Catching the Cowboy: A Small-Town Clean Romance (Summer Creek Book 1) Read online

  Unable to pull her gaze from his, she allowed herself the indulgence of drinking in the sight of him. “Yes, well, I don’t intend to make a habit of it.”

  “What were you researching?” he asked, flicking his hand toward the piles of books and papers.

  “The buildings across the street. I think … well, it’s probably silly … ” Emery cut herself off before she said too much. “I need to do more investigating, but as soon as I have my idea fleshed out, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

  “Is that a promise?” He bent his knees so he looked directly into her face.

  “I promise. I’ll even pinky swear if you like.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled out of him, one that made Emery’s knees wobble. “Not necessary. I trust you.” He cupped her elbow with his hand and walked with her to the door. “But this will all be here tomorrow. I don’t think you should stay out too late.”

  Emery kept step with him down the stairs. He waited as she checked the lock on the main door, then together, they walked out the back door. After she locked it, he escorted her to where she’d parked her pickup. “I need to put gas in Turk, but I’ll head to the ranch right after that.”

  Hud held her pickup door for her as she climbed behind the wheel. “Turk? Is that what you’ve named this fine piece of motorized history?”

  Emery nodded. “It is. Like it?”

  “I do.” Hud closed the door and stepped back, watching as she drove out of the parking lot. She turned off Main Street into Whitey’s and stopped at one of the fuel pumps. Tassie Easton hurried out of the convenience store and pumped Emery’s fuel.

  “You’re out late,” Tassie said as she dipped a squeegee in a bucket of water and scrubbed Emery’s windshield.

  “I lost track of time.” Emery would have laughed at Tassie’s comment about it being late, but for Summer Creek anything after seven was practically the middle of the night. In Portland, Emery was often just getting ready to go out with friends or on a date. Funny how quickly life, priorities, and perspective could change.

  “Heading home?” Tassie asked as she finished cleaning the windshield and dropped the squeegee back in the bucket of soapy water.

  “Yes, I am.” Emery smiled and handed Tassie a tip along with the cash to cover her gas. She liked thinking of Summer Creek Ranch as home. In ways, she felt more at home here than she ever had in the mansion where she was raised. “I’m going home.”

  If home was where the heart lingered, no place except Summer Creek would ever feel like home again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’m home! Where is everyone?” Emery’s voice carried into the kitchen as she entered the mudroom the following evening.

  “It’s just me here,” Hud said, leaning back from where he sat at the counter stirring Karo syrup into a puddle of peanut butter on a plate.

  Face full of excitement, as though she had a secret she could hardly contain, Emery reminded him of Cricket as she rushed into the room and over to the counter. She studied the concoction he stirred and wrinkled her nose.

  “What is that?” She pointed to the sticky mess he spread across two slices of bread.

  “Grandpa always called it stir-round. You mix peanut butter with Karo syrup and slather it over bread.” Hud held out his sandwich to her. “Want a bite?”

  “I’ll pass.” Emery glanced around the kitchen. “Where are Nell and Cricket?”

  “Grammy’s best friend called this morning and asked her to come spend the weekend with her. They were roomies back in the day. Brenda and her husband live in Boise now. When Grandpa died, she came and stayed with Grammy for almost a month. Grammy mentioned something about Brenda needing help with a project, but she didn’t say what. She’ll be back Sunday afternoon.” Hud took a bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a gulp of milk. “As for Cricket, she’s having a sleepover at her friend Jasmine’s house. Grammy suggested it the other day, and Jasmine’s mom called this morning to see if we could make it work. She’ll bring Cricket home tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s kind of her.” Emery watched him take another bite of his sandwich. “And that mess is your answer to dinner?”

  “I skipped lunch, so I’ll call this a snack.” He pointed toward the refrigerator. “I’m sure there are leftovers we could heat up.”

  “Or, we could go to town and eat. I’ve been wanting to try one of the burgers from the Broken Bucket that I’ve heard so much about.” Emery shook her head. “Although someone really should discuss business names with the owner. Who names a burger and pizza place the Broken Bucket?”

  Hud chuckled. “It’s been the Broken Bucket for more than a hundred years. It was one of the early saloons in town. During prohibition, it became a diner, of sorts, and then it was a bar before it was converted to a bar and grill. Owen Thorpe inherited the place from his uncle. He was going to sell it, but it gives him somewhere to use his uppity culinary degree.”

  “I can’t believe a restaurant with such an odious name has a trained chef working there.”

  Hud finished his sandwich in two bites, drained the milk that remained in his glass, and stood. “Now I have to take you there just to prove the food compensates for the name. If you give me an hour, I have a few chores to finish, then we can go.”

  “It’s a date,” Emery said, then her face turned red. “I didn’t mean a date, date. I just meant … I wasn’t … You … ”

  Amused by her fumbling attempts to assure him of her intentions, he somehow managed to subdue his smile. “I know what you meant, Em. I’ll be ready in an hour.” Before he did something entirely insane, like kiss her sensual lips, he rushed outside to see to the evening chores. Eager to finish so he’d have time to clean up before they headed into town, he jogged as he went from one task to another.

  It took him forty-five minutes to make it back to the house. He kicked off his boots and whipped off his shirt in the mudroom, rushed to his bedroom, and jumped into the shower. Shaving in record time and managing, by a miracle, to avoid nicking his chin, he hurried to get dressed. Hud pulled on a pair of newer jeans, a nicer shirt, and the boots he generally saved for wearing to church or for special occasions.

  Quickly combing his hair, he made a mental note to go see Mitch at the barbershop soon. Why he did it, Hud couldn’t explain, but he slapped on some of the aftershave Jossy had given him for his birthday. She’d presented it to him as a joke, along with a smart-alecky comment about attracting more women if he smelled like something other than manure, but he had liked the scent.

  He hoped his efforts at cleaning up for his non-date with Emery didn’t make her think he thought it was something more.

  Maybe, just for one evening, it wouldn’t hurt to pretend he was actually on a date. That sounded better than merely taking the woman who’d been foisted on him by her family and his grandmother out for a burger because neither of them wanted to cook or do dishes.

  He walked down the hall to the kitchen, reaching it as Emery stepped out of the mudroom. The sight of her in a pale blue dress with matching wedge sandals made his mouth go so dry, he felt like he’d licked one of the salt blocks he’d put out for the cattle earlier in the day. The dress was simple, almost plain, but the cut and fabric appeared expensive. The way it glided over Emery’s curves made him long to run his hand over her waist and along her back.

  About to lose what little sense he still possessed, he motioned toward the back door. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” Emery offered him a warm smile and preceded him outside. Hud grabbed his best cowboy hat and settled it on his head, then hurried out to his pickup, holding the door open. He gave Emery his hand as she climbed inside, observing every movement as she smoothed the skirt of the dress beneath her.

  “Get it together, man,” Hud whispered to himself as he strode around the pickup and slid behind the wheel.

  When he started the pickup, Emery looked over at him. “Does Nell frequently go to visit her friend?”

  Grate
ful for any thread of conversation to distract him from his wayward thoughts, Hud glanced at Emery as he backed around and headed down the lane toward the road. “No, not often. Maybe two or three times a year. Brenda and her husband usually come for a visit in late summer or early fall. I’m glad Grammy decided to go. She works far harder than she should for someone her age.”

  “How old is Nell?”

  Hud turned onto the road and drove toward Summer Creek. “She turned seventy-four in January.”

  “I would have guessed her to be in her mid to late sixties. She really does act much younger than her age.” Emery looked over at him. “I know Cricket is six, but what about you and Jossy?”

  “She’s almost thirty, and I’m twenty-eight.” Hud grinned at her. “Bet you thought I look older than my sister.”

  “I’m not saying anything to incriminate myself.”

  Hud chuckled.

  Emery smiled. “I will say that you and Jossy strongly resemble one another, and Cricket looks just like both of you.”

  “She does look like a Cole, of that there is no doubt.”

  The look Emery gave him seemed hesitant, but he knew she was dying to ask him a question, most likely about Bethany. “Go on; what is it you’re trying not to blurt out?”

  Emery worried her bottom lip a moment, driving him wild with wanting. His hands clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white to keep from reaching out to her.

  Relief washed over him when she stopped and cleared her throat. “I was just wondering about Cricket’s mother. What did she look like?”

  Hud studied Emery from her perfectly styled blonde tresses pulled back into a tidy updo to the high-end shoes on her feet. The first time he’d set eyes on Emery, it was like seeing Bethany all over again. Now, though, he knew there was a vast difference between the two women, even if they did share a few physical similarities.

  “She had straight blond hair, blue come-hither eyes, and perfect skin and teeth. Bethany came from money, and acted like a spoiled brat.”

  “Oh. I see.” Emery nervously fussed with the purse she’d set on her lap.

  Hud reached across the seat and took her hand in his, causing her to look at him again. “You aren’t her, Emery. I know that.”

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed, and he released her hand as he drove into the parking lot of the Broken Bucket Bar & Grill and into an empty parking space. He hurried out of the pickup and around to Emery’s door, pulling it open.

  “You ready for an amazing burger?” Hud held out a hand to her.

  “I’m starving, so, yeah. I hope the food lives up to the hype.”

  Hud settled a hand on her back, and they made their way across the full parking lot. Emery stopped for a moment to stare at the old stagecoach parked near the steps that led up to the door. Hud watched as Ethel wandered around the side of it, munching on a bright red pair of underwear that looked big enough to fit Godzilla.

  Emery must have noticed them, too, because she glared at the goat before a smile quirked the corners of her lips.

  Those lips and thoughts of underpants, particularly the lacy pair of Emery’s he’d seen blasted across every social media outlet online, made his shirt collar feel two sizes too small. He tugged at it and purposely shifted his train of thought.

  “The stagecoach has been a fixture here since before World War II. I’m not sure where it came from, but whoever owns the place is supposed to keep it in good shape. So far, they all have.” Hud glanced up at the false front of the building. From the parking lot, it looked like an old two-story saloon, but when the original building burned down in the early 1900s, the owners constructed a new brick building. One owner, at some point in the past, wanted a wild west theme and had a façade constructed and attached to the front. Even though there were second story windows, there wasn’t an actual second floor to the building.

  “It has a certain vintage charm,” Emery said as their footsteps echoed across the boardwalk and up the steps.

  Inside, Hud glanced at the restaurant side of the business. People of all ages, from teens on dates to old-timers who didn’t want to cook, gathered at the tables and booths. Owen Thorpe had installed a wood-fired pizza oven, and his burgers were cooked on an open-flame grill that could be seen from the dining area. A partial wall separated the entry from the bar where there were a handful of small tables and five seats at a gorgeous mahogany bar that had somehow survived the fire that claimed the original building. Two weekend regulars sat at the bar, but no one else occupied the room.

  The walls around the entry were lined with photographs that spanned every decade the Broken Bucket had been in business. Emery stepped closer to one and looked from it to Hud and then back at the photo.

  “Is that you?” she asked, although the look on her face attested to the truth that she already knew the answer.

  He nodded, glancing at the photo of him wrestling a steer at a rodeo in Burns. Back in high school, he’d enjoyed competing, but he didn’t have time in college. After that, he had a ranch to keep afloat and a daughter to raise.

  Before she could decide to study every single photograph, he guided her into the bar. “Let’s sit in here.” At the surprised look on her face, he felt the need to explain his choice. “We’ll have to wait at least twenty minutes for a seat in the restaurant. The food is the same no matter where you sit.”

  “Since I’m dying of hunger, getting food faster is a good option,” she said, giving him a teasing smile as he held a chair at one of the tables for her.

  Hud would have preferred a booth, but they didn’t have any on the bar side of the building. Owen had told him it was easier to clean around tables and chairs than trying to scrape disgusting things off a booth seat or wall in the bar.

  It didn’t take long for a server to take their orders. When she left, Hud turned to Emery, concerned. “That drink you ordered … you aren’t planning on getting drunk on me, are you? Your dad and uncle both warned me a sip or two of anything with alcohol leaves you swizzled and snockered—their words, not mine. If one mimosa can cause you to steal a cop’s horse, I’d hate to see what happens after a margarita.” He wasn’t sure he could handle Emery if she got tipsy. After all, the last time, she’d ended up in jail.

  Emery’s smile faded until she looked like she was about to snap his head off with some caustic comment. Slowly, she blew out her breath and smoothed a napkin over her lap. “My dad and uncle think they are hilarious. I don’t suppose they mentioned I inherited this trait from Dad. Besides, I made myself and God a promise to never drink again. I intend for that promise to be one I keep.”

  Hud’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “So what did you just order?”

  “A dirty Dr Pepper.” Emery’s gaze met his and he could see humor returning to her beautiful blue eyes. “It’s basically Dr Pepper with coconut syrup, cherry juice, and whipping cream. You want one? I know it has all the sophistication of something a ten-year-old would love, but it’s really yummy.”

  “I’ll try yours.”

  Emery tossed a flirty look his way. “Who says I’m going to share?”

  When she playfully batted her eyelashes at him, he couldn’t hold back a grin. “You are something else, Miss Emery Magnolia Brighton.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” she asked innocently.

  “No. Not a bad thing.”

  She reached across the table and placed her hand over his as he toyed with the salt shaker. “I’m sure you’d rather not talk about it, but I really would like to hear the rest of the story about Cricket’s mother. What happened to her?”

  Hud hated dredging up old memories better left buried deep where they didn’t cause anyone pain, but Emery hadn’t asked about Bethany the whole time she’d been at the ranch, and that was going on two months. He supposed she’d earned an answer to her question. He set down the salt shaker and turned his hand over so Emery’s palm rested against his.

  The smooth softness of her skin felt so warm and goo
d against the rough planes of his hand. And in the darkly lit, nearly empty bar, he felt less on guard, more willing to open up about his past.

  “The first time I saw Bethany was our junior year of college. We were in the same biology class. I’m not sure why she was taking biology because she really struggled with it. I ended up tutoring her, and things progressed from there. When Grandpa died, I just had a few months of college to finish. Grammy insisted I get the degree I’d worked hard to earn. I felt so alone, so at a loss … I blame those feelings for driving me to make such a stupid, rash decision. Suddenly, it seemed like marrying Bethany was the best thing to do. She planned a huge August wedding at an exclusive resort on the beach.” Hud took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. “Her parents own a chain of resorts and hotels. Bethany spent her life pampered and indulged. Anyway, her parents hated the thought of her marrying a lowly cowboy from Hicksville, but in spite of their adamant refusal to let Bethany marry me, we wed anyway and settled at Summer Creek Ranch.”

  The server brought a glass of iced tea for Hud and Emery’s soda. She took a sip, her lovely face exhibiting her pleasure, then pushed the glass toward him. He tasted it, not sure what to expect. The blend of flavors was different, but delicious.

  “It’s good.” He pushed the glass back to Emery. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She took another sip, then gave him an encouraging look. “So Bethany hadn’t been to see the ranch before you wed?”

  A derisive snort escaped Hud before he could hold it back. “No. Had she seen it prior to our wedding, all bets would have been off. In hindsight, that would have been for the best. Despite how horrible it was being married to Bethany, the one good thing to come of it is Cricket. I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.”

  “You’re a good father, Hud. And Cricket adores you.” Eyes soft, Emery gave him a look that made heat begin to simmer just beneath every pore of his skin.

  “She’s fond of you, too, you know.” The depth of his daughter’s fondness for Emery had been one of many things about the woman that kept Hud awake at night. His grandmother promised no harm would come from the bond Cricket shared with Emery, but he wasn’t as certain.