Cowboy Charming Read online

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, like recreation. Looks like you have to go into one of the bigger towns for hotels, restaurants, any kind of entertainment.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “If you haven’t noticed, the Rose just happens to have a wonderful restaurant. We’ve had reviewers from Austin, Houston, even Chicago come down to try out our barbecue.”

  Chandler smiled, surely an attempt at distraction. “I didn’t mean anything against the Rambling Rose. But even you said it’s been around forever. The project manager in me just can’t help but think folks around here might be ready for something new. You know, an alternative option. I remember my granddad saying there wasn’t much to do in Holiday unless you happened to like beer and country music. Thankfully he liked both.”

  “What are you getting at?” She couldn’t help herself. Any desire to play things cool evaporated into the air, like steam rising from the pit where Angelo stood turning the spit.

  He backed away, hands raised as if in surrender. “Nothing. Just curious. I can’t help but wonder about stuff like that when I go somewhere new. Or, in the case of Holiday, somewhere I haven’t been for a very long time.”

  By then they’d arrived at the stage. Dixie shot a doubtful glance at Chandler before she headed up the steps. Could Presley actually be onto something?

  “You know I didn’t mean anything by that last comment, right? You’ve got a great place here. The stories, the legends, the place the Rose holds in history can’t be denied.”

  “Of course.” So he’d asked a few questions. There wasn’t anything illegal about that. But her hackles had risen. He’d have to tread carefully around her. If she got any sense he was trying to pull a fast one, she’d be buzzing all over him like a horsefly on a big pile of horse poop.

  “Now, what can I do to help?” He’d followed her up the steps and stood in the center of the stage.

  Dixie pointed to the side where a stack of tables and chairs had been set. “Let’s get the tables set up and then we can start checking in the competitors.”

  “Sounds good.” Chandler got to work putting the tables in place.

  As she checked her list, the sound of someone whistling floated from behind the backdrop. Presley strode through the curtain with two huge jars of pickled jalapeño peppers in his arms.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” He nodded toward Chandler. “You recruiting some new employees here?”

  Dixie made her way to the edge of the table where Presley stood. “He offered to help out, so I took him up on it.”

  Presley set the jars down and faced Chandler. “Are you competing in the jalapeño contest then?”

  “Who, me?” Chandler asked. He shot Dixie an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid my taste buds aren’t used to Tex-Mex anymore.”

  Presley’s eyes sparked. “Well, that’s a shame. I suppose if you can’t hack the heat…”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I couldn’t hack it.” Chandler cocked a hip forward.

  “Oh, my bad. So you’re up for entering the contest then?”

  Dixie could practically feel the testosterone rise, like a seismic disturbance in the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, Chandler.”

  “That’s okay. I want to.” He put a hand on her arm and gave her a smile probably meant to provide comfort and reassurance. Instead, he’d played right into Presley’s not-so-veiled challenge.

  “Good. I’ll set up a chair for you.” Presley flipped open a folding chair and slid it in place.

  “You’re competing too, aren’t you?” Chandler asked.

  “Technically I’m not allowed, seeing as how I’m on staff and all.” Presley clucked his tongue. “Damn shame too. I sure do like my peppers.”

  “I don’t think it would be a problem to make an exception, since you’re so enthusiastic,” Dixie said.

  Presley lifted a brow as he turned her way. “I don’t want anyone thinking it’s rigged.”

  “Why would they think that? You actually have to eat the peppers, you know. It’s not like you can cheat or anything.” Dixie couldn’t help but smile on the inside at the look on Presley’s flustered face.

  “What do you say?” Chandler held out a hand. “How about a little wager? I win and Dixie gets the night off.”

  Dixie nudged Chandler in the side. “That’s not really fair. Tonight’s the busiest night of the week.” Plus she hadn’t actually decided whether she still wanted to go out with the man.

  “Okay, how about just long enough to go for that ride this afternoon and then tomorrow night I can take her to dinner. Deal?” Chandler’s hand stretched toward Presley.

  “Oh, I can’t tomorrow night. We’ll be wrapping up the festival.”

  “Monday then?” Chandler asked.

  “I promised I’d take Gram and Maybelle to bingo.”

  “I’m sure Presley would be happy to go in your stead.” Chandler’s lips spread into a self-assured smile.

  Before she could put a stop to the nonsense, Presley clasped Chandler’s hand. “Deal. And if I win, you have to take care of Boss Hawg’s boar the rest of the week.”

  “Sounds fair enough.” Chandler shook Presley’s hand.

  Neither man let go. They stood there for a long, drawn-out handshake, clasping hands like whoever let go first would automatically be dubbed the loser.

  “Will y’all get on with it? We have to get set up before the competitors start checking in.” Dixie stomped to the side of the stage to grab a few more chairs.

  “Yeah, let’s get a move on.” Presley let go and caught up to her. “Can you believe this guy? Thinking he can beat me in a pepper-eating contest?”

  “I don’t know what happened back there.” Dixie picked up a few chairs. “All I saw was two tom turkeys strutting their stuff, wasting time and energy that could be better spent on making sure the chili cook-off goes off without a hitch.”

  “You know what? You’re right. And when SoCal loses and has to check on that damn boar all the time, it’ll free me up to help out even more.”

  Dixie paused, shook her head, then continued on toward the other end of the stage. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

  She didn’t have time for games between two grown men. She had plans, plans much bigger than winning bragging rights over a silly pepper contest. But still, it did give her a little thrill that someone thought enough about her to want to spend time with her.

  Too bad it was the wrong man.

  Chapter Seven

  Presley stuffed another jalapeño in his mouth. Heat blazed through his entire body. Everything burned. He could feel it in his ears, behind his eyeballs, even in his joints. It was like someone had replaced all of his blood with jalapeño pepper juice.

  Dixie walked the length of the table. “Holy smokes, that makes number one hundred forty-seven for Chandler Bristol from Malibu, California. We’ve got one minute left. You’d better pick up another peck of peppers if you’re going to hang in there, Mr. Walker.”

  Presley’s eyes watered as he glanced to his right. SoCal had slowed down a bit. They all had in the nine minutes they’d been going at it. Hell, the majority of the competitors had bailed and were sipping on ice-cold glasses of milk to settle their stomachs while he, SoCal, and two other serious contenders battled to the end.

  “Aw, come on, Dwight.” Dixie paused near the end of the table where Dwight pushed back in his chair.

  “I can’t take it anymore.” He hopped from the stage, grabbed a longneck from a woman in the crowd, then chugged it.

  The crowd assembled in front of the stage cheered.

  “And then there were three.” Dixie glanced at the stopwatch in her hand. “We’re down to thirty seconds.”

  Presley scrambled to shove the slippery peppers in his mouth. He’d passed the point of pain. It was the roil in his stomach that had him mo
st worried now. That and the actual threat of losing to SoCal. The man said he didn’t like spicy food. How could he be besting a native Texan in a pepper-eating contest?

  “Y’all, help me count it down,” Dixie said. “Ten.”

  The crowd joined in. Frantic, Presley stuffed an entire handful of peppers in his cheeks as the countdown continued.

  “Five, four, three, two, one.”

  Dixie pressed the button of the air horn she’d picked up. The blare, so close to his ear, made Presley jump in his seat. “Gentlemen, hands off your peppers.”

  He shot a glance to his right. SoCal wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin like he’d just finished a gourmet meal. Presley snagged the bandana hanging from his back pocket and ran it over his forehead. He’d probably sweated out at least fifteen pounds in the past ten minutes.

  “All right, let’s get the results. How many peppers for Presley Walker?” Dixie stood by a giant white board, marker in hand.

  The poor kid who’d been assigned to count his pepper stems as he tossed them in a plastic bucket stood up. “One hundred sixty-eight for Walker.”

  Presley grinned as the spectators whistled and cheered. For a moment he basked in the limelight and pushed his worries of the aftermath away. He hadn’t thought the entire process through yet—what goes in must eventually come out—one way or another.

  “And how about Bubba Sherman?” Dixie asked. “He’s here all the way from Beaumont.”

  Bubba pounded his fists on the table then moved them to his chest. “I’m a pepper-gobbling beast.”

  His counter held up a finger, still working her way through the discarded stems. “One ninety for Bubba.”

  Applause filled the outdoor space. Presley clapped his hands together. Anyone who could eat a hundred and ninety peppers and still have the energy to speak ought to take the title. Let Bubba wear the crown. All Presley needed to do was best SoCal.

  “That’s impressive,” Dixie said. “Can our visitor from California beat that number?”

  SoCal sat back from the table, fingers crossed over his stomach. He looked pretty sure of himself. Too damn sure. Presley’s gut twinged at the thought of losing to the outsider. He hadn’t considered it a real possibility.

  SoCal’s helper got to his feet. “One hundred sixty-nine for Chandler Bristol.”

  No, no, no. Presley groaned. One pepper? SoCal beat him by one puny little pepper?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the first annual Rambling Rose Jalapeño-Eating Contest is Bubba Sherman with an impressive one hundred ninety peppers.” Dixie lifted Bubba’s arm into the air.

  Bubba hooted and hollered then wrapped his arms around Dixie and swung her around the stage in an impromptu celebratory dance.

  Presley pushed back from the table at the same time as Chandler. “Congrats on a job well done.”

  Chandler took his hand. “Thanks. You too. I hope you enjoy bingo with Dixie’s grandma.”

  “Can I just ask one thing?” Presley asked.

  “Go for it.”

  “I’ve just got to know, how does a guy who doesn’t like spicy food manage to put away that many peppers?” Presley squinted at SoCal.

  “Good question, Walker. See, I never said I didn’t like spicy food. I just said I don’t care much for jalapeños. You think jalapeños are hot? You should get some of the Kolhapuri chicken I get at this place by my apartment. I need a fire extinguisher in the kitchen with me when I have it for dinner.”

  “Nice.” Presley shook his head.

  “What’s nice is that you’ll be holding down the fort while I take Dixie out on a proper date.”

  “No argument from me on that. You won, fair and square.” Presley clapped SoCal on the arm then watched as the man moved to the side of the stage and chatted with Dixie. He waited until SoCal ambled down the steps toward the Rose then made his way toward Dixie, intent on having a word with her himself. Losing the bet stung his pride. But now she’d have some one-on-one time with the man and could hopefully feel him out about his potential plans.

  She stood at the side of the stage, snapping a picture of Bubba with a giant stuffed pepper and an oversized check of the five hundred bucks he’d won from their contest sponsor. Presley waited while Bubba preened for the camera, kissing the pepper then straddling it like he was going to take it for a spin around the pasture.

  Finally, Bubba hopped down from the stage to celebrate with his newfound fans and Presley and Dixie were alone.

  “That was a tough loss. How are you handling it?” The smile she turned on him smacked of sass.

  “Hey, I came over here to say you’re welcome, that’s all.”

  Her eyes flared. “You’re welcome? Why in the world would I have any reason to thank you?”

  “You’ve got a date with SoCal, don’t you? The perfect opportunity to find out why he’s really back in town.” Presley hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, an attempt to keep his hands busy so he didn’t strangle Dixie. It was either that or dip her down for another long, sweet kiss. He still hadn’t been able to make sense of all the feelings she’d conjured up inside. There would be time for that later. Right now he needed her to get with the program. Why couldn’t she admit that SoCal was up to no good?

  “I don’t know. He asked a few questions that made me think, but I’m not sure it’s enough to run the poor man out of town.” She shook her head.

  “So grill him some more.” He shrugged. Easy enough. Especially if they got a couple of beers—or, better yet, something stronger—into him.

  “How? I can’t come right out and ask him.”

  “No. We don’t want to scare him off. Doc said those contractors were being pretty secretive. You’ve got to get the intel without letting him know you’re onto him.”

  “Right.” Dixie nodded. How had he never noticed that light smattering of freckles across her nose? “So I’ll ask again, how?”

  “Do what all women do when they want to find something out.” Her blank stare made him want to laugh out loud. “Come here and I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do.”

  She leaned forward, close enough that the smell of something sweet tickled his nose. Strawberries. Or maybe cherries. Whatever it was, he liked it.

  “Okay, what?” she practically whispered.

  “It’s easy, Fireball. Just use your feminine wiles.”

  “My feminine what?” Instead of a nod of agreement and the eager look of comprehension he expected, her nose crinkled.

  “Wiles. You know, sidle up to him, maybe run your hand over his arm. Make him feel good about himself, and he’ll be like putty in your capable hands.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. Surely someone who looked like Dixie would know how to work what God gave her to get whatever she needed out of an unsuspecting male.

  “Oh, I’m the wrong gal for that.” She shook her head. The fruity smell hung in the air between them.

  “No, you’re not.” He put a palm on either cheek, holding her head still. “You’ve already got an in with the guy. He likes you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Like he wanted to order her right off the menu with a side of creamed corn to gobble up alongside his chicken-fried steak.

  Her hands covered his, and she removed them from her cheeks. “No. There’s no way I’m using any kind of feminine anything to try to finagle information out of Chandler.”

  “Okay then. I guess I’ll just give Charlie a call and see what she wants to do.” He studied his hands, waiting for a response.

  “You can’t bring Charlie into this. Not until we know more.”

  “Bingo!” He tapped his pointer finger against her nose. “Which is why you need to try to find out what he’s up to. It’s probably nothing. But if Doc is right and someone’s trying to buy up land around the Rose to put in some stupid theme park, a competing honky-tonk, and who knows what e
lse, and we had an opportunity to stop it…” He let his words trail off. He couldn’t tell if she knew he was totally baiting her. Based on the way she handled things at the Rose, the woman had an IQ that could probably do back flips around his. But she obviously didn’t make full use of her other assets. Honestly, he found it somewhat refreshing. He usually went head-to-head with the women he made a play for. They’d trade zingers, volley some salacious banter back and forth, and finally go to her place. He didn’t bring women home. That was one of his cardinal rules.

  Dixie took in a deep breath. Her chest rose then fell under her hot-pink Rose T-shirt. “I want to help you out. But seriously, I’d botch this faster than you did last night with that boar.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I may not be very good at pig handling, but there’s one area where you can’t argue I excel.” Her lips pursed, making him want to smooth out the wrinkle on her upper lip with his thumb. Damn, wouldn’t do him any good to get twisted up over someone so wrong for him.

  “I don’t know.” Her doubt seemed to consume her. Swallow her up like a big gray cloud. She withdrew into herself right before his eyes.

  “We’ll start slow. I’ll give you a couple of tips, and you see how it goes. If you get any info, we’ll figure it out from there. Sound good?”

  Those green eyes sparked. “And if we decide he doesn’t have anything to do with whatever rumors Doc Shubert is spreading?”

  “Then he’s off the hook. I’ll get my nose out of your business, and you can do whatever you please with Mr. SoCal.” What if she did hook up with the beach bum from the West Coast? Wouldn’t bother him at all. But then his stomach flipped at the thought of Dixie pressing those sweet, swollen lips against someone else’s mouth. Maybe he’d knocked his head into that trailer door a little harder than he thought last night.

  “Fine. Let’s do it.” A combination of resignation and spitfire flashed in her eyes.

  Presley leaned in to brush his lips against that inviting pink mouth. Doing it was exactly what he had in mind.

  “What the heck?” Rough hands on his shoulders pushed him backward.