Chapter Twelve

Beck slid into his boots, then pulled a fresh button-down shirt over his shoulders. He’d pretty much cleaned out Whitey’s store the other day. At least the decent options. As long as he was in Holiday and had to play the part of the long-lost prodigal grandson returning to make good on the family business, he’d look the part, too. The blisters on his heels had healed, and the boots had molded into a custom fit. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone back home, but they actually felt pretty good. The shirt was a different matter though. No matter how much he tried to appreciate the wild patterns and colors on the western shirts, he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable in purple paisley or turquoise plaid.

At least he had access to real caffeine. His espresso machine had arrived yesterday via overnight delivery. Should have been there the day before, but he’d found out overnight didn’t actually mean overnight when the delivery address wasn’t on a regular route. Still, no more weak coffee for him. He waited for the sputtering and steam to stop and then poured the dark liquid into a thermal to-go cup. He’d need to move everything over to Sully’s place soon and take up a more permanent residence. But first to get through the pig pageant today.

What better way to show his commitment to the Rambling Rose and Holiday than by taking part in what he’d been told was one of their longest-standing traditions? With Dwight’s help, he planned on stealing the title right out from under Charlie and her obnoxious hog.

Dwight had promised to take care of the pig, and Beck had pulled a few strings to get a last-minute costume from one of the stylists his current stepmom used. Now to go meet his prize-winning contestant.

Forty-five minutes later, he stood in the center of the dance hall listening to Charlie bark out orders to the staff. They’d hired extra help for the event, and she ran through a list of jobs and expectations. Angelo had been working the barbecue pits nonstop for the past three days, and the smell of smoked brisket and—ironically—baby back ribs smothered everything. Didn’t matter where he was—inside, outside, even a couple miles away—he couldn’t avoid the mouthwatering scent of homemade sauce.

Charlie wrapped up the meeting, and everyone got to work in the hot-pink T-shirts she’d special-ordered for the event. The front read “The Rambling Rose Has Gone Hog Wild” with a set of pig footprints underneath. On the back, she had the date and “125th Annual Pig Pageant” with a pig-snout-and-tiara graphic. She hadn’t pressed Beck to wear the shirt. Trying to fit in only made him stand out more anyway.

“Hey.” Charlie met him at the corner of the bar. “You ready for this?”

“Oink. Oink.”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You won’t be making fun when you’re counting up the till later.”

“So you’ve been telling me. What do I need to do today? Anything special? I want to pitch in.” Charlie had been doing a good job getting him up to speed on the happenings at the Rose. But she’d stay in charge, and he was fine with that.

“Hopefully we’ve got everything under control. If you want to stick by me, we can tackle anything that comes up together.”

“Tackle together? Sign me up.”

“Not that kind of tackling.” Her cheeks flushed a shade slightly lighter than her shirt.

He needed to knock it off. They’d made a grown-up decision not to act on the sizzling tension that crackled just under the surface of their workplace interactions. But something about designating her as off-limits made her that much more attractive. Like telling himself he would quit drinking but leaving one more beer in the back of the fridge. He’d never be stupid enough to try that. Having Charlie at his fingertips all day long was like looking at that beer, knowing how it would taste on his lips, and having to shut the fridge door anyway. And it had only been three days. He’d have to find another distraction for all that pent-up energy.

“Hey, y’all.” Charlie’s cousin Brittany sashayed across the ballroom and sidled up to the bar. “Ready for me to steal that sash back?”

“You’ll have to steal it because you’ll never win it fair and square.” Charlie nodded toward her cousin. “Brittany here thinks her Sweet Caro-Swine is going to win this year.”

Beck’s gaze drifted over to Brittany. Her hair hung down her back in a brown sheet from underneath the brim of a straw cowboy hat. A sliver of tanned skin peeked out from the gap between her hot-pink halter top and the waistband of a pair of Daisy Duke jean shorts.

She winked a heavily made-up eye at him, and her bubble-gum-pink lips swirled into a slanted smile. “That’s right. Sweet Caro-Swine has been practicing, and she’s going to sweep the pageant this year. If you’re a betting man, you’d best put your money on my pig.”

Beck smiled back. “Don’t tell me someone actually takes bets on the outcome of this ridiculous thing?”

“Ridiculous? Sugar, you just watch and see. I’m gonna make a killing by putting my money where my mouth is.” As if there were any doubt in his mind where her mouth was, she blew him an air-kiss to be sure.

When he’d wished for a distraction, he hadn’t mean to summon it in the form of Brittany Walker. To drive her overly overt point home, she leaned close and whispered in a voice dripping with the sticky sweetness of honey, “My mouth is good at other things, too.”

Beck jerked away so fast that his knee banged on the stool next to him, and it toppled over onto the floor.

Brittany smirked and fluttered long, mascaraed lashes. “I’ve gotta go get Sweet Caro-Swine ready. My makeup artist is probably already at the trailer. See y’all later.” She squeezed Beck’s bicep and scooted out the side door.

Charlie set the stool upright and narrowed her eyes at him. “I warned you about Brittany once. You’re a big boy though, so if you want to fan those flames, go right on ahead.”

Beck cleared the awkward bubble from his throat. “I’ve got no plans to fan anything. If you don’t need my help right away, I’m going to head out back and see if my pig’s here yet.”

“Your pig?” She set the clipboard down on the bar and looked at him in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Where in the world would you get a pig?”

“I’ve made connections around here, and I think I’ve got a real contender.”

Her hands went to her hips, and she appeared to stifle a laugh. “Well, okay then. You’d better go check on your pig. What’s her name? I want to make sure I don’t miss her in the lineup.”

“Marilyn Sow-roe. She’ll be the blond in the white dress.” At least he hoped she’d be in the white dress. Dwight’s part of the bargain better have included helping him wrestle the beast into its costume.

“Good luck. I hope Marilyn does well.”

Charlie’s well wishes didn’t align with her body language. Obviously she didn’t think he could do it. That only made him want it more. He’d prove he could hang with the locals. Even if the closest he’d ever come to a pig before was eating a ham and swiss from that deli on East Forty-third.

“Thanks. See you in a bit.”

She turned back to her clipboard, and he ventured outside. Vendors had set up around the beer garden in back, offering everything from pickled pig’s feet to pork chops on a stick to pig-themed pottery. Employees scurried around taking care of last-minute details. A stage had been rigged at one end of the fenced-in area. The sound of squeals, snorts, and snuffling told Beck that’s where he’d most likely find his pig. As he rounded the stage, Dwight waved to him, beckoning him over to the back end of a truck.

“Dude, you owe me big time for this.” He held a handful of rope in one hand. Beck’s gaze followed the line to where an enormous black-and-white-spotted pig lounged in the bed of the truck.

“Wow.” He blew out a breath. “Thanks, man. So what do we do with it now?”

“Contest doesn’t start until five. Do you have somewhere to keep it till then?”

Beck looked around. All the other pigs seemed to be contained in wire crates or cages. “No. You said all I needed was a costume and a gimmicky name.”

“Well, I’m not gonna sit around here all day and hold your pig for you.”

“I’ve got to help Charlie. Can you take it back to where you got it and bring it back closer to the start time?”

Dwight kicked at the tire with the toe of his boot. “You have any idea how crowded it gets around here? I got a good spot. If I leave and come back, I’ll have to park half a mile away. Your pig, your problem.” He handed the end of the rope to Beck and shoved his hands in his front pockets like he was afraid Beck would pass it back.

“But how do I get a dress on it?” His stomach dropped to his knees when he realized Dwight was going to leave him alone to fend for himself. Three shots of espresso and another one of those giant gourmet breakfasts hadn’t been such a good idea this morning. The liquid rolled around in his gut like a giant tsunami wave gathering momentum.

Dwight backed away, putting one boot behind the other in a slow retreat. “Bribe it with treats.” He yanked a small, crinkly bag out of his pocket and tossed it at Beck. It landed five feet away.

“Are those dog treats?” Beck reached for the bag but realized he’d have to let go of the rope. He glanced back at the pig, whose side rose and fell with each slobbery breath. Looked safe enough. He dropped the rope and stepped forward.

As soon as the end of the rope hit the dirt, the pig rolled to its feet and scrambled out of the truck. Beck dove for the rope and managed to get his hand wrapped around the tail end. The pig broke right to veer around a parked car, and the rope burned through Beck’s hand.

“Dammit!” He looked up from where he’d landed facedown in the dirt. Dwight stood over him, one hand wrapped around the rope, Marilyn squealing in disappointment on the other end. “What happened?”

“Don’t let go of the rope.” Dwight waited for him to brush the dust off his jeans and then handed the rope back. “Smart sucker knows when to run. Now I suggest you find a place to pen it before you lose your winning ticket.”

“Yeah.” Beck led the suddenly compliant pig to where the treats sat in the dirt. “We need to get something straight here, Marilyn. I’m not going to take any more crap from you.”

The pig seemed to evaluate him with its beady little eyes. Then lifted its tail and deposited the biggest, smelliest pile of poop he’d ever seen right smack-dab in front of his boots. Beck shook his head and shot a glance around. No one seemed to be paying a bit of attention to them. At least one thing in his favor. He wrapped both hands around the rope and began to drag the pig toward the fence line. Pen the pig. That was a great idea. And he knew just the place.

* * *

Charlie rounded the corner of the building and smacked into a solid wall. Weird. That hadn’t been there before. She backed away, dazed, hand over her cheek. She could already feel it swelling under her fingers.

“Charlie. Oh hell. Are you okay?”

Strong arms circled her as she squinted up into the bright midday sun. “Beck?” The wall could talk, and it sounded a lot like Beck. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“I didn’t see you coming.”

“Feels like I caught a horseshoe to the head.”

“I’m sorry. It was an elbow. You need some ice?”

Her fingers tapped around the lump on her cheek. “I don’t have time. I’ve got to get Baby Back dressed before the contest starts. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Just to clean up. I hope you don’t mind, I put my pig in the pen with Baby Back. I didn’t know I needed to bring a crate or anything.”

“What do you mean you put your pig in with her?” Charlie jerked back to stare at him. “You can’t put two strange pigs together who haven’t been introduced!”

“Why not?”

“Because they might not like each other. What if they get in a fight and Baby Back gets hurt? What if one of them bites the other? What if they start to get rough and knock through the fence? Don’t you know anything?” She pushed past him and stomped across the grass to the edge of the pigpen. “What’s this?”

Baby Back stood motionless, dwarfed by the giant boar who’d mounted her and appeared to be doing his best to poke her in the backside. He grunted, squealed, and snorted, his rear end bucking up and down.

“Get away from her!” Charlie climbed on the bottom rail of the fence and waved her arms in the air. The boar continued to thrust. Charlie cleared the fence and landed with a splash in a puddle of mud. Unbelievable.

Beck raced around the fence to the gate.

“Help me!”

“How?” He opened the gate and took two small steps forward, stopping just inside the pen.

“Close the gate. Then help me get him off. She must be in heat. Dammit.”

“Looks like he’s getting off fine on his own.” Beck shut the gate and stood stock-still while Charlie trudged through the dirt and mud.

“This isn’t the time to joke.” Charlie put her palms on the giant boar and pushed. Nothing happened. “Help me, he’s too big, he’s too…too—”

“Too into it?” Beck bit back a smile. “Yeah, I don’t want to get in the middle of a budding romance.”

“You think this is funny?” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Your pig is supposed to be a female. You do know what a female is, don’t you?”

He picked his way through the mud puddles, moving toward her. “I do believe I’m familiar with the anatomy of the fairer sex.” He lifted a brow.

Her stomach flipped at the reference to how familiar she knew he was. He would pay for that last remark. “Get over here and help me.”

“Think of it, Charlie.” He continued to move closer. “It’s like we’re matchmakers.”

“We are not matchmakers.” She clamped her hands on her hips and glanced at the fence line, where a small crowd had begun to gather. “Your boar is deflowering my prize-winning pig…in public!”

Beck lifted his head, sweeping his gaze along the fence. “All right. What do we do?”

The pig continued to grunt and snort.

“Something. Anything,” she muttered under her breath. “This is a family festival.”

Beck took in a deep breath. After what seemed like forever, he set his hands on the boar’s bristly back end and shoved it to the side. The boar squealed but didn’t dislodge. Beck pushed again. Nothing happened.

The ridiculousness of the entire situation hit her full blast. “This is crazy.”

He nodded. “That’s the most logical thing you’ve said so far.”

“We’re going to have to do this together.” She wheeled around and set her palms on the big boar’s back.

“All right. I’m in.” Beck stepped next to her, prepared to give it his all.

“Come on. On the count of three, let’s give them a good push at the same time.” Charlie counted, and they both pushed, finally breaking the pigs apart. Half the crowd cheered, and the other half booed. Baby Back scampered toward the covered part of her pen. The boar wheeled on them, an angry glint in his eye.

“Watch out. He’s not happy.” Charlie took a few steps toward the fence. The boar snorted, watching her every move.

“Here, pig.” Beck waved his arms, distracting the boar. His head swung around, focusing his beady eyes on Beck. “Um, Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Beck kept one eye on the boar while he backed toward the gate. “He’s watching me, isn’t he?”

“Appears to be. You’re doing great though. Move slow. No sudden movements.”

Beck’s chest rose and fell as he made slow progress to the edge of the pen. “Let’s settle this one fellow to another. I know you’re disappointed, buddy. But you and Baby Back aren’t meant to be.”

Charlie couldn’t help but smile as Beck tried to reason with the angry boar. In her experience, talk therapy rarely, if ever, worked with animals. She could tell him.

But…it might be more fun to let him figure that out for himself.

“She’s too good for you, y’know. People come from miles around to—”

“Hundreds of miles, even,” Charlie interjected.

“Hundreds, really?” Beck looked up at her.

“We even had a family from Alaska last summer. They heard about the pageant and brought their prize-winning swine all the way to Texas.”

“What was her stage name?”

“She was Frost-Sty the Snow Pig. They padded her up in white cotton batting. She came in third.”

“Huh.” Beck took his eyes off the boar for a fraction of a heartbeat. But a fraction was all it took.

“Watch out!” Reacting on instinct, Charlie flung herself at his chest before he could be run down.

He gave a surprised shout as he caught her against him and they fell back together, out of the path of the bitter boar. Her elbow ended up jabbing into the hard muscles of his stomach. “What the hell, Charlie?” Beck said, sounding winded.

“You’re welcome.” She rolled off him, trying to figure out where the pig had gone.

“You’re welcome?” Beck flung a sleeve over his face, wiping away the worst of the mud. At least she could see his eyes. Angry eyes. Eyes that didn’t look at all thrilled to be saved from the path of a charging boar.

“Yeah. You’re welcome for knocking you out of the way. He almost got you.”

The boar must have used up all his energy on Baby Back followed by his final charge. He gave a dismissive snort and trotted toward the bucket of slop.

“I don’t think that was necessary.” Beck staggered to his feet. “Marilyn and I were working things out. We had an understanding.”

“Marilyn was about to knock you on your ass and stomp you into the ground.”

“Is that so?” He continued to fling mud from his hands. “Thanks to you, now I’m covered from head to toe in pig slop. Again.”

“Not quite.” She still owed him for that crack he’d made about how well he knew the fairer sex. Reaching into a particularly rich puddle, she gathered a handful of mud and flung it at the one patch of paisley yet to be stained by mud.

The mud ball splatted against his arm. “What the hell was that?”

“Now you’re covered from head to toe.”

“I probably deserved that.” He smiled and dropped to his knees.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as his hand dipped to the ground.

“Payback.” He grabbed a fistful of mud and lobbed it in her direction. The glob of mud smacked into her chest, splattering her face.

“You didn’t.” She glanced down at her shirt.

His eyes sparkled with humor. “Oh yes, I did.”

Beck scooped up another glob and launched it at her. This one grazed her head, and she reached up to find a blob of mud running down her hair. Once she might be able to forgive. But twice? Hell no. It was on, and she didn’t care who was watching.

She retaliated, scooping up handfuls of mud and flinging them in his general direction.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist.

She twisted away from him, then kicked her foot out to trip him. He stumbled, almost got back up again, and then fell to the ground, pulling her down on top of him.

Trapped against his chest, she took in a deep breath. Mud dripped from her hair, plopping down to splatter his shirt. Their gazes met. The smile spread across his lips reflected in his eyes. He was right—this was ridiculous.

“You about done flinging mud?” she asked, watching his lips as his mouth began to move.

“You about done wanting to fight?”

She sighed. “Yes. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

His smile widened. “So let’s kiss and make up.”

His suggestion hung between them.

“It’s not that easy.”

“It sure could be that easy if you let it.”

She wanted it to be that easy, wanted nothing more than to put her faith in Beck and let him help shoulder her burdens. As she hovered on the edge of giving in, the small crowd erupted into spontaneous applause. Charlie glanced up—the sanctity of their private interlude had been breached. She wiped a palm over her cheek and winced at the tender spot under her eye.

“You okay?” Beck scrambled out from under her and offered a hand to help her up.

She stood, noticing the onlookers who ringed the pen. The fight and the bottled-up desire drained right out of her, and she raised her gaze to Beck.

He looked like he’d gone scuba diving in a pool of chocolate pudding. She lifted the hem of her T-shirt and wiped at her eyes with a clean spot. No longer pinned in place by the randy boar, Baby Back nudged Charlie’s hand with her nose and she scratched the pig behind an ear.

“Can you do me a favor and get that boar out of here? Didn’t you read the contest rules? Sows only. That means females.”

He took on a sheepish grin and almost looked sorry. Almost. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she sighed. “Because you probably didn’t read them.” She sloshed toward the gate, then ducked through, leaving Beck standing in the middle of the pen. She’d gone and done it again—made a fool out of herself in public. At this rate, the loose lips in Holiday would have enough to talk about all the way through Christmas. Maybe even into next year if she didn’t get a handle on herself.

“Now that’s what I call mud wrestling.” Darby caught up to her as she stomped toward the small barn. “Was that part of the scheduled entertainment?”

Charlie glared at her friend. “What do you think?”

“I think you like him.”

“What?” She stopped in her tracks and threw her arms out wide. “I get attacked in a pigpen…a freaking pigpen…trying to save our mascot from being violated, and you somehow think that means I like Beck?”

“You’re right.” Darby clucked her tongue. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

Charlie growled and reached out with two muddy hands to grab her friend’s shoulders. Maybe she could shake some sense into her. “What is wrong with you? Has everyone around here lost their ever-lovin’ minds?”

Darby sidestepped to avoid her grasp. “Honey, I think it’s you who’s lost her mind. That man is driving you crazy. Get it over with. Put yourself out of your misery. Even Baby Back is getting some.”

“You think that’s my problem? That I need to get naked with Beck?”

“No. You already pretty much got naked with the man. I think you need to make some bacon. Even I’m overdosing on the sexual attraction between you two. I’m just suggesting you have a little fun. Let nature run its course and get him out of your system.”

“Darby, have you noticed what I look like? I’m covered in mud and pig poop. You are certifiably insane if you think I’ve got sex on my mind right now.” And she didn’t have sex on her mind. Not at that particular moment in time. Five minutes before, when she’d been straddling her personal kryptonite, maybe the thought had passed through. But she’d never admit it. Not to Darby and definitely not to Beck.

“Have it your way, toots. But you keep this up, and you’re going to self-destruct.” Darby skipped backward and whirled around to head back to the party. “My way’s more fun.”

Ha, more. Charlie groaned. That’s the only thing the future held with Beck—more trouble.