All-American Cowboy Page 3

  “A winch? I take it you make a habit out of rescuing strangers from the dangerous back roads around here?”

  “Ha. Only the ones who can’t fend for themselves.”

  “Hey, no fair,” he said with a laugh. “I can fend for myself.”

  A flirtatious smile sneaked past her lips. “You fended yourself right into the ditch, didn’t you?”

  His voice dropped a notch as he flirted right back. “I talked you into helping me, didn’t I?” He winked, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her gut. “I’m just a little out of my element here, that’s all.”

  A little out of his element? That was an understatement. Charlie shook her head, trying to keep her voice calm, even though her heart still played hopscotch in her chest. “You didn’t talk me into anything. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I drove on by and found out later something bad happened to you.”

  He lifted his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow again. “You mean besides melting on the side of the road?”

  “Or worse.” Get your head out of your butt, Charlie. Nothing good would come out of flirting with Sully’s grandson, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

  He reached for his wallet. “Can I pay you something for your time?”

  She backed away, offended. “No. People around here help each other out because it’s the right thing to do. We don’t expect to get paid for it.”

  His smile faded. “Oh, right. I’m sorry. It’s a little different where I’m from.”

  “I can imagine.” And thank God for that. She leaned down to untie the rope connecting their vehicles.

  “Let me get that.” His fingers connected with hers on the knot.

  She backed away like she’d been struck by a rattlesnake. Sully had never mentioned that his grandson looked like a cross between Thor and that good-looking actor who starred in the chick flicks she’d watched all by herself last weekend. Although, in his defense, Sully hadn’t met the man, and his idea of attractive probably didn’t coincide with hers.

  Beckett cleared his throat and handed her the coil of rope. “Sorry for being a smart-ass. It’s my superpower.”

  “Yeah,” she said, still off-balance. “Just like your granddad.”

  “You knew my grandfather?” He leaned closer, like he wanted to hear more but didn’t want to appear too eager. The effect was almost charming.

  “You’re the grandson, aren’t you?” At the blank look he gave her, she clarified. “Beckett Sullivan Holiday?”

  His brow furrowed. It was probably hard for someone who lived on an overcrowded island with several million strangers to realize what life in a true small town would be like. He’d learn soon enough that people around Holiday would often know his business before he did.

  “Just call me Beck. But I didn’t catch your name, Miss, um?”

  “Charlotte.”

  He slid his shades off his nose. She wasn’t prepared for the hint of humor in his kind, blue eyes. Could they really be the exact same shade as the bluebonnets dotting the hillside of her family’s ranch? She cringed at the cheesy thought. Wouldn’t do her any good to go soft all of a sudden. The combination of heat, dust, and an attractive relative stranger’s attention must have made her a little woozy.

  “I’ll be around for the weekend, staying at the bed-and-breakfast on Valentine.”

  Yeah, she knew that too. Darby’s parents owned the historic B and B just off the main road and had been telling everyone in town that Sully’s grandson had booked two nights there.

  “I’d love to hear more about my grandfather, but I’m running late for an appointment. Can I buy you a drink later?”

  She wanted to dislike Sully’s heir on sight. But he reminded her so much of her old friend it was hard to give him the cold shoulder. Plus, he had such a charming smile, and those hands…

  “Or even just a coffee sometime?” he pressed.

  What was that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Something like that. Maybe it would be in her best interest to be on speaking terms with Sully’s heir. At least until she figured out what his plans were for the Rose. “Sure. Coffee would be great.”

  “Then it’s a date.” One side of his mouth quirked up into a lopsided grin as he realized what he’d said. “I didn’t mean a date date.”

  Her face flushed. “Yeah, I know what you meant.” When was the last time she’d had a date date? She didn’t even want to try to think about it, especially not now, when she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her, even through the shades he’d slid back over his eyes.

  “So how does tomorrow sound? Ten o’clock? Is there a Starbucks in town?”

  Oh, he was so out of place he was like a turkey at a tea party. It was almost painfully cute…if he hadn’t been the self-proclaimed smart-ass grandson of her favorite person in the whole wide world.

  “Not unless you want to have coffee in San Marcos. I’m sure we’ll run into each other sometime this weekend.” Probably a lot sooner than he realized, since he’d most likely be stopping by the Rose later on. She climbed into the cab and leaned out the window, a thought occurring to her. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You said you saw something run across the road. Was it a pig?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a self-deprecating laugh before turning that dazzling grin on her again. “I thought it was a cow but then assumed maybe I was just seeing things. Do you have wild pigs around here?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, ignoring the faint flutter in her chest. Wild pigs ought to be the least of his worries. “Something like that. Which way did it go?”

  “Over there.” He pointed to the right, in the direction of Mrs. Martinez’s garden.

  Not again. It might be time for Baby Back to retire. “Thanks.” She shifted into gear, then hesitated. Maybe this youngest Holiday wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. She’d toss him a bone, just this once. For Sully. “Can I offer you a piece of advice?”

  “Sure.”

  She pointed to his loafers. “If you want to fit in, you might want to pick yourself up a pair of ropers along with some boot-cut Levi’s. And don’t even think about tucking your jeans into your boots, cowboy.”

  He glanced at his shoes, then smiled. “Thanks, I appreciate the advice.”

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Beck met her gaze. “Don’t forget to check yourself for ticks before you bunk down tonight. I hear they especially like that rich Yankee blood.”

  He swiped at the legs of his pants, but before he had a chance to respond, she eased away. The reflection in the rearview mirror showed him standing in the middle of the road, in the center of the cloud of dust her tires kicked up. He looked so out of place in his fancy shoes and wrinkle-free dress pants, she almost turned the truck around. She could have done more. Like offered to let him follow her into town. Or warned him about what a busy Friday night at the oldest honky-tonk in Texas might entail.

  But until she got a read on what his plans were, she might as well let him flounder. If he was half the man his granddad thought he was, he’d figure things out on his own.

  Oh, Sully. Maybe it was better that the old cowboy wasn’t around to see what a hopeless city boy his grandson had turned out to be.

  Chapter Three

  Beck cursed under his breath as his rescuer drove off in her giant truck. He should have asked her for directions. Too late now. Why did his first run-in with a local have to be with such a saucy blond? He hadn’t wanted to show it, but she’d rattled him a little. The way she jerked on that rope and knew just what to do to get his truck out of the ditch…she was tough. Pretty damn cute, too.

  Oh well. No use getting too intrigued. He was only sticking around long enough to hear the will and make arrangements for his grandfather’s belongings.

  He ma
naged to make his way back to a paved road and onto what appeared to be the main street running through town. If it could be called a town. Took him about ninety seconds to drive from one side to the other, and that included waiting for an old woman with a cane to hobble across the crosswalk. She actually stopped right in the middle of the road and gave him a friendly wave. Wouldn’t see something like that in New York.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a building marked Law Office. With any luck, Mr. Hill would still be waiting for him and he’d get everything cleared up.

  A bell on the handle of the door jangled as he entered. An empty desk sat in what might be considered the reception area. He checked his watch. Five o’clock. If he’d missed the man and had to wait around until Monday morning to catch a different flight home, he’d be mad as hell.

  Thankfully, that didn’t appear to be the case. A short, balding man with a bad comb-over walked into the room. “Mr. Holiday, I presume?”

  Beck took the man’s hand; he had a surprisingly firm handshake. “Yes. Mr. Hill, thanks so much for waiting for me. I ran into some trouble finding you. Please, call me Beck.”

  Mr. Hill led him into the office. “Sorry, my receptionist only works part-time. Things around here aren’t nearly as busy as what you’re probably used to in New York. Have a seat, son. My condolences on your grandfather’s passing. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you. I know I’m late and don’t want to cut into your Friday night, so I’ll get right to the point. You mentioned something on the phone about his will?”

  “Indeed.” He stepped to a sideboard cabinet and poured two tumblers of amber liquid, handing one to Beck as he gestured toward a chair. “A little local whiskey for you?”

  “Thanks.” Beck sat down, tipped the glass back, and let the liquid slide down his throat. This kind of hospitality he could handle.

  Mr. Hill drained his drink and took a seat behind the desk. “Now, about Sully’s will—”

  “Sully?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Oh, that’s what everyone called him. We’re not much for formalities around here. Your grandfather was a pillar of the community.”

  Beck scoffed and set his empty tumbler on the edge of the desk. “Really?”

  Mr. Hill sat up straighter, thick eyebrows crumpling into a wiggly line. “You doubt your grandfather’s contribution to the town?”

  Great. Now he’d gone and offended the attorney. “It’s just that my dad never mentioned anything about my grandfather being such an important man.” Quite the opposite. On the rare occasions Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. spoke about his father at all, he shared nothing but negativity for his hometown and the family he’d left behind. Beck tried to recall his father’s exact words when he’d left the office before heading to the airport. Something about how he’d be better off burning down that hole-in-the-wall bar and collecting on the insurance.

  Mr. Hill shuffled a stack of papers on his desk. “Well, folks around here sure thought so.”

  “And about the will?” Beck pressed.

  “Yes, yes. Your grandfather left everything to you. That includes his residence, about a thousand acres he currently rents out for pasture, and, of course, the Rambling Rose.”

  “The Rambling Rose?” That must be the bar.

  “Surely you’ve heard about your family’s connection to the Rambling Rose?”

  Beck ran his palms over his thighs. “Look, Mr. Hill, let’s just say my dad and grandfather didn’t exactly get along. The only thing I’ve heard about my dad’s time spent in Texas was how my grandfather tossed him out on his ass and how happy he was to leave.”

  “I remember your father.” Hill took his reading glasses off. The chair creaked as he leaned back and laced his fingers across his bulging beer belly. His voice took on a wistful tone. “Things in Holiday never seemed to be enough for him.”

  “From what I’ve seen so far, I can’t imagine my dad spending any time here at all.”

  “Well, he did. We went to school together. He was a year ahead of me, but we played on the same football team. That was the year we made it to State.”

  “Huh.” Beck leaned forward in his seat. “He never mentioned that.”

  “I don’t suppose he would have. We were up by three points when your father decided to ignore the coach’s call to take a knee. He wanted the glory of throwing another touchdown, especially during the final game of his senior year, but he fumbled the snap. With fourteen seconds left on the clock, he shoulda taken the damn knee.”

  Beck’s stomach twinged, already anticipating the answer to his next question. “What happened?”

  “The other team threw a Hail Mary pass and won the game. Your dad couldn’t handle it. He was always pulling stunts like that.”

  Mr. Hill’s words hung heavily between them. Beck had never known his father to fail at anything. No wonder he wasn’t eager to come back to Holiday. It would be a slap-in-the-face reminder of the one time he hadn’t managed to pull off a win. But Mr. Hill had said stunts. “What other kind of stunts did he pull?”

  “I’m not sure I’m the right person to talk to about this.” Mr. Hill ran his finger along the neck of his shirt like it had suddenly grown too tight.

  “I’d just like to get a bit more information about my family’s history. You said you knew my dad. Can’t you tell me any more?”

  Mr. Hill sighed. “All I can tell you is that Sully always wanted your dad to take over the Rambling Rose, to keep it in the family, but your dad hated the place.”

  “Why?”

  “Son, you’ll have to talk to your dad about that. They had a pretty big falling-out. Your dad left after graduation, and as far as I know, he’s never been back.”

  A falling-out? The way his dad described it, Sully had tossed him out without a dime to his name. No wonder Holiday had never looked back.

  Mr. Hill opened the desk drawer with a squeak and handed Beck a crowded ring of keys. “Here are keys to the residence and a set to the Rambling Rose. Any other keys to the outbuildings and gates are at the house.”

  “You keep mentioning this Rambling Rose. Is that the bar my grandfather owned?”

  Mr. Hill’s paunchy cheeks scrunched into a frown like a squirrel that’d just taken a bite of a rotten acorn. “Son, the Rambling Rose isn’t a bar.”

  An uneasy knot formed between his shoulder blades. “Then what is it?”

  The lawyer’s voice rose as he lifted his body out of the chair and placed his hands flat on the desk. “It’s the oldest honky-tonk in the great state of Texas, probably the whole United States.”

  Beck couldn’t see the difference between a honky-tonk and a bar, but there was obviously no sense in arguing with the man. “Okay, got it. So now what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m going to move down here and take over a bar—” Mr. Hill’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me, I mean a honky-tonk. Any idea what the value might be?”

  “You can’t be considering selling?”

  Leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, Beck shook his head. “Mr. Hill, my life is in New York. I have a business, my family. There’s no way I’m staying in Texas, especially in a town my dad couldn’t wait to leave.”

  Mr. Hill held up a piece of paper, slid his glasses back in place, and lowered himself into his seat. “Yes, well, there is of course a stipulation to the will.”

  “Of course there is.” Beck slumped against the back of the chair. “Please, go ahead. What is it?” This day was turning into a giant clusterfuck. He could use another pour of that smooth whiskey to settle his rattled nerves.

  “Before the title or any other assets can be transferred into your name, your grandfather’s will requires you to spend time in Holiday and oversee the day-to-day operations of the Rambling Rose until the next Founder’s Day parade.”

  Beck shook his head again. “That’s ridi
culous. Why would he care about that?”

  “In the 125-year history of Holiday, there’s never been a Founder’s Day parade without a member of the founding family of the town on the float.”

  “And I’m supposed to represent the founding family?”

  Mr. Hill nodded.

  “When’s this parade happening?”

  “Lucky for you, it’s only three months away—the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. The whole town comes out to celebrate.”

  “September? That’s crazy.” Beck got to his feet and towered over the attorney. “This has been a waste of my time.”

  “Mr. Holiday—”

  “Beck.”

  “Beck, you might want to think twice before walking away. If you don’t meet the requirements of the will, then all of your grandfather’s assets will revert to a third party.”

  “Which is?”

  Mr. Hill removed his glasses again and stood, putting him a good six inches shy of Beck’s eye level. “Regrettably, I’m unable to divulge that information at this point, but I suggest you consider your options carefully. Even without the Rambling Rose, your grandfather amassed quite a net worth over the years. Between the value of his land, the residence, and the cash bonds in his safety deposit box, we’re talking over five million dollars.”

  That number caught Beck off guard. “What did you say?”

  “Sully had some of the best pasture acres in the county. And he’d been buying savings bonds since he was old enough to ride his pony to the bank.”

  “And if I stay here for three months, I can sell the Rambling Rose and everything else becomes mine?”

  Mr. Hill’s shoulders lifted and sagged in a defeated shrug. “Well, he hoped that you’d stay. The Rambling Rose has been in the Holiday family for more than 125 years. I’m sure your grandfather wanted it to continue—”

  “Like I said, my home is in New York. I can’t put my life on pause to fulfill an old man’s dream. Sully was a stranger to me. I’d love to learn more about my family and my past, but staying in Holiday for good is definitely not in my future.” Beck took a breath. “So, if I stay until this Founder’s Day deal, I can sell if I want, right?”