A New Year's Cowboy Page 4

  Fixing the towel back on the hook, fluffing and folding the material, it didn’t look as neat and pretty as when he’d found it. So, he dropped it to the sink.

  He certainly hoped Brent did as promised and found that Irish whiskey.

  In the kitchen, Brent was at the stove and Charlie was sitting at the long, rustic table, sipping from a mug.

  “Here you are, son.” Brent held out a cup. “Tea.” He winked.

  Storm took the offering and looked down into the amber liquid. He was glad to see the man had done Storm right. He knocked back most of it in one gulp, squinting as it burned its way through his esophagus and pooling like molten lava in his stomach. “That’s some of the best ‘tea’ I’ve ever had.”

  Brent smiled and nodded. “I’m off to bed now.”

  “So soon?” Charlie’s eyes widened over the rim of her steaming cup.

  “What do you mean so soon, dear?” Brent lifted a wiry brow.

  “I thought you might like to get to know our guest better.” Her voice quivered. She set the cup down, spilling a drop onto the table.

  Storm resisted the urge to smile. He wasn’t the only one as tense as a mouse in a room full of traps.

  “You won’t be too troubled if I head to bed, will you?” Brent asked.

  “Not at all.” Storm shrugged. “Got anymore tea?” He needed something to calm his insides, preventing him from making a fool of himself.

  “Please stop referring to the whiskey as ‘tea’! I’m not a child.” She stood up so fast the chair legs scraped the floor. She stomped to the sink, bent and grabbed a half-full bottle from inside. She shoved it out in front of her. “Here. At least it’ll be that much less for Pops to indulge in later.” She gave her dad a grin.

  Storm wasn’t sure which one would set his gut on fire more—her or the whiskey. He took her offering and went to sit down at the table.

  “Remember, son, that stuff is lethal,” Brent warned.

  Pouring another small amount into his cup, Storm nodded his understanding. Although, right now, a good buzz would be a relief compared to the ache behind his zipper. Charlie sat as soon as her dad left the room, looking at Storm through the veil of her lashes. “No sense in drinking alone? Care for some?”

  Only a second’s hesitation passed before she stuck out her cup. “Only a drop or two.”

  He obliged her, then held up his cup. “Cheers.” They tapped rims and drank.

  “He thinks I don’t know about his secret stash or the fact that he sneaks and eats a half-dozen slices of bacon every morning,” she huffed, bringing the cup to her lips. He noticed how pretty her mouth curved, the bottom a little fuller than the top, both pale pink, matching the color in her cheeks.

  He poured another small amount into his cup. Yeah, he needed it. “Whiskey and bacon…mm, some of the finer things in life.” She chuckled and he lifted a brow. “What?”

  “I’m not shocked that you agree. Men have a surprising list of ‘finer’ things.”

  “Really?” He sat back into the chair, the wood creaked under his weight.

  “Yes, really.” She took another sip and wiped her mouth.

  “I’d love to hear your thoughts on what things you think are on my list.”

  “Well, I don’t know you.” She lifted her shoulder and dropped it. “You seem like the typical man though. Women are definitely on that list, I’m sure.” She looked everywhere but at him.

  He laughed. “I like women. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “More specifically, in bed.” She played with the label on the bottle.

  He rubbed his jaw, realizing she must have seen his bulging zipper in the bathroom. “You’re lumping all men into one category. Why do women always assume that men can’t think with anything but what’s below their belt?”

  “Oh I don’t know. Maybe because it’s true.” She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Pour me a tad more.” She held out her cup.

  He poured. “Science has proven that women think of sex just as often as men do, and in many cases more.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Am I? Why is that so hard to believe? Men and women were made to reproduce.” His cock twitched. This was a dangerous discussion. “Both sexes are led by attraction.”

  She blinked. “How on earth did we get onto this subject?”

  “You led me right down the path.”

  She sighed. “What did you get for Christmas?”

  He blinked, the question catching him off guard. “A head injury.” He pointed at his forehead.

  “Come on. Seriously,” she urged.

  A new twinkle appeared in her eye, but only a glimpse before it disappeared. “Nothing,” he admitted reluctantly. Sadness crawled across her features, one corner of her pretty mouth turned down. No, he couldn’t have her pity. “It’s not a biggie, Charlie. Christmas hasn’t been anything more than another day for me for a lot of years.”

  “That’s not right. It’s a day for celebration, spending it with those who are close.” She lowered her eyes. Had her eyes misted?

  “That’s an endearing thought for those who have family.” Once the words were out he wanted to fish them back in. It was bad enough that she looked at him like he was a puppy she found on the side of the road. He didn’t need to encourage her sympathy. He had everything he wanted—a flourishing career, money, and his guitar. A lot of people would kill to take his place.

  She lifted her cup, downed the contents then set it back down with a thud. “I have something.” She jumped up. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “I don’t plan on it, at least not tonight.” He sipped his whiskey. His gut was numb, but the ache below his waist remained. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose in irritation. He walked a thin line here and tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  “Here you are.” Hearing her soft voice, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She held out her hands with a colorfully wrapped present sitting on her palms.

  He blinked. What the hell? “What’s that?”

  “Take it.” She placed it on the table in front of him.

  He looked past her shoulder. “Did you just happen to wish for a present and it appeared?”

  “Dad and I always buy presents for the town folks. This year we had one left over, sadly because Mr. Winterbourne passed away a few weeks ago. Funny how fate works.” Her eyes twinkled as she returned to her chair.

  “Yeah, funny, ain’t it.” He smiled. Couldn’t help himself. Somehow seeing the excitement on her face was enough of a present. But she expected him to open it. Taking off the large red bow first, he then carefully removed the paper. Inside was a small white box and he lifted the lid. He found an iron cross leather bracelet. He stared, not sure what to say or to think.

  “I know it’s not much, but I’ve come to realize that faith is all we have.”

  Taking the bracelet from the box, he put it on his left wrist, grateful that it fit. Clearing his throat, he hoped his voice worked. “Best gift I’ve ever received.” He spoke the truth.

  She laughed. He loved the angelic sound. “You don’t have to go that far.”

  “I’m being honest.” This was all too much. How did he get so lucky to find this town—to find Charlie and her father—on Christmas day? Her kindness and giving nature made him realize how much he’d taken for granted over the years. He touched the cross on the bracelet and made a promise to himself that he’d make more of an effort to do what’s right.

  “Okay, then.” She stood and pressed her palms on the table. “I’m a little tipsy. So I’d better show you to your room and head to bed. The diner opens bright and early.”

  “Diner?”

  “Next door.”

  He nodded, disappointment spiraling through him. If he’d had his way, he would have stayed up all night talking with her. “I guess you’re right.” Pushing back his chair, he followed her through the living room, grabbing his bag on the way, and up a wide set of
stairs, down a shadowed hallway to a closed door. She opened it, flipped on the light, but stayed at the threshold.

  “Here you are. It’s not the Ritz, but you have clean sheets, a warm blanket and the best view a person could ask for. The snow is beautiful as it falls on the trees.”

  “Thank you. Looks great to me,” he said as he stepped in, scanning the space. A comfy-looking bed covered in a bright comforter. A lamp on the nightstand and a beautiful view, just as she’d promised. What more could a man ask for? Looking at her, he imagined there was a lot he could hope for.

  “Bathroom is down the hall. Fresh towels are on the shelf. Warning, this is an old house and it creaks at night. No ghost, I assure you. I’ve looked hard enough.” She gave him a half-hearted smile and closed the door quietly behind her.

  What did she mean that she’d looked hard enough?

  He practically tore his hand through his hair. He walked to the window, stared out for a few minutes and then went to the bed, falling belly-first onto the soft mattress. With whiskey-warmed blood flowing through his veins and the image of a pretty lady in his head, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  ****

  Charlie hurried to her bedroom and once inside she leaned against the door. She could be crazy, but she caught Storm watching her—not just a simple look, but one that made her feel different, maybe even special. That couldn’t be possible. They barely knew each other. Charlie’s father told her that when he met her mother there were instant sparks between them. Having never experienced it before, Charlie wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but the tingles deep in her core certainly had her curious.

  Stripping from her clothes, she dragged on an old shirt and climbed into bed. But sleep evaded her.

  She tossed and turned, punching her suddenly hard pillow until she plopped onto her stomach and closed her eyes. Her nose itched and her brain was fuzzy. She giggled at the idea that she’d gotten tipsy. And for the first time in a long time, the guilt and sadness she carried every day wasn’t as painful.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Storm woke up in a strange bed. He jerked his head up, blinked, and felt a dull ache on his forehead, remembering where he was. The whiskey had helped him sleep like a baby, but the cut on his forehead altered the effects of a good night’s sleep.

  He rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms high, blinking as the bright morning light rolled through the window. The snow had stopped and the sky was clear. Reaching for his cell phone from his back pocket, he read the screen. Still no service. Max definitely was going to kill him. And why didn’t Storm care?

  Sliding out of bed, his boots hit the floor with a loud thud. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror and grimaced. He needed a shower. His hair stood out all over his head. He’d grown a beard. Short, but still a beard. And his clothes were rumpled. Reaching into his bag, he grabbed clean clothes and headed out of the room.

  He stepped into the bathroom at the end of the hall and closed the door, deciding he better lock it too. It’d been a long time since he’d shared a space with others. He’d never live down the humiliation of Charlie walking in on him. Yet, on the other hand, he certainly did imagine seeing her naked enough in his dreams last night.

  Damn, he should be mortified that he couldn’t get his mind off of her. Instead, his cock responded by growing and threatening to break his zipper.

  A cold shower was in order.

  Stripping off his clothes, he looked down at the leather bracelet he still wore. He pulled it off and placed it on the sink. Removing the bandage from his forehead, he examined the cut. The surrounding skin was bruised, but it looked like it was healing fine.

  Adjusting the water in the tub and pulling the knob to the spray, he climbed into the cool water and inhaled sharply, a few minutes passed before his warm body adjusted. He stood there for a long time, water running over him, then he switched the temperature to hot. Searching the bottles in the wire basket, he found shampoo. Reading the label, he smirked. A cowboy could use lustrous locks. He poured a small amount into his palm and sniffed the fragrance. Charlie’s scent. There went his misbehaving parts again. He needed to get the hell out of dodge. He had commitments—and none of them had to do with the craving in his loins.

  Once he was washed and dried, he pulled on his clothes, stuffed his dirty ones into his bag and headed downstairs. He followed the savory smell of bacon crackling on the stove. Brent was dishing the meat out onto a folded paper towel. He looked like quite the chef with a white apron on and a spatula held in one hand.

  “That’s enough to make a man salivate,” Storm said from the doorway.

  Brent laughed. “I’ve eaten bacon every morning for the last forty years. Doc said I should give it up, ya know, because of the heart attack and all.” He popped a piece into his mouth. “But the way I see it, I’ve lived a long, blessed life. If one piece of bacon does me in, then I’ll consider that a price I pay. Care for some?”

  “How about coffee? I could use a caffeine boost.” Storm made his way through the kitchen, looking around. He hadn’t really noticed much last night except for the woman that had sat across from him. The large space was nicely decorated with everything organized and in its place. Pristine white cabinets above green granite countertops. A hanging rack on one wall with pots and pans. A kitchen island in the center was scattered with fresh fruit, a bowl with more fruit, and a rooster cookie jar.

  “Help yourself.” Brent pointed to the coffee maker. “Cups are in the cabinet right above.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Taking down a cup, he poured himself a heaping amount of the liquid gold.

  “Milk? Cream, Sugar?” Brent asked.

  “Not this morning,” Storm said, then sipped the coffee. It burned its way down his throat, but it was a welcomed feeling. “I don’t have any cell service.”

  “And you won’t. Carriers are in the process of putting new towers up, but they’ve promised that for a few years now. You could use the landline.” He dragged off his apron and hung it on a hook.

  “Why do I get a feeling there’s a but coming?”

  Brent laughed. “Great perception. I’m afraid it’s not working. We get a little change in weather around here and service goes down. We’re lucky we still have power. But we have a generator for those times. Haven’t had to use it once this season. Knock on wood.”

  Storm gulped down the hot coffee. What the hell would he do now? “I need to be in Ohio by this evening. Any car rentals nearby?”

  Brent scrubbed his jaw. “Not within fifty miles I’m afraid. Getting there could be a problem, even if they’re open.”

  He set his empty cup down and sighed.

  “I hope you’re only eating one slice of that bacon, Pops.”

  Storm lifted his head. Things seem to suddenly get better. Charlie came into the room and the sunshine followed her.

  “Yes, daughter. Only one slice,” Brent assured her.

  It would be hard for Storm not to admire the cascade of shiny hair and her deep-set eyes. She was a classical beauty, but beyond just the physical, he had a gut feeling she was wholesome and natural. As friendly as she was, he sensed she only gave so much of herself before a wall came up. The shadows under her eyes spoke of something deeper.

  He moved his gaze lower, over her bright pink T-shirt with the words “Cancer sucks”. Her skinny jeans fit every curve of her slender hips and long legs. A ripped hole in the thigh of the denim gave him a peek of creamy, smooth skin. His heart flipped.

  She wasn’t like the dolled-up women he was used to. Not that getting all dressed up was wrong, but here lately the only thing they wanted from was a hook up with a country star. They were everywhere on his tours and easy to find out of the crowd. They’d saddle right up backstage, carrying a bright smile and a nice peep of big tits.

  Once upon a time he’d felt like a clam basking in the sun with all of the attention he’d gotten from sexy, willing women. Sometimes one wouldn’t be enou
gh and he’d find himself with two warm, sweet bodies. He’d had a few one-night stands in the past, and each and every time, one after the next, he’d inevitably feel more and more dissatisfied.

  What he’d learned over the last years, most of the country knew him, loved him, paid a good amount of money to hear his music, but no one, not even his manager, really knew him. Except for his uncle who was gone. Maybe because Charlie had no clue who he was made her even more interesting to Storm. There was definitely something different that set her apart from the rest. Against his better judgement, he wanted to get to know her even better.

  She stepped up next to Storm, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I’m guessing you’ve already been told about the phone service?” One thin brow lifted. Her eyes, a distinctive green this morning, danced in the light flowing in from the window above the sink.

  He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “The road to the highway isn’t passable. I heard it over the scanner. The county trucks don’t bother with these parts.”

  The news kept getting better. But why didn’t he care that he was stuck. He could think of far worse places to be than here.

  He noticed she had a faint scattering of freckles along the tops of her cheeks. He was glad that she didn’t cover them with layers of makeup.

  “You said you had commitments,” she said above the rim of her cup.

  “I do. If I don’t get to Ohio soon my goose is cooked, so to speak.”

  “By the way, the cut looks a lot better. I wish I knew a way to help you save your goose.” She moved away from the counter. “Pops, no reason for you to come to the diner this morning. I’m sure we won’t have but a few customers. I’ll take care of things over there.” She put her still-full cup in the sink.

  “Why don’t you take Storm with you?” Brent said.

  Storm gulped. Spending time with Charlie could be a big mistake—bigger than traveling in a blizzard. “I don’t know how much help I’d be, but doesn’t look like I’ll have anything else to do.” Yeah, those words really came out of his mouth. He just had to admit the truth…he liked the idea of spending the day with her.