He whistles. “Rich lady, huh?”
I cough on my drink, picturing the depressingly low number of my bank account and the late notices that are still in my purse. “Uh, no. I’ll be developing said land.”
“You going to put in a Starbucks?” His lip curls as he speaks.
“Do you want me to?”
He slams down his beer. It’s less than half-full, so the liquid doesn’t make it over the rim. “Hell no.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“What are your plans then?”
“That”—I reach over to poke his upper arm—“is where you come in.”
He gives me a disbelieving look. “How’s that?”
“You’ve been in Sierra Grande since you learned to walk. Tell me, what does the town need?”
“Nothin’, if you ask me.” He makes a face. “If you asked my daughter and granddaughter, they’d tell you something different, probably.”
“Maybe I can do that. Ask your daughter and granddaughter, I mean.”
Waylon reaches behind himself, fishing his wallet from his pocket. He opens the billfold and retrieves a rectangular white card and hands it to me. “That’s my daughter’s nail salon. They might do more than nails, hell I don’t know.” He waves a hand in the air. “Pay her a visit. Get your nails done.” When he says this, he waggles his fingers. “She’ll tell you what this town needs.”
I tuck the card into my wallet. “Let me get you a refill, Waylon.”
And that is how, on my second night in Sierra Grande, I end up very buzzed with the old man I nearly flipped off.
7
Wes
She’s late.
Dakota was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago and I feel like a dumbass for being so keenly aware of that. Watching the clock like a whipped schoolboy. Pathetic.
I walk away from the window that faces the road, and go to the kitchen to rinse out my coffee cup and set it on the drying rack. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slams shut.
Before I open the front door, I’m careful to rearrange my features. Cool indifference is what I’m going for, maybe with a side of I forgot you and everything about that night.
I pull open the door just in time to watch Dakota falter on the second step. She regains her footing and keeps going. When she notices me standing in the open door, she stops short, her eyes wide, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.
Jesus… this girl. How am I going to spend a morning with her in my truck? From three feet away I can smell her sweet, mouthwatering scent, the same one I couldn’t define that night at the lake and don’t have a prayer of defining now.
Her jeans are so tight she might as well have them painted on, and they’re tucked into cowboy boots. I draw in a shaky breath, but it doesn’t quite fill my lungs.
“You’re late,” I say, and it sounds angry even though I don’t mean it to be. I don’t like the way she puts me off-kilter.
“My apologies,” she says tartly, in a way that conveys she isn’t sorry in the least.
A throat clears and we both follow the noise with our eyes. Gramps sits in a chair, watching us. I must not have noticed him when I was looking out the window. I was too busy watching for Dakota.
He stares at me, waiting for me to introduce him. “Dakota, this is Leroy Hayden, my grandpa. Gramps, this is Dakota.”
Dakota walks over and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she tells him, smiling down at him.
I can already tell he is dazzled by her. “You can just call me Gramps. Are you a friend of Wes’s?” The excitement in his voice at me possibly having a friend is mortifying.
“Uh, no.” Dakota shakes her head. “I’m here on business.”
Gramps turns a confused look to me. “We need to get going, Gramps, but Dad is inside. He can explain the business that Dakota is here for.” To Dakota, I say, “Ready?”
“It was nice to meet you, Gramps.” She winks at him and turns, going back down the steps.
For a moment I’m frozen, struck dumb by the sway of her hips and remembering the night she was swinging them on the dance floor.
I hurry after her. “This way,” I tell her, chucking my chin sideways toward the side of the house where I park my truck.
She keeps three feet between us as we walk, and I can feel her silent questions coming at me through the separation.
Why did you disappear that morning?
Do you remember me?
“The black one.” I point ahead to my truck with the light gray HCC insignia on the driver and passenger doors. “Hop in. I have to tell the guys something.”
Dakota listens but doesn’t say a word. I veer right and stride to Cowboy House. It’s only thirty feet away. Most of the cowboys are out working, but Josh is sitting out front under the awning, sipping black coffee. He hurt his wrist two days ago while we were working on the fences and is babying it while it heals. In the old days, when my grandpa and great-grandpa ran this place, there’d be no nursing an injury. These days, we’re more interested in keeping the cowboys healthy than toughing something out. Still, there’s plenty of pain in life that only grit will get you through.
Josh’s eyes are on me as I approach, but as I get closer to Cowboy House, I realize Josh isn’t looking at me but through me.
I don’t have to turn around to know who he’s looking at.
“Hey,” I growl, “you want to keep your eyeballs?”
Josh’s attention snaps back to mine. “Yes, sir.”
I come to a stop in front of him. “That’s Dakota Wright. She’s here on business. You got that?” My meaning is loud and clear—she’s off-limits.
He nods once.
Now that that’s out of the way, I can say what I came over here to say. “I’m going to be out this morning. You’re in charge of the cowboys.” Truth is, Josh is just about the only cowboy I trust to take care of the rest of them. He’s responsible, level-headed, and not afraid to smoke someone for stepping out of line.
“How’s that wrist?” I ask, looking at the bandage wrapped around his right forearm.
“Should be fine by tomorrow.”
I doubt that. Three days doesn’t seem like enough, but I’m not going to question him. The man can make that choice for himself.
With a duck of my chin, I turn around and head back to Dakota. She’s standing beside my truck, her shoulder resting against the passenger door. Her arms are folded and she has one ankle crossed over the other with the toe of her boot pressing into the ground.
“It’s locked,” she calls as I get closer. “What’s there to be afraid of up here? The big, bad wolf?” She uncrosses her arms and gestures around. “Someone would have to be crazy to mess with this place. I bet every one of you sleeps with a gun nearby.”
One corner of my lip turns up into a half-smirk. Dakota is both right and wrong. Right in that we sleep with guns nearby. How else do we protect our home and our legacy? We’re miles from help, should we need it.
She’s wrong in that there’s nothing to be afraid of up here.
I stride up to her, reaching across her body for the door handle. I’m close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath and smell whatever goddamn smell it is that intoxicated me so long ago. My stomach tightens and my chest constricts. The woman is a snake charmer, a siren, capable of destroying a man. Specifically, me. Or, she would have before, anyway. I don’t think there’s any heart left in me to destroy.