Page 21 of Forbidden Cowboy
I skip lunch at the lodge and head into town for a quick eat at Cowboy Cafe.
Matching pair of red Adirondack chairs sit on either side of the main door painted the same jam red. Inside hasn’t been updated in years. The waitresses take orders in denim skirts and plaid shirts, bustling about curved wooden chairs and placing steaming lunch plates on pedestal tables. Framed rodeo photos clutter the panel and brick walls.
Sheriff Nash sits on one of the red vinyl stools along the counter.
“Sheriff.” I slip onto a stool two down and eye the pecan pie in the countertop pie display.
“Afternoon, Hope.” Sheriff Nash is a couple of years older than Jade. But his long hair and scruffy beard drastically age him. “Am I going to be called to the town hall for a Fox and Wilde altercation?” His growly straightforward tone makes most folks nervous. Not the locals. We all know something in him changed after his daughter died and wife left him. Grumpy. Irritated. Short-tempered. He reminds me of Levi these days.
“Absolutely not.” I wave at Alma. She pulls a pen out of the white bun fastened at the nape of her neck. “Can I get a couple of slices of pecan pie and a turkey sandwich to go?”
She cups her ear. “What’s that deary?” She’s hard of hearing and refuses to wear hearing aids.
I repeat my order.
“Two slices of pumpkin pies —” She jots down the order on the small pad.
“No, pecan pie. Two slices of pecan pie.”
She pushes her thin-rimmed glasses up her nose. She plays Mrs. Claus every Christmas Holiday because the resemblance is uncanny.
“That’s what I said. Two slices of pumpkin pie.”
“Pecan.”
She ignores me. “And a turkey sandwich.” Half an order correct is better than none.
After a promise not to stir up trouble and a surprise bag of food, I drive to the town hall.
I’d planned to drive back like a good little Fox girl and sneak in under the radar. My plans are foiled when I see the scene in front of the town hall unfold.
I slide my sunglasses into my hair to ensure I see correctly. The town hall’s front lawn is cluttered with wood supplies, a work table, a table saw, rolling tool boxes, and large duffel bags.
Shirtless and with the sun pelting off his glistening body, Levi hooks the tang on the measuring tape over a two-by-four edge. He stretches the blade across the wood and locks it. His free hand slides a pencil wedged over his ear. He marks the wood before running a hand through his shaggy hair.
The entire ordeal makes me hot all over.
The statement he’s making working with a Fox, out in the open, well, that opens a whole new set of feelings—feelings I’ve never dared to allow.
I collect the food and drinks and climb out of the jeep. The sweltering heat makes me appreciate I chose my denim cut-offs and midriff T-shirt with the Fox Lodge logo on it.
Levi spots me and abandons the wood he’s carrying. “Good afternoon, darlin’.” He strolls to me, all muscle and sweat and hotness. His cocky grin dares me to kiss it away.
I hold the bag between us like a shield. “I brought pie.”
“I like pie.”
I’d like to lick pie off the V muscle disappearing down the front of his pants.
“It’s surprise pie.”
He chuckles. “Alma was taking orders.”
I nod, clutching the bag against my chest. “What is this?”
“This—” He waves an arm at the chaos. “—this is you and I proclaiming our friendship.”
“Friendship? Yesterday you said you were going to marry me.”