Chapter Eleven

Beck exited the terminal at La Guardia and inhaled the muggy heat of a New York City summer. He’d missed the city. As his dad’s regular driver navigated the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the sight of concrete and high-rises calmed his nerves. The blare of horns and the unmistakable sounds of midday Manhattan were like a lullaby to his ears. It was too quiet in Holiday. Set him on edge and made him jittery. He cracked the window, letting the competing smells from hot dog stands, garbage, and exhaust heal him from the inside out. Damn, it was good to be home.

Forty-five minutes later, he stepped off the elevator in a high-rise bearing his last name. His boots clacked on the Italian marble floors as he strode past the reception area. The perfectly poised blond who worked the front desk turned in his direction and raised an eyebrow at his attire. He winked and barreled toward his office at the end of the hall. Eager to get back to work, he hadn’t wanted to waste time stopping at his apartment. Not when he had an extra change of clothes here.

His assistant, Emily, rounded her desk when she saw him heading her way. “Welcome back, Mr. Holiday. I take it you, uh, enjoyed your time in Texas?”

She ran her gaze up and down, probably not sure what to think about the jeans, cowboy boots, and few days of scruff on his usually clean-shaven chin.

“It was interesting, that’s for sure.” He took the pile of paperwork she handed him and continued to his corner office. Pausing to appreciate the view, he took in a deep breath and stood by the window. That’s how he enjoyed nature—bathed in air-conditioning and from behind tinted glass.

Emily entered the office, clipboard in hand. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back today. Your dad is having drinks with the mayor at five, and he wants you to go to that fund-raiser at the Plaza tonight at seven. Oh, and that lawyer called.”

“Which one?” He turned to face her. He’d never noticed how pale her skin looked next to her crisp white button-down. Did the woman ever get out in the sun?

“The one with the accent—Mr. Hill.”

“Thanks, Emily. Please tell my dad I’ll meet him for drinks and gladly represent at the Plaza.”

“He RSVP’d for two. Will you be taking someone with you?”

The only person he’d want to take anywhere was a thousand miles away. “No, I’ll just stop in by myself. Oh, and can you send something to Charlotte Walker at the Rambling Rose? I owe her an apology.”

“Flowers okay? The usual spend?”

“That would be great. Thanks, Em.”

Emily nodded and left the office, closing the door behind her.

Beck ducked into the bathroom attached to his office to get cleaned up. While he showered and shaved, he let his mind drift to thoughts of Charlie and what she might be doing on a Monday afternoon in Holiday. She’d probably wrestled with the crazy pig and put in a full day’s work at the Rose already. What would she look like in a floor-length ball gown like the women at the fund-raiser were sure to be wearing tonight? Red. She’d have to wear red. She’d stand out like a wildflower against the fifty shades of black couture. He nicked himself with the razor. Damn. No more thinking about Charlie.

Once he’d returned to his standard Monday-through-Friday uniform of a tailor-made suit and tie, he began to feel more like himself. He’d just eased into his padded desk chair when Emily poked her head through his office doorway.

“Your father wants to see you in the conference room.”

“Can it wait? I need to get the financials done on that boutique hotel in the Village. He said he wanted them ASAP.”

Emily held her ground just inside the door. “He’s mad. He told me to tell you”—she consulted the notepad in her hand—“if you don’t get your ass down here right now, the sanitation department will be scraping it off the sidewalk.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “His words, not mine.”

Beck paused. “He does sound mad.”

The poor girl looked like she’d burst into tears any moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holiday. It’s all my fault.”

“What? What are you talking about? Em, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I’ll understand if you want to let me go. But he told me if I didn’t tell him, I’d get fired anyway, so—”

Not sure whether he should touch her, he shifted from foot to foot. But she looked so lost, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms in an effort to provide some comfort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want to fill me in here so I can help?”

She sniffled and lifted her glasses to wipe a tear from under her eye. “It’s that Morris Park project. He knows you made contact with the broker before you left town. I’m so sorry.”

“Everything will be fine.” He should have known better than to try to make a move of his own. All he’d done was make a phone call. His dad couldn’t get too upset over that. He moved past her, hoping he was right, and entered the giant conference room.

Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. sat at the head of the table, his most trusted adviser, Stu, on his right and Beck’s coworker and confidante, J.T., on his left.

“What’s this?” Beck asked. He twisted his wrist to check his watch. “I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on. Can’t this wait?”

“You tell me, Son, since you seem to want to call the shots now.”

“What are you talking about?” Beck fired a look at J.T., who lifted his shoulders and let them sag into a defeated shrug.

His dad stood. “Going behind my back? You think you’re ready to make big decisions on your own?”

It was just a phone call. Beck put his hands out, palms up, in an attempt to pacify his old man. “No one’s talking about making any kind of decisions.”

Holiday crossed the plush carpet to the built-in bar and lifted the crystal topper off the decanter of single malt he kept on hand. “I’m hearing a different story from your partner in crime here. So one of you must be lying.”

J.T. examined his cuticles, engrossed in his left thumb. Beck wouldn’t be getting any backup from him.

The elder Holiday poured a glass of scotch. “You know I don’t tolerate liars. So which one of you is it? Which one of you is going to leave this conference room without a job?”

J.T.’s head snapped up. “Mr. Holiday, sir, no one was trying to go behind your back. We—”

The shattering of an empty crystal tumbler on the granite counter silenced poor J.T. But Beck had seen his father bully associates like this before. If he could play along, string out the conversation until the old man calmed down, he could defuse the bomb ticking away in his dad’s chest. But he didn’t have the time or energy to play this game. Which left him with one choice. Suck up. Hard.

He cleared his throat. “No one’s lying. Yes, I consulted J.T. about alternatives for financing the park project when you passed on it. But that’s all it was. A conversation.”

J.T.’s head bobbed up and down in agreement.

Now he needed to layer it on. But not too thick. “How stupid do you think we are? We’d be idiots to go behind your back. I just think we’re passing up an opportunity to create a hell of a lot of goodwill for minimal investment. That’s all.” Not to mention the personal stakes he had at play. But that would only make his dad push back harder. Beck slumped into the chair, the jackhammer of his heartbeat a complete 180 from the forced I-don’t-give-a-crap facade.

J.T. jumped in. “That’s right, Mr. Holiday, just a conversation. Not even a long one. I think—”

“I’ll be the one to tell you what to think around here.” The glare Holiday trained on J.T. shut the poor sap down for good. “Now, I don’t want to hear any more talk about deals under the table, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Beck stood. J.T. just nodded.

“I’m leaving next month to take Marion on that cruise she’s been harping about for years, and I don’t want to have to worry about you two dumbasses trying to orchestrate a coup while I’m gone. If either of you want out, you’d better speak up now. I’ll have Stu here toss you out so fast your ass hits the pavement before your brain knows you’ve even moved.” He traveled down the long length of the room as he spoke, stopping when he reached Beck. Then he leaned over, close enough that only Beck could hear. “You try to screw me over, and you’ll be dead to me, Son. You understand?”

Beck nodded, sealing his fate.

“I ever hear talk about you doing something behind my back, and I’ll make sure every door in this town is closed to you.” He slung an arm around Beck’s shoulders and clapped him on the chest with the other. “Glad we got that worked out, boys. J.T., can you give us a few minutes?”

“Sure.” J.T. swung out from the table and made a beeline for the door.

Once it clicked shut behind him, Holiday took a seat.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. You get the title to the Rambling Rose yet?”

Beck slumped into the chair next to him. “Well, actually, Sully’s—”

The mention of his grandfather’s name caused a twitch at the corner of his dad’s eye. “I haven’t heard my old man called that in decades. Did he leave you everything or not?”

“The will stipulates I need to run the bar for three months in order to inherit the Rambling Rose and his other property.”

“Damn bastard. He knew he’d get his hooks into us one way or another. Even from the grave.” The chair swiveled around, and his dad stood to stare out the wall of windows.

“Why do you hate him so much? I don’t get it. People around there thought he was a good man. They—”

“They don’t know shit in Holiday, Texas. You want to waste your time in that hellhole, you go right on ahead. Stick around for three months and try to find a buyer.” He turned around and leveled his gaze at a point just past Beck’s head. “Or you can get a start on that park project after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“For some reason, you’ve got a bleeding heart for Morris Park. You want to take on that project. I want to get what’s due to me…the Rose. The way I see it, it’s a win-win. Once you get the title, you transfer it over to me, and in return, we finance your little community cause.”

“You’re serious?”

Holiday clapped a hand on Beck’s shoulder. “It’s about time you started taking on more responsibility around here, and building goodwill is a fine place to start.”

Beck tensed. It seemed an innocent enough exchange. He’d get a chance to make good on his promise, and his dad would get what probably ought to have been his anyway, as Sully’s rightful heir. He’d probably been trying to prove himself to his hometown his entire life. Maybe this would give him a chance to make amends with the town and heal the emotional scars that had him running away from Holiday in the first place.

“You’ve got a deal.” Beck thrust his hand toward his dad to seal the agreement with a handshake. “But promise me you’ll keep the staff. They’re a hardworking group of people.” Especially Charlie. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he thought he’d be putting her job in jeopardy.

“I swear I won’t make any changes to the staff. Now you promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. The good folks of Holiday might not be so eager for me to take over, so I’d like to be the one to tell them when the time comes. You spill the beans to anyone”—his eyes narrowed to slits—“and our deal is off.”

“You got it.” Who would he tell anyway? It’s not like he was making lifelong friends down there.

“I’m glad to see you taking a real role in this company. It’ll be yours someday, Son.”

Beck waited for some sort of euphoria to fill his chest at his father’s pseudo-compliment, the first he could remember. A gurgle bubbled in his gut—not quite the explosion of happiness he expected at hearing he was on his way to partner.

“I took the liberty of having Stu here draw up some paperwork. Just an agreement like we talked about.” Holiday winked. “No harm in making things official.”

Beck skimmed over the one-page document. “You mind if I take a look at this later and get it back to you? I really need to get started on the financials for that hotel in the Village.”

“Take all the time you need.” Holiday clapped his hands together. “In fact, why don’t you clear your schedule now? The projects you’re working on here can wait. The most important thing is for you to do whatever you need to do to take care of the Rambling Rose.”

“Sure.” Beck shuffled back to his office. His good mood at returning to New York had seeped out like helium from a balloon, leaving him deflated and empty.

“Everything okay?” Emily twisted her hands together. “Was he mad?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Oh good. Mr. Hill called again. Said it was urgent.” Emily handed him the phone number scrawled across a piece of paper with Holiday Enterprises stamped on the top.

“Hold my calls, okay? Oh, and cancel the drinks and fund-raiser tonight.” He’d get a few things settled at home, then head back to Holiday in a couple of days and take advantage of the break from his busy schedule. Without the massive decision of what to do about the Rose hanging over his head, it would be like a little vacation. He might even enjoy himself a bit.

“You sure everything’s okay, Mr. Holiday?”

He hoped his smile conveyed the level of confidence he felt. “Not yet. But it will be.”

* * *

Charlie slammed another mug of beer on the bar in front of Presley.

“And then she hopped back in the truck, and they fishtailed out of the parking lot.” He held a few of the regulars captive with his rendition of what happened between her and Beck on Sunday night.

“You weren’t even there, so don’t go spreading rumors about things you don’t know anything about.” She turned her back on him, Dwight, and the others, searching for a friendly face on the other side of the room.

“Did you give him his shirt back? I’ll let you have mine if you want to go hang out in my truck for a few minutes.” Dwight’s voice held a hint of jealousy under the humor.

Presley muttered something too low for her to hear, and the guys whooped and laughed. Screw it. Shep could handle things this late on a slow Wednesday night. She grabbed her keys from the office, intentionally ignoring the massive wreath of flowers Beck had sent over the day before. The poor kid who delivered them felt the need to explain that they didn’t have anything in the shop that fit the budget Beck had supplied except a giant premade funeral wreath. Poppy had at least strung a pink ribbon across the middle with stick-on letters reading “Sorry.” Charlie was surprised Presley hadn’t set the tacky display up on the bar—something else he could mock her about.

She ducked out the back door and headed toward the hammock Cash had strung between two trees at the edge of the grass. The Sweetest Swine pageant was coming up on Saturday, and she still had a million things to do if she wanted to have everything ready.

Her phone pinged, and she glanced at the screen. Darby. She’d been giving Charlie crap for the past few days about the hookup, and Charlie was tired of hearing about it. It wasn’t anybody’s business what she did or with whom she did it. She was a grown woman. But that’s not the way things worked around Holiday. With a groan, she tapped on the screen and read over the text.

Darby: Guess who’s back in town…

Charlie: ???

Darby: Come on, guess.

Charlie: Just tell me already.

Darby: You’re no fun. Beck booked another extra-long weekend at the B and B. Just checked in.

Charlie didn’t respond right away. What was he doing back in town so soon? She thought she’d scared the man off the last time she’d seen him. He’d left her place without a shirt, taking all of her pride with him. There was only one reason he’d come back. The Rose. He must have decided to make a go of it.

As much as she wanted to honor her promise to Sully, the Rose was the one thing that had kept her going for the past several years. She couldn’t stand to lose it. And as much as she liked Beck, he didn’t belong around here. He’d never understand the importance of tradition. A guy like him wouldn’t be content to spend the rest of his life sweeping the floor of a place like the Rambling Rose. What would that mean for the folks who counted on the Rose for their jobs, their social lives? It was the anchor that held the whole town of Holiday in place.

Darby: Charlie? You there? I bet he’s headed your way. Mom says he just left.

She wasn’t ready to see him. And if he showed up here tonight, well, that would just give Presley more fuel for the fire he was stirring up. She tucked her phone into her pocket and made her way back into the bar.

“Hey, Shep?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Can you close up tonight? I’m not feeling so hot and think I’m going to head home.”

“You got it. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll be in first thing. I have to finish sewing the sequins on Baby Back’s costume.”

Shep shook his head. “Crazy Texans.”

“You’ll love the pageant.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t love it. But I still think y’all are crazy. Dressing up a bunch of pigs.”

“Hey, Baby Back’s a ringer this year. We’ve got to defend her crown.”

“You’re right about that. Hey, feel better.”

“Thanks.” She’d be lost without Shep. But what would Beck do about the employees and staff? Most of them would probably stay. It’s not like they had a slew of folks sitting around twiddling their thumbs, just waiting for a position to open up at the Rose. They could always use another bartender, especially on the weekends. But Beck would have to keep everyone else. At least for the time being. She’d make sure. Of course, that would require a conversation, which probably meant she’d have to see him face-to-face.

Her cheeks burned as she remembered the time spent in the back of the truck. After they’d steamed up the windows but before they’d been busted by Tippy. She’d been about to throw her reservations out one of the fogged-up windows and let Beck have his way with her. Her heart raced and a warm tingle started in the lowest part of her belly as she recalled the feel of his fingers on her skin. The way his mouth slid down her neck and the fluttery little kisses he’d left along her jaw.

Stop it, Charlie.

Her phone rang, a blessed distraction. “What?”

Darby squealed. “Did you get my text? Have you seen him yet?”

“Don’t you have kids to put to bed or something?”

“Is he there yet?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Shep is closing up tonight. I’m headed home to a glass of wine and a long, hot bath.” Her boots crunched on the gravel as she crossed the parking lot to her truck.

“What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see this is your chance? Turn around.”

Charlie kept her eyes trained on the ground. “Mind your own business. What happened on Sunday was a mistake, one I’m not willing to repeat, no matter how hot he is.”

“A mistake?” The voice came from her right, and her head jerked in that direction.

Darby chatted on, her voice muffled as Charlie lowered the phone from her ear and pressed it against her leg.

“Is that what happened? A mistake? Whew. And here I was thinking I’d have to figure out how to handle things now that I’m back.” Beck shrugged his shoulders and gave her a tight-lipped smile. The kind that tossed the ball back into her court and required a response.

She lifted the phone back to her ear. “Darby, I gotta go.” Then she clicked the End button without any other kind of explanation and turned toward Beck. “So you’re back.”

“Looks that way, seeing as how I’m standing right here.”

“Hey, when I said it was a mistake, I meant my part, not yours.”

“Takes two to two-step, right? At least that’s what my talented instructor taught me. I’m as much to blame for letting things get out of control as you are.” He had on a Yankees T-shirt that stretched tight across broad shoulders, highlighting the contours of the chest she’d run her hands over not even seventy-two hours before. “And I can promise I’ll never let it happen again.”

Her heart flip-flopped in her chest like a fish that suddenly found itself flapping around on a dock. She bit her lower lip before she let herself say something she’d regret. He’d said never. Never was a very long time. Never was exactly what she needed. Never was the last thing her body wanted from Beck.

“So you’re back to stay?”

“At least for three months. And I’m going to need your help. You know the ins and outs of this place better than anyone. You’re going to stay on as manager, right? We can keep things professional. No more mistakes.”

He kept his tone light, but she’d hurt him. She could tell by the way he wouldn’t make eye contact. The tension practically snapped and crackled between them with everything left unsaid.

“Beck, I’m sorry. About the mistake comment. It really is me, not you. There are just things you don’t understand.”

His eyes met hers for a moment. “You’re right, and I won’t. Not unless you decide you’re ready to share.”

She looked away first. Could it really be that easy? Could she share about Jackson? Pry him out of her heart and pretend he didn’t matter anymore? No, not yet. Maybe not ever. So she chose the easier path…the path where she’d pretend everything was fine between them. She worked with men and had grown up with five brothers. She’d just treat Beck like one of the crew. “What are your plans? I mean after the three months are over?”

“I have to survive them first, right?”

She studied his face. “You expect me to believe you’re going to stay in Holiday after you get the title?”

He made eye contact, then focused on some invisible spot on the ground. “I haven’t made it that far yet. But I promise you I’m not making any changes to the staff.”

“There are a lot of people who depend on this place. Not just the folks who work here but the whole dang town. I don’t know that you realize how important the Rose is or how much it meant to your grandfather. If you sell it or—”

“I didn’t say anything about selling it.” Beck thrust a hand at her. “So are we on?”

Feeling like her back was pressed against a wall, even though nothing stood behind her except acres of rolling pasture land, Charlie slid her hand into Beck’s. The shock of feeling his skin on hers, even in something as innocent as a handshake, rolled through her nervous system, flickering along the way.

If he felt it too, he didn’t show any outward sign. “Good. Looks like you’re heading out for the night. What time should we get started tomorrow?”

Charlie pulled her hand away and jammed it into her back pocket. “I’ll be here by eight. I need to finish Baby Back’s costume for the pageant this weekend.”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. You can start teaching me everything I need to know.”

She nodded, anxious to reach the sanctity of her truck, where she could process their interaction in private.

“Good night, Charlie.”

“Good night.” She whirled around and took steady, measured steps to the edge of the lot, where she’d parked early that morning. She didn’t want him to think he’d gotten under her skin. But he had. And now she’d committed herself to working with the man for the next few months under the watchful eye of the entire town. Should be a piece of cake. Or more like a cow patty with some frosting slapped on it…only time would tell.