baby Back couldn’t have gone too far. The patch job Dwight assured her would hold “even against Houdini” had barely kept the pig contained for the past week since her last wild escape.

  With Sully gone and the honky-tonk temporarily her responsibility, Charlie didn’t have time to chase the stupid sow halfway across Conroe County again. The truck bounced down the dirt road; she squinted ahead. What in the world was that? Who would be out for a walk in this heat in the middle of nowhere?

  She slowed the truck, taking in the sight of the tall, sandy-blond, seriously cut stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d hallucinated on a deserted back road. The combination of humidity and heat could do that to a lonely gal.

  But as she got closer, she noticed the brand-new SUV tilted in the ditch. This was no mirage. She studied the man again. A starched button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up exposed strong forearms. Flat-front khakis stretched tightly across muscular thighs. Spiffy shades, fancy leather shoes… This had to be Beckett Sullivan Holiday III, Sully’s long-lost grandson. Tongues were wagging all over Holiday about him coming to town this weekend.

  Her appreciation of his physique morphed into something between indifference and disgust. Served him right for driving his fancy car off the road. Tempted to pass right by, she was compelled to bring the truck to a stop only by her affection for Sully.

  The man approached the driver’s side, his mouth curled into a sheepish smile.

  She forced a tight grin and leaned out the window. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “Thank God. I was starting to think I might die right here on the side of the road.” He rested one of those sinewy forearms on her door. A hint of expensive cologne wafted off his skin. “I seem to have lodged my rental in the ditch.”

  Charlie ignored an uptick in her pulse and peered past him. “You did a nice job wedging yourself in there.”

  He glanced toward his SUV, then back at her. “Yeah, I don’t really do things half-assed. Lucky for me you came along.” He offered another apologetic grin.

  She didn’t reciprocate. Might be lucky for him, but her luck had apparently run dry. Who the hell had she pissed off recently to deserve a day like today? First she had to deal with Baby Back and now this city boy.

  He waited a beat for a response that didn’t come, then tapped his hand against the doorframe. “So, yeah, something ran across the road, and I had to slam on the brakes. I’ve got Triple A. Does your cell phone work? I’ve got no service out here, but if yours works, I can call for a tow truck. I’m sure they’ll have me out of here in no time.”

  The Yankee continued to spout off about cell towers and roadside assistance while she slid out of the truck. She turned her back to him and walked to the edge of the road. “There’s only one tow truck in town,” Charlie finally interrupted. “You’re welcome to give him a call. But I heard he went fishing. Depending on how the fish are biting, might take him a while to tear himself away.”

  Beckett wiped away the sweat beading at his brow and shook his head. “Damn.”

  He probably deserved to get stuck here all day waiting on a tow. She almost climbed back into her truck. But something about the way he cocked his hip and funneled a hand through his hair reminded her of Sully. Dammit.

  With her hands clamped on her hips, she nodded toward the bed of her truck. “Why don’t you hand me a rope and I’ll see if I can pull you out?”

  “You sure?”

  “Unless you want to sit in the ditch all day.”

  “No, ma’am.” The dimple on his left cheek practically winked at her as he climbed onto the bumper and stepped into the bed.

  She ran her gaze over his classy khakis, catching a glimpse of bare ankle at the hem. Loafers with no socks? Seriously? The local boys were going to chew this guy up like a wad of Skoal and spit him out before he even had a chance to settle that fine-looking ass onto a barstool.

  “Will this work?” He held up a coil of rope.

  “That’ll be fine. If you toss one end down here, I’ll tie it up.”

  The whole truck rocked as he climbed over the edge and hopped out. “I can do that for you.”

  She smirked at the chivalrous offer. “Just toss me the rope. I wouldn’t want you to get your fancy shoes dirty.”

  Beckett glanced down at his feet before shrugging and tossing her the rope. “I guess nobody told me loafers weren’t fit for Texas.” He was so easygoing about it, she almost felt bad for poking fun. But then she thought of all the years Sully had waited for some word from his family out east, and it made her want to shake him up even more.

  “Boots aren’t a requirement. But they do come in handy when you find yourself wading through the tall grass to rescue a city boy in distress.” The end of the rope sailed her way and she snagged it out of the air, then scrambled down the embankment to secure it underneath the front bumper.

  “I’ll try to avoid any further trouble.” He offered her a hand as she climbed out of the ditch. “I sure do appreciate your help.”

  Charlie opted to take it. Warm, firm grip, smooth… Not like the hands of the men who worked on her family’s ranch. Those were callused and rough.

  “Plus, they help keep the ticks away.” She reached the road and reclaimed her hand, not wanting to admit to herself how nice it felt to be touched by a man. Even if it was this man.

  He paused. “Ticks?”

  “Yep. Ticks like to hang out in the weeds.” Charlie brushed her hands against her thighs, trying to wipe away the tingles of contact before she bent down to secure the other end of the rope to her trailer hitch.

  “Then I’d better keep my car on the road from now on. So what do we do next?” Beckett shifted his weight, gesturing to the SUV. “Do you think this will work?”

  Standing, she squinted
up at him. “Now you put it in drive and aim for the road, and I pull you out of the ditch.” She directed a pointed look to the SUV.

  “That easy, huh?”

  Charlie angled her hip. “Helps if you get in the car.”

  He let out a deep laugh, and she had to bite back her grin. She didn’t want to admit to herself how much she was enjoying their little exchange. It had been a long time since she’d made a man laugh.

  He half stepped, half slid down the embankment and climbed into the driver’s seat while she clambered up into the cab of her truck.

  The truck engine roared to life, and she yelled out the window. “On three, okay?”

  She caught his nod in her rearview mirror…along with her own reflection. Nice, Charlie. A smudge of dirt decorated her cheek, and her hair had escaped her ponytail to stick out from under her hat like she’d been electrocuted. She reached up to smooth down her hair but stopped herself. Whatever. Not like she needed to impress anyone.

  Turning her attention back to the steering wheel, she held her hand out the window and lifted a finger. “One.”

  She shifted into drive and held up another finger. “Two.”

  With her boot on the gas pedal, she held up a final finger and floored it. “Three!”

  The truck surged forward and stopped, straining, trying to gain purchase on the dusty dirt road. Then, slowly, inch by inch, the SUV rolled up and out of the ditch. She drove a few feet, just to make sure they cleared the edge of the road, and put the truck into park before climbing out.

  He met her halfway between their vehicles. “Wow, I really didn’t think that was going to work. Thanks so much for your help.”

  “Too bad I didn’t have the winch on the back. You’d have been in for a real treat.” She rocked back on the heels of her boots, not sure how to bring the somewhat awkward, somewhat pleasant interaction to a close.