Cowboy Charming Page 4

  The matching silver bracelet and necklace she’d made were lying around somewhere. After locating them in the bottom of her jewelry box, she slipped them on then checked the time on her phone.

  “I’m heading back to work,” she called out to her sister. Liza had promised to make sure Gram got back and forth to the senior center for dinner with her friends tonight.

  “Whoa.” Liza poked her head through the open doorway. “Something special going on at the Rose tonight?”

  “First night of the chili cook-off weekend. I’ve got to be there to make sure Presley doesn’t screw anything up.” Dixie rubbed her lips together. “Do you think this is too much?”

  “Not unless you’re worried about every cowboy who gets a look at you spontaneously bursting into flames.” Liza let out a low wolf whistle. “When’s the last time you put that much effort into your appearance? You sure there’s no one special waiting on you tonight?”

  “Well, there is a guy in from California who wants to meet to grab a bite.” Dixie chewed on her lip, probably ruining the lipstick she’d just spent five minutes trying to apply. No need to divulge all of the details about Chandler yet. He seemed somewhat interested—although she was a little rusty when it came to interpreting dating signals. Liza wouldn’t remember him anyway. She’d been in elementary school when Dixie was in junior high.

  Liza pulled her into a hug. “He’ll be eating his heart out, Sis.”

  “You think so?” Dixie asked, feeling a little overdressed. “Maybe the mascara’s a bit too much.”

  “Don’t change a thing. Now get on out of here and be glad Daddy can’t see you. If you were still in high school, he’d ground you for a week for trying to leave the house in a dress like that.”

  Dixie laughed. Her sister’s good mood and string of compliments lightened the funk Presley had caused.

  Liza tugged the top of the sundress into the optional off-the-shoulder position. “There, that’s better. Have fun.”

  Dixie took a deep breath then pulled on her high-heeled strappy sandals. She hadn’t worn them in years, but tonight seemed like the night to break them out. “Tell Gram not to wait up, okay?”

  * * *

  By the time she pulled into the back lot at the Rose, she felt nothing like the free-spirited gal who’d left her gram’s house in a cloud of perfume, lipstick, and hope. Who was she kidding? She was Dixie Mae King from Holiday, Texas. Even though Chandler started off here, now he lived in southern California and probably spent his afternoons lounging on the beach with lifeguards who looked like Baywatch babes.

  As she got out of the car, she pulled a tissue from her purse and rubbed it across her lips, removing every trace of the reddish tint she’d applied multiple times at home. Before she reached the front door of the Rose, she’d tugged her straps up and over her shoulders again. It helped but didn’t completely put her at ease. This dress hadn’t seen the light of day in years. What made her think she could pull off the short skirt and sexy off-the-shoulder look?

  Wishing for an excuse to call the whole thing off, she entered the honky-tonk. It wasn’t quite eight, but the crowd inside was busting at the seams. Dixie made her way through the mass of people toward the bar. At least Charlie had the foresight to arrange for a ton of extra staff for the event. Dixie would usually be the one running around with a tray in her hands, but tonight that job belonged to the temporary employees they’d brought in from Austin and even as far away as San Antonio.

  “Hey, Shep.” She finally reached the edge of the bar. People lined up five and six deep, waiting to put in their order and get their hands on a Lone Star beer.

  “Hiya, Dixie.” His hands kept moving, popping tops of bottles and pulling drafts from the tap while his gaze danced over her. “You look real pretty tonight, hon.”

  She looked down at the bar, preferring to ignore the compliment. “You doing okay back here?”

  He slid a handful of mugs down the bar and plopped some change down in front of the guy next to her. “So far so good. How’s it going out back?”

  “I’m about to go check. You let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll have my phone with me.”

  “Will do.”

  Dixie stepped away to search for Chandler in the crowd. They’d arranged to meet in the front room by the bar. If she’d known how many people would be crammed into the small space, she would have suggested they meet outside. The yells and cheers of the crowd faded into the background as her gaze lit on a head of white-blond hair on the other end of the room. Suddenly the energy in the crowded area shifted.

  Chandler glanced up and smiled. Dixie grinned back. He snagged his bottle from the edge of the bar and threaded his way through the crowd to reach her.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Dixie beamed up at him. He’d changed into a pair of white pants and a baby-blue collared shirt. The same color blue as his eyes.

  “You look nice tonight.” The compliment rolled off his tongue like he sweet-talked waitresses 24/7. Even though she was sure he was just being nice, she still warmed under his appreciative gaze.

  “Thanks, so do you. You hungry?”

  He rubbed his hand over his abs, drawing her attention to his midsection. A flash of her steamy dream starring Presley from last night exploded through her head. Presley had rubbed his stomach like that right before he leaned in for a kiss. She licked her lips in anticipation, wishing her late-night dream of tangling tongues with Presley was about to come true. Instead, Chandler’s chuckle reoriented her in the present.

  “Seems like I’m always hungry. Do you have time to go somewhere, or do you need to stick around?”

  Dixie would have loved to have this man to herself, to get reacquainted and reconnect, if only long enough for him to plow through a blue-plate special down at the diner. But she was already pushing it, just letting him distract her from things she should be doing at the Rose. “It’s the first night. I’d better stick around to make sure things go okay. But how about we grab a couple of rib platters and take them out back?”

  “That sounds delicious. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’ll stick to water. Come on, I’ll put our order in and give you a quick tour of the place.”

  “Ms. King, I’m all yours.” Chandler offered her his arm. She linked her arm through his and made a move toward the kitchen. All hers. What would it feel like to have someone actually say that to her and mean it? Maybe tonight she could let herself pretend. Pretend that she was just a girl in a pretty dress who was enjoying the company of a boy with a cleft in his chin and a sparkle in his eye.

  Just for tonight.

  * * *

  Presley waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The sound of heavy breathing—heavy, slobbery breathing—came from the back corner of the trailer. He took a few tentative steps forward. “Hey, Ham Bone. How’s it hangin’, fella?”

  The trailer shifted and squeaked as Leoni hopped onto the back bumper. “How’s it going?”

  Presley whipped around to see her peering over the back door. “Shh. I think he’s asleep.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. He sleeps with one eye open,” she warned.

  “I’m just going to try to get close enough to clip the leash on him.” Presley advanced another small step. The hulking mass in the corner rolled over, bumping into the wall of the trailer and rocking the whole contraption from side to side.

  “He’s faking.” Leoni pointed at the pig. “See the way his ear is cocked? Be careful.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, darlin’. I’ve been handling hogs since you were probably knee high to a grasshopper.”

  The hog rolled onto his belly and struggled to get to his feet. Presley put his hands out in front of him, trying to keep both Ham Bone and himself from doing anything rash. “Hey, buddy. How about we get you out of here and into a place where you can enj
oy the sun?”

  Ham Bone grunted.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Fresh straw, all the slop you can handle. Whadda ya say, big guy?”

  The beast swung his massive head toward Presley and snorted. A thick glob of slobber, snot, and who knew what else sprayed from his nose. The silver ring of the collar was just inches away. Presley reached for it, taking one more tiny step forward. Ham Bone charged, knocking Presley into the side of the trailer. The air whooshed out of him then the doors to the trailer burst open, crashing against the side with a horrible clang.

  Presley made a final swipe, trying to clip the lead onto the boar’s collar. He missed and rolled out of the trailer onto the dirt, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

  “You okay?” Leoni knelt on the ground beside him.

  “Yeah.” Presley scrubbed a hand over his eyes. His hat had disappeared, leaving him unprotected from the crowd of onlookers who’d gathered around. He did a quick inventory. The only thing that appeared to be injured beyond the inevitable bruising he’d suffer was his pride.

  “You’re bleeding.” Leoni reached out, her hand stopping short of his side.

  He lifted his shirt, revealing a gash over his rib cage. “Well, hell, you’re right.”

  “What’s going on?” Dixie called, as she moved from the enclosed beer garden to the parking lot.

  Presley watched her navigate the dusty, uneven ground in strappy, heeled sandals. What was with that getup? She had on a lacy white sundress that hugged her hips while the low-cut top accentuated her ample assets. Her hair floated around her face in a cloud of crimson. Either he’d just knocked his head too hard and was seeing things that weren’t there, or Dixie had morphed into some sort of a fiery siren.

  “Had an incident with a runaway boar. What is it about the pigs around here?” Presley dusted off his ass as Dixie leaned toward him.

  “Are you okay?” She glanced down and her eyes widened, probably at the sight of the four-inch gash in his side. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.” Presley didn’t want her attention, not for something stupid like this. “Nothing a little Fireball won’t fix.” He gave her his best smirk and a wink, hoping that would get her off his back.

  “What can I do to help?” The tall blond guy appeared next to Dixie. White pants? Who the hell wore white pants to a honky-tonk?

  “Chandler, this is Presley. He’s our, uh”—her gaze moved back and forth between them—“well, he’s in charge of the music this weekend. Chandler here is from California. I was just showing him around.” She glanced to her toes while a nice shade of pink flushed her chest.

  “Nice to meet you.” Chandler offered his hand.

  Showing him around? Sure looked like she and the SoCal boy were on some sort of a date. Presley took one look at Chandler’s outstretched fingers then swiped the dirt from under his nose with his hand. “Don’t want to get you all dirty there, bro.”

  Dixie’s mouth set in a line. “You need a doctor to take a look at that.”

  Presley narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

  “She’s right. You need a couple of stitches.” Chandler pointed at the cut. “I got bit by a nurse shark when I was surfing in Hawaii a couple of years ago in a similar spot. You really want to get that stitched up.”

  Presley scowled. “You got bit by a shark?” He didn’t like the way Dixie startled at that news. Or the way she took Chandler’s arm.

  “Yeah, just a baby. Still have the scar to show for it.” He lifted the edge of his shirt, exposing a twelve-pack of bronzed abs. A jagged line stretched from one side of his abdomen to the other.

  “How big was that shark?” Dixie’s eyes widened, and her hand tightened on Chandler’s arm.

  “Just about five or six feet.” He shrugged, releasing his shirt.

  Presley shook his head, hoping to clear away the sight of SoCal’s ridged abs. Dude got bit by a fucking shark, and here he’d been injured by a pig with an attitude.

  “Come on, Presley. I’ll see if Doc Shubert is around.” Dixie released Chandler’s arm and offered her hand.

  “Fine.” He’d say or do just about anything to get himself out of the unwanted spotlight. He waved off her hand then he and Chandler followed Dixie into the building. She stopped at the bar to exchange a few words with Dwight, the resident mechanic and pain in the ass, then continued on to Charlie’s office.

  “Here, you sit down and I’ll go get the doc. Dwight said he’s out back tossing horseshoes.”

  “Great.” He sank into Charlie’s chair and kicked his filthy boots onto the edge of the desk.

  “I also asked him to grab a couple of the guys and go after that pig. We don’t need him tearing down any fences or causing any trouble around here.” She put her hand on SoCal’s arm. “Chandler, can you go grab a couple of clean towels from the storeroom? Second door on the left.” Then she wheeled toward the door. “Be back in a sec.”

  Chandler followed her out, and Presley was finally alone. He’d royally screwed up this time. Not only did he make a massive fool out of himself by being bested by a big-ass boar, but he’d also probably blown any chance he had of getting some feedback on his fiddle from Leoni.

  But the biggest shock to his system wasn’t the embarrassment he’d suffered on the tail end of Ham Bone’s rampage or the lost opportunity to talk fiddles. It was the weird sensation burning through his chest. The mixture of dread and regret and some unidentified feeling that exploded at the sight of Dixie and her knight in blinding-white chinos. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think that for the first time in his life he’d been bit by the green-eyed monster. But, naw, couldn’t be. This was Dixie he was thinking about. Dixie Holier-Than-Thou King.

  But something about the sparkle in her eye when she’d leaned toward him had caught him off guard. It’s like all of a sudden he realized she wasn’t the awkward girl who’d blushed at the sight of him anymore. No, no doubt about it, Dixie was a woman…a woman who set him off-balance, sent his senses into overdrive, and made him yearn for something that seemed just out of reach.

  And now she was gushing over some stranger who didn’t fit into Holiday any more than Presley fit into the role of hog handler or honky-tonk manager.

  Hell, that knock on the head must have been harder than it seemed. There was no way he could be jealous over the red-headed Fireball. No fucking way.

  Chapter Five

  Dixie kicked off the ridiculous shoes before she raced down the hall. What was Presley thinking? In typical Presley fashion, he’d probably lost some stupid bet and had to take the boar for a walk or something. Why in the world had Charlie thought it would be a good idea to leave him in charge of anything? She’d get him stitched up and out of her way. Her only hope of getting him off her mind was to focus on something else. Maybe even someone else. Like Chandler. But leave it to Presley to screw that up for her too.

  She located the doc two games and three whiskeys into an impromptu horseshoe tournament. He promised he was still capable of stitching up a side though he made no guarantee of a straight line. Presley would probably prefer a botched job anyway. He’d say the bigger the scar, the more his potential conquests would “ooh” and “ah” over his injury. Dixie shook the thought away. Wouldn’t do her any good to waste any energy on Presley Walker.

  Five minutes later she returned to the office, Doc Shubert in tow. Chandler met her by the door.

  “I got some towels. Think this is enough?” He held out a stack of bar towels, and she took them with a smile.

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Look, I’m sorry about tonight.”

  Doc Shubert let out a burp. “Is the patient in there?” He nodded toward the door.

  “He should be. It’s where I left him. I’ll be right in.”

  The doc pushed the door open, and Dixie caught a glimpse of Presley sitting i
n Charlie’s chair, a bottle of amber liquid tipped to his lips.

  She bit her bottom lip. “I probably ought to lend the doc a hand.”

  Chandler’s mouth split into a lazy smile. “You sure you don’t want some help?”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right. I’ve played doctor and nurse before.”

  His grin widened. “I’m sorry I missed that. You’re likely the prettiest nurse I’ve ever met.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I just meant that I’ve kissed boo-boos and applied bandages and…”

  Chandler bit back a laugh.

  “I’m not doing myself any favors here, am I?” Her brow wrinkled.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against it. “You’re adorable. Can we try this again tomorrow?”

  Heat sparked in her gut. She pulled the stack of towels into her abdomen, trying to quench the burn. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” He released her hand and pushed the door open for her. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  She stepped past him into the office then whirled around to let herself take one more look at the surprising blast from her past. “I’ll talk to you then.”

  Nodding, he let the door close.

  Dixie stood there for a moment, hugging the towels against her belly.

  “You done flirting with SoCal?” Presley spit out.

  “Excuse me?” The moment dissipated, replaced with a keen awareness of some impressive snoring. Dixie followed the noise to where Doc Shubert slumped in a chair. “What happened?”

  “What are you trying to do to me here? He could’ve sterilized my wound just by breathing on it.”

  “I guess he might have had a few drinks.”

  “The man’s drunker than a peach orchard boar.”