Chapter Five

Beck pulled into the gas station and tossed the to-go cup of coffee into the tall metal trash can. The coffee they served at the bed-and-breakfast wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t his usual triple-dark espresso. And when he didn’t get his regular caffeine fix, his whole day was thrown off. Maybe the gas station had a commercial coffee machine—something that might be a tad bit closer to his preferred brew.

He picked up the end of the hose, fiddling with the pump as Dwight came out of the small convenience store and ambled over to the SUV. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning.” Beck held the handle in one hand and his credit card in the other. “Where’s the slot to pay at the pump?”

Dwight took the handle from him, then shoved it into the opening of the gas tank. “We do things the old-fashioned way around here. You gotta come inside to pay.”

“Oh, sure.” Beck swept his gaze around the small gas station. He should have been able to figure that out—it was just that he hadn’t actually filled a car with gas in quite a while. Unless he was traveling outside of Manhattan, he usually kept his two-door sports car garaged and used his dad’s driver or a town car service. He decided not to share that information with Dwight. No sense in letting him think Beck was even more out of place than he already felt.

“Ya have fun last night?” Dwight tucked his thumbs through his belt loops, studying Beck from under the brim of his ball cap.

“Yeah. I didn’t realize how busy the bar would be. Seems to do a good business.”

“The Rambling Rose is about the only big draw we got. Well, that and all the freakin’ festivals. People around here want to have a party for the damndest stuff. Charlie’s been doing a good job keeping things going.” He popped a toothpick in his mouth and moved it to the corner of his lips.

Beck nodded and glanced up the street. Few people were out and about this morning. Was it the threat of rain or just a typical Saturday morning in June in a place like Holiday? If he’d been at home, he would have already hit the gym and the shower and either be heading into the office or reading the paper at the coffee bar on the ground floor of his building.

“So have you got any coffee shops around here?” Dwight would probably know.

“What, like a place that just sells coffee?” Dwight shook his head and fingered the toothpick. “Nah. But I can make you a pot of Folgers if you want.”

The pump ground to a stop and clicked off, the crabby machinery mimicking the groan Beck stuffed down inside. “No, that’s okay. I can probably get something at the bar.”

The ball cap bobbed in agreement. “Yeah, Charlie makes a mean cup of coffee. A good breakfast, too. Course, she likes to eat early in the morning. Sometimes even before the darn roosters start crowing. She’s an early riser.” Dwight’s eyes narrowed as if checking to see if Beck was buying into what that implied.

“Great.” He screwed the gas cap back in place, ignoring Dwight’s claim. If there was anything going on, Beck had no doubt it was strictly one-sided. “So should I come in so you can run my card?”

“Yeah.” Dwight turned toward the store, and Beck followed. “So, man to man, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I started to ask you last night. What are you gonna do with the Rambling Rose? Everybody in town knows about Sully’s will.”

“They do?”

Dwight snorted. “Before you’d even left Hill’s office, word was on the street that you don’t get a darn thing until you spend three months here.”

“Word travels fast, I guess.” So much for attorney–client confidentiality.

“Might be the only thing that moves fast around here.”

Beck made it a point to file that piece of information away to ponder later—one more thing to take into consideration. If he moved to Holiday, he’d be giving up the cloak of anonymity that living in a huge metropolis like New York provided. He’d never been overly concerned about his privacy; spending half his life as the sidekick of his outspoken father had cured him of that. But what would it be like to have his business spread from stranger to stranger before he even knew about it himself? That wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to experience firsthand.

“I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet. The news hasn’t quite sunk in, but I’ll be sure to let you know when I make up my mind.”

Dwight handed him his credit card along with a receipt for his signature. “Hill tell you what happens if you don’t stick around?”

“You mean what happens to Sully’s inheritance?”

“Yeah, the old blowhard fill you in on that?”

“No, I’m afraid he said he wasn’t at liberty to share that information.”

“I bet. He ain’t very good at keeping secrets though. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Uh, thanks.”

The drawer of the cash register dinged when Dwight opened it to slide the credit card slip inside. “You take care now, ya hear?”

“See you around.” Beck passed through the door, causing the bells above to jangle. Maybe Dwight wasn’t so bad. Beck could benefit from having someone looking out for him around town. He’d have to comp Dwight a few rounds next time he came to the bar. He seemed like the kind of guy who would appreciate a few free beers. And if it kept Beck in his good graces, all the better.

* * *

A few minutes later, Beck cringed as his SUV approached the Rambling Rose. Last night, set against a red-and-orange sky, the building had taken on an almost romantic, glowing tone. Now, under the unforgiving bright light of day, the rosy-pink-clapboard building showed its age. A hundred-plus years of sitting in the dusty, blistering-hot Texas heat had caused the paint job to fade in spots. What crazy-ass ancestor had insisted on painting the whole building Pepto-Bismol pink?

“More like Pepto Dismal,” he muttered under his breath. The heat must have been getting to him. Had he actually said that out loud? But the building stuck out like a giant eyesore among the other old-fashioned storefronts with their small-town-Americana vibe. Why hadn’t someone updated it over the years?

The marketing team in New York would have a blast reworking the honky-tonk concept, bringing the bar into the current century. He took a turn around the building, cringing as his gaze ran over the peeling paint, rusty hinges, and sparse landscaping efforts. Even he could take a stab at sprucing the place up. He’d been involved in a nightclub project a couple of years before. When he got back to New York, he’d make sure to pull the files and see if any of those concepts would transfer from the Meatpacking District of Manhattan to the backwater town of Holiday. Not likely, but he might get lucky and come up with a few ideas.

He walked under a banner promoting the oyster festival. Since he’d opted for his slip-on loafers that morning, his footsteps landed on the wood-plank entrance ramp with a soft thunk. Much better than the loud clatter when he’d been wearing those new boots. The guy at the western wear place had assured him they’d loosen up once he’d worn them for a bit, but the blisters on his heel and pinky toe had made him hesitate to slide them back on this morning. It wasn’t like he was required to wear boots…was he?

The screen door squeaked as he yanked it open. Didn’t anyone know how to use a can of WD-40? Charlie and another woman looked up as he entered the nearly empty dance hall. A giant pile of pink fabric and a sewing machine sat in front of them.

“Oh, hey, didn’t expect you until later on today.” Charlie turned her attention back to the machine.

“What’s going on?” Shiny ribbon, beads, and silvery sparkly stuff covered half of the long table.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” The other woman swung her legs over the bench and stood. “I’m Darby, Charlie’s sister-in-law. So nice to meet you, Beckett.”

“Please, call me Beck.” Something about the friendly brunette put him at ease. Could have been the warm brown eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that she actually smiled at him as opposed to Charlie’s distinct disinterest this morning. “Sister-in-law, you said?”

“Yep. I’m married to one of her brothers.”

“The ugly one.” A man entered the ballroom with a stack of papers in his hand. “Charlie, I need you to take a look at these numbers.” He stopped in front of Beck. “Hey, I’m Statler, the good-looking one.”

“How many brothers do you have again?” Beck asked, taking Statler’s hand in a firm grip.

“Five. Waylon is Darby’s husband. Then there’s Cash, Statler here, Presley, and Strait.” Charlie rattled off their names without looking up. “I’m the youngest of six with five older brothers. Can’t you just imagine all the guys who were willing to risk the wrath of the Walker brothers and take me out to scoop the loop?”

Beck digested that information. Five older brothers? If the other four looked anything like Statler, he could imagine Charlie’s dating prospects had been limited. The guy was built like a Mack truck.

A Mack truck that had swallowed a tank.

“So you’re Sully’s grandson?” Statler tipped up the brim of his cowboy hat and gave Beck the once-over.

“That’s me. You said you had numbers for Charlie to look at?” Beck asked. “Do you do the books?”

Charlie let out a sigh and stood up, abandoning the mess of sparkly pink fabric. “Darby, we’ll have to finish this later.” She turned to Beck. “Statler’s a CPA in San Marcos, but he’s been helping Sully with the books on the side. Come on, let’s head back to the office.”

Beck followed as Charlie and Statler led the way, their boots clomping on the wood floors. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at the inside of the bar last night since there’d been so many people. As he passed through the cavernous space, his gaze ran over the decor. Photographs lined the walls—mostly black and white and all of them autographed. Hundreds of pictures of what he assumed were country-western stars. A few neon signs clustered over the long bar. Every inch of space held either a framed photograph or a piece of memorabilia: street signs, guitars, even an old washboard. Eclectic and odd—a strange combination and a far cry from the places he typically frequented.

Charlie entered the office first, rounded the desk, and plopped into a tall chair. “What’s up, Statler?” She gestured to a folding chair across from the desk, and Beck sat down.

She sure had herself worked up over something this morning. He’d had a good time last night, and she’d seemed to be enjoying herself, too. But now she’d erected some sort of frosty facade between them. That was too bad. He actually wouldn’t have minded taking another turn around the dance floor with her nestled in his arms. He’d spent most of his life trying to figure out the complicated layers of the fairer sex, with limited success.

But business he could handle. He pushed thoughts of the soft, warm, compliant Charlie from the night before out of his head and focused on the information in front of him.

“Good news and some bad.” Statler dropped the stack of papers onto the corner of the huge, old desk. Beck and Charlie both leaned in to take a look at the top sheet. “Event business is up, but day-to-day numbers are down.”

“Event business like what?” Beck asked.

“We rent out for private events.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, and the chair creaked as she leaned back again. “Weddings, corporate stuff, private concerts, you know.”

Weddings? Beck shook his head, trying to dislodge a vision of a bride and groom saying their vows in front of the tacky, twinkling arbor he’d spotted tucked back toward the rear of the stage. To each their own.

“We’ve got the pageant coming up. That always draws in a big crowd and should make up some of the numbers. And the tourists ought to pick up over the summer months, especially with the Father’s Day Fiesta and the Founder’s Day Festival. We’ve still got money set aside for a new coat of paint, right?”

Statler nodded.

“Good. I wouldn’t worry about it too much yet.” Charlie tapped her fingers on the edge of the desk. “I’ll see if I can add a few more performers to the calendar for July or come up with something to generate more hype. Maybe have Angelo mix up the menu or bring in some special seasonal brew like last year.”

“Uh, shouldn’t you ask him what he wants to do?” Statler pointed the end of his mechanical pencil at Beck. “Being the new owner and from the big city and all, I’m sure he’s got some great ideas.”

The weight of both their stares landed squarely on Beck. “Yeah, I’d like to get involved. See what you’ve got planned. I’ve managed a few projects where we revamped a nightclub and started up a micro gastropub. I’ll see if any of those ideas will transfer over.”

“What, like a dance club?” Charlie asked. Her face puckered and wrinkled, making her look like a raisin with serious doubts.

“Yeah.” Beck automatically shifted into defensive mode. “Same kind of business concept.”

Charlie snorted, passing a he-don’t-know-nothin’ look to her brother.

Beck’s gut bristled. “You think that’s funny?”

“Funny? No.” Charlie leveled him with her glacier-blue gaze, freezing him in place. “It’s asinine that you think you can come in and start changing the way we’ve done things around here for decades based on how you’ve been doing them in New York. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not in New York anymore, Mr. Manhattan.”

Beck leaned forward. “That’s for sure. If I were in the city, I wouldn’t have fifty blisters on my feet from those damn boots. Now, all that aside, I believe we have a common goal.”

The spot between Charlie’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Do what’s best for the Rose. I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I do know a thing or two about business.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve got that piece of paper with the initials on it. What are they again? MBA.”

How did she know he even had an MBA? He hadn’t mentioned that to her. She must have noticed his confusion.

“Buddy wanted to make sure everyone knew about your Ivy League education. Four years at Columbia, MBA from Harvard… What do I know, huh? I don’t even have a four-year degree. Just eight years of breaking my back, trying to keep this place going.”

Statler stood. “Hey now. No need to get your britches in a wad. Beck, you don’t want to piss off my baby sister. And, Charlie, give the man a chance before you automatically think the worst, okay?”

The silence stretched between them, charged with all that was left unsaid. Beck lifted his chin in her direction. “I’m going to need your help. From what I’ve heard, you know this place better than anyone, probably even better than my grandfather—”

Charlie’s hands went to her hips. “Sully. For God’s sake, can you call the man Sully?”

That’s what she wanted to argue about? “Fine. Sully.”

“And who exactly have you been talking to? You just got here last night.”

“Everyone says so. The bartender—”

“Shep,” Charlie interjected.

“The gal who served me my beer last—”

“Dixie,” Charlie said.

“I’ll learn everyone’s name eventually. Hey, Dwight said so, too. He was very complimentary when I stopped in for—”

“You can ignore everything that comes out of Dwight’s mouth.” Charlie sagged back into the chair.

Statler chuckled, and Beck’s head jerked toward the sound. He’d almost forgotten the man was even in the office.

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, poor Dwight is somewhat taken with my baby sis.” Statler rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin, hiding his smirk.

“Dwight’s harmless. Are we going to talk about business, or should I go finish my project?” Charlie swiveled toward Statler. “Got any other news to share?”

“Nope. I’ll just leave these with you.” He tapped the pile of papers. “I’m gonna take off now. Me and some of the guys are going tubing today.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, you should take Beck. Introduce him to some of your friends and show him what life’s like on the Guadalupe. I bet they don’t tube down the Hudson, am I right?”

“Tubing?” Beck asked.

“Yeah”—Statler clapped him on the shoulder—“in an inner tube. You know, floating on a tube down the river. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Uh, I think I better use my time to learn more about the Rose. Maybe next time?” Beck asked.

“Sure thing. Don’t work too hard.” Statler walked to the doorway, then stopped and turned. “Oh, and Charlie?”

She looked up from the paperwork.

“Be nice to the poor guy, okay?” With a final wink, Statler left, and for the first time since that awkward moment last night, Beck was all alone with Charlie.

* * *

Be nice? Who was her brother kidding? Charlie clucked her tongue as she swept the papers Statler had left behind into an orderly stack. She could be nice. Heck, she was the epitome of nice.

Summoning all the sugary sweetness she carried inside, she pasted a smile on her lips and gestured to the papers in front of her. “Do you want to go over the calendar for the next few months, or do you have something else in mind?”

“Sorry, I’m still trying to absorb everything. I had no idea my grandfather”—he glanced at Charlie with what might pass as an apology in his baby blues—“I mean Sully, had so much going on down here. From what my dad told me, it seemed like there was a crappy bar and a two-room shack.”

“Have you been by the house yet?” Charlie asked. Obviously he hadn’t or he’d know how close to the mark a “two-room shack” might be in describing Sully’s place. She’d been after Sully for years to update the hundred-year-old ranch house, but he’d preferred to invest his time and energy in the Rambling Rose instead.

“No, not yet. I was planning on heading over this afternoon.”

“What are your other plans?” Had he decided whether to make a go of things in Holiday? The pot of coffee she’d downed earlier that morning slid around in her gut, and she pressed a palm to her stomach to stifle the gurgles. She couldn’t believe her entire future hung in the balance, based on the whims of a guy who might find it fun to play cowboy for a few months.

He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck and rolled his head from side to side. “You mean am I moving to Texas?”

Charlie shrugged. “People are curious. The folks around here don’t like change.”

“You’re telling me.” Beck blew out a breath. “No offense to you, but it looks like the bar could use a little updating.”

Updating, great. What did the renegade outsider have in mind? She and Sully had made updates over the years. Sure, they needed a new coat of paint. Hadn’t she just said that was in the budget? And the front might benefit from some new bushes, but those were minor things. Charlie stiffened, the hairs on her arms actually standing on end like a pissed-off porcupine, but she bit back a sharp retort. Calm down, cowgirl. No use in getting all riled up.

She took a deep breath and let her silent mantra play through her head. For Sully. For Sully. “Tell ya what. Why don’t we grab a bite from the kitchen for lunch, and then I’ll run you out to Sully’s place? If you’re up for it, we can cover the Rose together tonight, and you can get a real sense of what ‘normal’ looks like before you start makin’ big plans to change it all up.”

Beck stood, and she mimicked his posture, shoving her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and copying the shrug of his shoulders.

“That would be great. If it’s not too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all.” She moved around to the front of the desk and rested her butt against it. Aiming for a friendly, non-riled tone, she smiled. “Now, what sounds good for lunch? Chicken-fried steak, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy? Barbecue? We might have some homemade tamales left over.”

“What kind of barbecue? Have you ever tried Korean barbecue? There’s a fantastic place about a block from my condo.”

“Seriously? You’re in Texas. Home of the best barbecue in the world. Come on, you’re having brisket.” She almost linked her arm through his, remembered the last time they’d gotten too close, and ended up sidestepping to lead him down the hall. Korean barbecue? Her kitchen crew would have a coronary.

Beck took one long step to every two of hers as they passed through the back and into the dance hall. Darby must have gotten tired of waiting for her to come back. At least she’d picked up their sewing mess. The lunch crowd had shown up in force. Most of the locals avoided the place on the weekends because of the tourist crowd, but she recognized several neighbors and friends at the tables around the room. They probably just wanted to check out Sully’s grandson. Well, let ’em get their fill.

She nudged Beck toward an empty table that just happened to be in the center of the room. “Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll put our order in right quick?”

Beck stepped over the bench and settled in.

Charlie almost patted him on the shoulder but reconsidered. Kryptonite. It would be best if she avoided contact. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a sec.” How long would it take for someone to sidle up and introduce themselves? She scanned the room as she walked toward the kitchen. Her gaze landed on her cousin, a former competitor in the Junior Miss Texas competition. Yep, Brittany would be the one. As Charlie pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, Brittany had already scrambled over her seat on the bench across the room and headed in Beck’s direction.

“Hey, Angelo,” Charlie called out the back door of the kitchen, toward the barbecue pit where Angelo manned the spit.

His dark head of hair bobbed up and down—he probably had his earbuds in again. His love for blaring, head-banging heavy metal while he worked over the barbecue pit had forced her to require him to wear headphones. Otherwise the whole building shook with the bass boost from his boom box. She stepped down onto the dusty gravel drive and moved toward her favorite employee.

He nearly jumped into the nearby mesquite tree when she tapped him on the shoulder. Whipping around, he ripped the headphone wire out of the jack. A wailing guitar solo screamed from the speakers.

“Sorry, Boss.” He dove for the volume dial while Charlie closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

Baby Back snorted through the fence. Angelo swore the pig loved it when he played his tunes. Charlie couldn’t believe she was a fan of Angelo’s favorite band, Porking Fetti, but the swine rubbed against the fence and grunted when the music ended as if she wanted more.

The threat of rain hung in the air. Charlie could smell it underneath the mouthwatering aroma of mesquite and slow-cooked brisket. She glanced toward the darkening clouds rolling in from the west. The crops could use a nice long drink, but the parking lot would turn into a mud pit if they got much rain. Nothing she could do about that.

“Hey, Angelo, Sully’s grandson is having lunch with us today. Do you have any special cuts you can add to his brisket platter?”

“I heard he was in town. What did he say? Is he going to close us down? Has he made any decisions?” Like the rest of the staff, Angelo depended on his job at the Rambling Rose. Charlie wouldn’t allow herself to think about what would happen to the employees if Beck decided to make a bunch of big changes. They were like a giant extended family, and she’d sworn to herself she’d protect them and their jobs as best she could.

“The only thing he’s decided so far is that he’d like brisket for lunch. Can you make sure the guys fix up a good plate?”

“Oh, sure. I’m done out here for now anyway.” Even though Angelo ran the kitchen, he preferred to handle the pits himself. The technique had been handed down from generation to generation, but some of their systems were top secret. Until Angelo had one hundred percent complete faith in the kitchen cooks, he wouldn’t let them touch his sacred barbecue pit.

Charlie waited until the screen door slammed behind him, then took in a comforting breath. She’d never get tired of the ever-present smell of manure and the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. Home sweet home.

“How you doing, girl?” She stepped to the edge of the pigpen and held out a couple slices of dried apricots she’d grabbed on her way out the door.

Baby Back snorted, gingerly snatching the treats from her hand. Since Sully had passed, Charlie had found herself talking to the crazy pig more and more. Baby Back was a good listener, too. As long as the treats and the scratches behind the ears kept coming.

“I can do this, right?” She reached through the fence to run her hand down the pig’s coarse back. She’d cart Beck around and get a sense of what his plans were, if he’d even made any yet. Until then, she’d keep a good, tight rein on her temper—and her attraction—and trust that it would all work out.

Baby Back stuck her snout through the fence, trying to seek out another treat. It almost looked like she nodded in agreement. Charlie would take that as a yes. She turned over her last apricot, then brushed her palms over her thighs. Sully wouldn’t have handed over his friends’ futures to someone who would put them at risk. He must have had some sense of what kind of person his grandson had become, even if they’d never actually met.

Convinced she was doing the right thing, at least for the time being, she turned toward the bar. She might have to work with the man for now, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have a good time introducing him to some of their local traditions and specialties. With a smile on her lips and a swagger in her hips, she entered the honky-tonk and headed toward the kitchen.

They’d start with lunch.