To Kiss A Cowgirl

At least they’d had a decent number of customers today, which gave Jolie hope that perhaps the past month had been a fluke, and that perhaps once the weather turned nice, people would start coming in...although in her gut she knew that they would go to the bigger stores where they could not only pick up feed but also plants and maybe some better tack.

It was almost five o’clock when Jolie gave up and went out to the warehouse to make certain Dylan wasn’t pinned beneath the forklift or something. She’d assumed he was fine, since she called orders out to the warehouse and no customers had come back in complaining that they hadn’t been loaded. She had not, however, heard the roar of the small forklift and when she walked into the warehouse, the reason was fairly obvious.

Dylan was bent over the engine, muttering to himself and looking as though he was having the time of his life. When the door clicked shut behind her, he stepped away from the machine and Jolie wrinkled her nose as she took in his grease-stained shirt and jeans.

“Whoever does your laundry is going to be pissed,” she said.

“I do my own laundry,” he said, patting the crescent wrench he held into the palm of his hand.

Jolie leaned against the door but didn’t say anything, wondering if he’d done the laundry when he’d been married not that long ago. Finn had mentioned the breakup in passing, but Jolie had asked no questions. It wasn’t her business, although she wondered about the woman Dylan had married. Had she tired of his perfectionist ways? Although...now that she thought about it, perfectionists didn’t climb shelves to change a lightbulb. They took the time to get the ladder and do the job correctly. It was possible that the Dylan she thought she knew was not the Dylan standing in front of her.

“I just wanted to check with you before I went home,” she finally said when he started frowning at her, as if wondering the direction of her thoughts. He glanced at the dusty clock above the pallets of feed as if surprised at the time.

“See you tomorrow.” He patted the wrench in his palm again as he spoke, showing all the signs of an impatient male that wanted to get back to work.

“We had a good day today.”

“Yeah.” He spoke on a note of caution as if sensing she was about to launch into something. So she did.

“A day with this many customers is unusual. Really unusual.”

“I’ve seen the books.” The words came out with enough of a clip to convince Jolie that he was aware of the reality of the situation, so the closed-off look on his face was all the more frustrating.

“I think we could bring in new customers if we’re creative.”

“And you have ideas.” His openly dubious expression made her want to smack him.

“I do,” she said evenly.

“Let’s hear them.”

She felt color starting to rise in her face. “I don’t have anything formal put together.”

He set the wrench down on the seat of the forklift. “I’m good with informal.”

“All right. Well, I thought we might put in a small coffee bar for the regular patrons.”

“Because people like to hang around a feed store.”

“They might.”

“I’m kind of interested in bringing in paying business.”

“Well, I’ve thought about a theme day.”

His dark eyebrows came together. “Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Western Day? Hawaiian Day?” Okay. That was a wild stab and a bad one, but she wasn’t backing down, although she was very aware now that she should have prepared something before broaching this with Dylan the Detail Guy.

“Hawaiian Day?”

“Tiki lights? A luau?” She spoke as if she believed in what she said while knowing she was beat. It was time to back down, to get real, or he would never take any of her ideas seriously. “Okay. Feed store luau isn’t such a great idea.”

“Maybe we can give a kitten away with each purchase?” Dylan said.

“Like I said. I don’t have anything formal, but we’ve got to do something.”

“We?”

Jolie blew out a breath and pulled the keys to her trusty GMC pickup out of her pocket. “You are impossible to work for.” And with that, she headed to the door.

* * *

DYLAN WIPED THE smears of oil and grease off his hands with a paper towel. What had started as a seeming quick fix had rapidly escalated into a full-blown overhaul. He hadn’t finished because he needed parts, so hopefully no one would want a pallet of wood or anything like that tomorrow. He wadded up the towel and tossed it in the trash. He’d enjoyed his afternoon, which was something considering the way his day had started. Working on engines made him think of his dad—the happy times.

From outside the warehouse he heard Jolie’s old GMC fire up. Even it sounded as if it was in a huff over him refusing to consider theme days at the store.

Theme days. Right.

Well, she had been correct about one thing—they’d had a decent day sales-wise, made even better by the fact that he’d been able to load everything by hand.

The business definitely wasn’t as good as it had been when he’d been a teen, helping Mike out in every way he could since his dad had been too ill. Finn had brought him up to speed in that regard, but by cutting one full-time position and doing the loading himself, Finn had gotten the place to where it was making a marginal profit—enough to support himself and his grandfather.

Dylan intended to trim even more off the budget. He couldn’t get rid of the only other full-time position—the counter person/bookkeeper, aka Jolie—but he was going to look at doing something different with the janitorial side and maybe cut some of the items that didn’t turn over as rapidly as the feed. Stock that sat around without selling was money not earning interest.

He studied the forklift for a moment, then, decision made, he set down the wrench. Tomorrow he’d continue the battle. Right now he was tired and hungry.

After rolling down the warehouse door, he went to lock up the store. Jolie had already done that, so he let himself in, grabbed his coat and the lunch pail with his untouched lunch and headed out the door to his empty house. His grandfather had his weekly poker game at the lodge hall, so he’d be eating alone.

He got into his truck and leaned his head against the headrest before starting the engine. He didn’t mind being alone, but he hated walking into an empty house. It reminded him too much of what home had been like right after his father died—what he’d been like after his father had died. Alone, more afraid than he’d wanted to let on. Not quite twenty and still in need of some serious guidance, it’d been a rough time to lose his only parent.

He’d rallied then and he’d rally now. You rode life or life rode you. Even though there’d been times over the past months when he’d felt as if he was barely in the saddle, he was going to ride life.

CHAPTER THREE

“DID YOU GIVE Dylan his prescribed dose of pain today?” Dani asked as she plopped down a basket of laundry fresh off the line.

“He was too busy causing his own pain,” Jolie said, gathering up a sheet and burying her nose in it. She loved air dried sheets.

“How so?”

Jolie gave her a rundown of how Dylan had attempted to kill himself changing a lightbulb.

“Actually,” she said in a musing voice after she’d finished, “it made me like him more—for about a minute.” Until he’d shot down her impromptu ideas for attracting new business. “I never dreamed he was a cut-corners kind of guy.”

“I don’t think you know him very well.”

“Are you kidding? We spent about two hundred hours together during our junior year.”

“And talked about?”

“The many ways in which I was failing him?”

Dani shrugged and shook out a bed sheet. “You don’t know him.”

“I know how he made me feel.” Jolie reached out to take her side. And how he’d made her feel today, but she wasn’t going into that with Dani, so she simply said, “But you’re right. I never got past the surface. Something about his attitude toward me put me off.” She brought two corners of a sheet together before glancing up at the clock. “Cripes. I gotta get going or I’ll be late, and you know how Jim feels about that.”

She ran upstairs, slipped into her cowboy boots and threw on a white Western shirt over a rose-pink camisole. The jeans, well worn and just a little on the tight side—thank you, Lycra—were perfect for a night pouring drinks. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, slapped on some lipstick and headed for the door.

Working two jobs and trying to make some headway putting the ranch back together put a crimp in her social life, but she had a dream and student loans. She couldn’t pursue her dream and pay back loans without making a few sacrifices. Her social life had been the first thing she’d put on the chopping block.

“I’m out of here,” she called to Dani as she passed the utility room.

“Try not to scare Gus when you come home.”

The big dog lifted his head and Jolie leaned down to pet him as she passed by. “I think he’s getting used to the idea of me coming home late a couple times a week. Last time he only barked a little.”

Unfortunately one booming bark was enough to bring anyone up out of bed.

Jolie ran out to her truck, tossed her purse onto the seat and got inside. Thursday nights weren’t bad. Tonight—Friday—the place was usually hopping, making her glad that Culver’s was only open for half a day on Saturday. If people wanted feed, they needed to get there before noon, and sometimes after working until two in the morning, closing the bar and getting up at six o’clock to go to work, Jolie found it challenging to stay awake until noon.

But maybe tonight would be the rare quiet Friday night.

* * *

DYLAN DIDN’T OFTEN get the sense that the walls were closing in on him—or rather he hadn’t until he’d moved back home. Even his grandfather had noticed. The poker game had been canceled, Dylan had done the PT for his leg before dinner and now the two of them were attempting to watch a basketball game.

“Look up old friends,” Mike said.

Old friends. He’d been gone for a long time—more than a decade—and the majority of the people he’d gone to school with had moved on to careers in other areas of the state. And, frankly, he didn’t feel like connecting with anyone from his past—not until he figured out his present and his future.

“Join my poker game next week,” Mike suggested. “We need a few more players.”

“You guys would fleece me,” Dylan said. He was only half kidding. Mike and his friends pretended to play for pennies, but they were actually out for blood.

“Yeah, maybe,” Mike allowed with a half smile.

“Maybe I’ll head down to McElroy’s Tavern, catch up with Jim and Mac.” Everything in him wanted to stay holed up, to continue licking his wounds and avoiding company, but in the long run that wasn’t going to work. He had to get out, start building a new life.

“Jim you can catch up with,” Mike said. “Mac’s working across the state at the oil patch. He only makes it home every few weeks.”

“I guess I do have some catching up to do.” He considered for a moment then said, “You want to come with me?”

“You want to go out with your grandfather?”

“Yep.”

Mike scowled at him, as he had when Dylan had been younger and tried to get off work at the store early.

“Come on,” Dylan said with a smile.

“I’ll go for one beer.”

“Agreed.”

“Let me change my shirt,” Mike said, pushing himself to his feet. “Although I don’t think going out with your grandfather is the best way to get your social life up and running.”

“It’s a start,” Dylan said. And about all he felt like dealing with at the moment.

They arrived early in the evening, but there was already a decent-size crowd filling the place. The bar area was crowded, so Dylan jerked his head toward one of the few empty tables near the door.

“Hold the table,” Dylan said. “I’ll get the round.”

Mike pulled out a chair and Dylan started toward the bar, edging up as a space opened. Jim was busy filling orders and it was pretty obvious that Dylan wouldn’t be doing much more than saying hello.

He scanned the crowd as he waited, recognized a few faces but not that many. Apparently most of the people his age were home doing family things. Once upon a time he’d been at home doing family things—when he hadn’t been on shift.

He finally reached the bar, moving over as a server squeezed past him to slip behind the bar and set down a tray. He watched as she bent over in front of him, pulling bottles out of the cooler, took in a long, reddish ponytail and a nicely curved ass that seemed oddly familiar. Then she stood, met his eyes in the mirror behind the bar and he realized whose ass he’d been admiring.

“Let me know when you’ve seen enough,” Jolie said without bothering to turn around.

How the hell did a guy respond to that?

Dylan’s mouth tightened and she seemed to take that as an acknowledgment of her touché, turning toward him and meeting his eyes in an unsmiling way before bending to take clean glassware out of the rack beneath the bar.

“I didn’t realize you worked here,” he said.

“I do,” she said, loading dirty glasses into the rack. She worked quickly, her movements precise, well practiced.

“Jolie,” Jim called without turning his head, “get the limes going when you have a second.”

“Sure thing.” She finished the loading and then turned to pull some limes out of the small fridge.

“What can I get you?” she asked, looking up at Dylan once again, her expression all business—very much the way he’d like to see it at the store.

“Two Buds.”

“Draft?”

“Whatever’s easiest.”

She pulled a couple of long-necks out of the cooler, set them on the bar, popped the tops and pushed them forward. “Tab?”

Dylan shook his head and slapped down a ten. “Keep the change.”

He thought she was going to argue, but she took the bill and turned to the register. Dylan grabbed the bottles and headed back to his grandfather.

“Is that Jolie Brody?” Mike asked as he took the bottle.

Dylan sat with his back to the wall, telling himself to keep his eyes off Jolie although they kept drifting in her direction. “In the flesh.”

Mike twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “Doesn’t she work for us?”

“She does. Must be moonlighting.”

“No law against that,” Mike said. “But I can’t help wondering how much sleep she gets.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she does a decent job for us.”

“Finn liked her.”

“Finn likes all women,” Dylan replied dryly.

“Takes after me,” Mike said with a grin. “But I don’t think he liked her that way. I think he liked her like a friend.”

Dylan tried to imagine he and Jolie being friends...the image wasn’t gelling. And he also didn’t seem to be able to stop watching her. Cop training kicking in, he told himself. He scanned crowds. He noticed things. He watched people. But he was watching Jolie more than was necessary under the circumstances.

And so were several other guys in the room.

Even when he was talking to his grandfather, he was aware of just where she was in the room. Behind the bar, schlepping drinks to a table, disappearing outside for what was probably a brief break from the heat in the room.

“Making sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble?” Mike asked on a wry note.

“Just...” Dylan shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“She’s a good-looking gal,” Mike said gently.

“And I’m still putting my life back together after the last good-looking gal. Besides, she works for us.”

Mike took a drink of beer. Now he was following her with his eyes. “Finn said she’s going into business with her sister eventually.”

“Trying to set me up?” Dylan asked on a note of amusement, although the thought made him kind of nervous. His grandfather had a lot of friends, who probably had granddaughters...

“Nah,” Mike said. “You can handle that part of your life.” He smiled a little as he lifted his beer. “You’re on your own.”

Dylan almost believed him.

* * *

DYLAN LEFT EARLY. One drink with his grandpa and he was out the door. Jolie had to give him points for spending time with family, but it was Friday night. He’d hooked up with a couple of old high school friends, Jess Moody and Les D’Angelo, who were now county deputies—not that Jolie had been keeping track of him or eavesdropping as she cleared a nearby table or anything—and been invited to play pool.

Mike had looked game, but Dylan had shaken his head and not long after that had left. Jolie’s first thought as she’d watched the heavy wooden door swing shut behind him was Way to party hearty, Dylan. The second was that he’d been through a divorce and probably still felt like crap. She needed to give the guy a break...pretty generous thought on her part considering the way he’d blown her off that day.

After he’d left the crowd picked up even more and the rest of the night passed in a blur as busy nights in a bar tended to do. She stayed late to help Jim close and suggested that next time one of the help called in sick on a weekend night, he try harder to find a sub.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he counted out a stack of bills and slapped a rubber band around them. “Won’t happen again. But, hey—” he grinned as he looked up at her “—you made a million in tips.”

That she had.

“I’ll happily split them tomorrow,” she said.

“You keep them. And sorry I didn’t get to Maddox sooner.”

Maddox was a local bully/buffoon who loved to mess with the servers when he’d had a few too many. Jim usually nipped matters in the bud, but tonight he’d been too swamped to deal with the guy early on.

“Not a problem. I’m pretty adept at dodging him.”

“I’ll ban him if he doesn’t stop. And if Dee is still sick, I’ll get my sister to help.”

“Thanks, Jim. See you.”

Twenty minutes later she walked up to her door. Gus let out one mighty bark, no doubt waking Dani, then practically flattening her in his joy to see her again, home safe and sound. She crept through the house without turning on lights, but Dani was awake. She could hear her punching her pillow a few times to get into proper sleeping shape—a habit she’d had since they were little girls sharing a room.

“Sorry,” Jolie called softly.

“Not a problem,” Dani muttered as Jolie stepped into her own room and closed the door.

She dumped her tips on the dresser, shucked out of her clothes and tossed them into a heap—bar clothes never got worn more than once before seeing the washing machine—then slipped into her oversize Grizzlies T-shirt and climbed into bed. And there she lay awake. That last encounter with Dylan in the warehouse was still weighing heavily on her mind. Her ideas hadn’t been the greatest, but he could have brainstormed with her instead of subtly mocking her.

Or had it been subtle?

Whatever, he’d mocked her instead of trying to get on board with ideas that were only meant to help. She needed to come up with a way to bring some customers into the store—and not only to provide herself a more secure future there. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t the screw-up he seemed to think she was. And, damn it, she was going to do that.

A big, slurpy dog kiss awoke her a little after seven o’clock after she’d slept through her alarm and she groaned as she rolled over. Gus took that as an invitation to heave his big body up onto her bed. Since it was a twin bed, Jolie had little choice but to be engulfed with fur or get up.

Grudgingly she chose the latter. It was going to be a long morning at the feed store, but the one bright spot to having gotten next to no sleep was that she had finally come up with a way to bring in some business. An idea that should work.

No. An idea she was going to make work, because she wasn’t going to spend the time until Finn returned being treated like some mindless bimbo who needed constant management.

* * *

JOLIE WAS LATE.

She’d been early every other day this week, but today she was already fifteen minutes late. Dylan wondered if he was going to have to call when her truck roared into the parking lot, swung around the building and parked next to his.

She didn’t notice him standing at the edge of the warehouse bay as she scrambled out, slammed the truck door and then started jogging toward the side entrance. Dylan stayed where he was, debating. Did he want to be a dick about this? No. Things happened. People ran late.

It was just that he had a good idea she was late because she was working her other job and the anal part of him said that his business shouldn’t suffer because she needed another paycheck.

He turned and walked into the warehouse. They both knew why she was late and he assumed it wasn’t a habit. Finn might have liked her as a friend, but he wouldn’t put up with poor job performance.

He walked to the forklift and flipped the ignition. The machine chugged to life and kept running. Dylan climbed aboard and started shifting pallets, making room for a new shipment due later that morning.

A new shipment that he half wondered if they needed.

The store had had no customers so far this morning, with the exception of a woman who’d stopped by with a desperate look on her face, wondering if they had hoof glitter. She was on her way to a rodeo and needed it for her performance. Jolie had been in the back room, so Dylan had delivered the sad news that they didn’t carry hoof glitter.

“Well, do you have hoof black?” she’d asked.

Again he’d shaken his head. “We specialize more in feed and general tack.”

The lady had looked around at the grim interior, nodded, and said thanks just as Jolie came out of the backroom.

“We didn’t have what she needed?”

“Hoof black?”

“Would it kill us to have a few bottles?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dylan said bluntly.

“You’re in a mood.”

“Maybe I have my reasons.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “If my being late is one of the—”

“No.”

“Does your leg hurt? Because of the fall?”

“No.”

She closed her mouth at his second abrupt answer, then when he didn’t say anything else, turned and walked to her computer, her denim skirt accentuating the swing of her hips.

Wisely, given his dark mood, she gave him a wide berth during the few hours before closing, but as soon as he flipped the Open sign around to Closed, he turned to find her standing a few feet behind him, arms folded over her chest, as if she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

“I’ve been thinking about the hoof black lady...and the slow day.”

“And you want to know why I won’t add a lot of miscellaneous stock?” She raised a shoulder, which he took to be a yes. “Because stock that doesn’t move is money that could be earning interest in the bank.”

“I get what you’re saying. But, Dylan, adding a little more stock might help sales.”

“What exactly do you think we should add?”

She looked as if she’d been waiting for him to say those exact words. “I want to add a few fun things to the inventory.”

“Fun?”

“Well, maybe not as fun as hoof glitter, but things that people, women mostly, might buy on impulse.”

“Like, say...”

“Jewelry.”

He gave a scoffing laugh. “Jewelry.”

“Yes.” She tilted her chin sideways in that stubborn way he knew all too well. “And if we do it right, it won’t cost you anything.”

“How do we do it right?”

“By creating a Western-themed boutique—” she held up a hand as Dylan started to interrupt her “—stocked with commission items. No initial outlay. If it fails, we lose nothing.”

Dylan tried to come up with a reason this wasn’t a good idea...and drew a blank.

“And before you get all negative—”

“You’re pretty sure I’m going to do that?”