Bad News Cowboy (29 page)

Shoulda Been a Cowboy

Maisey Yates

CHAPTER ONE

J
AKE
C
ALDWELL
HAD
most definitely improved with age. It really didn't seem fair. Rather than gaining five pounds around his hips like she had, his chest and shoulders had grown broader, his waist trim, his stomach washboard flat. It almost,
almost
, made her rue her addiction to the loganberry tarts she stocked in the pastry display at The Grind. Almost.

Cassie Ventimiglia slowly sank down behind the counter, putting Jake, who was outside dismounting his motorcycle, out of her sight. She didn't need to spend any more time looking at him. She needed to take inventory of her soy milk. She opened the mini fridge that was built into the counter and began to dutifully do just that.

Her soy milk supply was sufficient. Which was good to know. Important. Much more important than taking in the view outside.

Cassie rose again slowly, eyeing the small dining room. Most of the women in it were casting subtle glances outside. And Cassie figured they weren't checking out Copper Ridge's main street.

Jake had that effect. But he always had. Even back when he'd been that dark scowling boy with perfect hair and wicked blue eyes wandering the halls of the high school, tattooed and bad news, and everything that kept mothers of good girls awake at night. And ensured that the fathers of good girls kept their shotguns close by.

Actually, that was probably why he had been so fascinating. As far as Copper Ridge, Oregon, went, he had been universally disapproved of. And what was more attractive than that, when you were seventeen and just starting to figure out that there was more to life than what your parents had told you? Nothing. At least not as far as she'd been concerned.

Of course, she had actually gotten to know him. Had seen beneath some of his tough exterior. Had bothered to see him as a human being. For all the good that had done her. She'd just ended up with a crush wider than the Columbia River Gorge. And before she'd been able to confess that, before she'd been able to tell him just what she wanted from him, he'd left.

She seemed to have that effect on men. But she wasn't going to think about that right now. She was going to think about muffins. She could inventory those next. So hooray for that.

Anyway, she had no reason to be...staring at him, thinking about him, drooling after him. He'd given no indication at all that he was interested in her as anything other than a tenant he happened to live near. He was aloof to the point of being cool. That was something that had changed.

When he'd been a teenager he'd had an air of intensity, anger and restlessness about him. Now he just seemed... Well, he seemed almost bored to be here. Like he was looking through things.

Like he was looking through her.

The little bell above the door chirped and she looked up just in time to see Jake walk in. He had been here for more than a week. Back in town, staying in the apartment next to hers. It was a complicated situation, really.

Jake's father had owned the building that housed her coffee shop and the apartments above it, in addition to a couple of other properties in town and a ranch just outside of it. That meant Jake was the owner now. And effectively her landlord.

At least he hadn't changed much since he'd arrived, with the exception of inhabiting the neighboring apartment. She only hoped he continued to not change things.

He came into the coffee shop every day and ordered an Americano and a muffin. Which meant that she should be used to him by now. It meant that her stomach should not go into a free fall, her heart should not skip several beats, and her palms should most certainly not get sweaty.

In addition to the fact that his presence was old news by now, she was thirty-two. She was, in the immortal words of
Lethal Weapon
's Roger Murtaugh, too old for this shit.

And yet the second he'd walked in each morning, her heart rate had indeed increased, her stomach had plummeted, and her palms were definitely starting to get a little bit damp.

She forced her breathing to slow as he approached. He was holding his bike helmet beneath his arm, propping it against his hip. There was something epically badass about him when he stood that way. It was as appealing now as it had been fifteen years ago. And she had no idea why that was. He'd never been a good idea for her, never been a logical match. Her hormones had never registered that fact.

He laid his helmet on the counter and pushed his hand through his dark hair, drawing her eyes to the tattoo of dark evergreen trees that wrapped around his arm. They started at his wrist and extended up to his elbow. His tattoos fascinated her, now and always, because she'd never been able to imagine voluntarily undergoing something so presumptively painful.

That he'd been willing to do it only added to his mystique.

Oh, shoot. She had a feeling her internal monologue had been running for quite some time, and it was very possible Jake had been standing there for a little longer than she realized.

“The usual?” The question came out a croak, and she was none too impressed with herself.

Jake lifted one broad shoulder, not sparing her a smile. Smiling did not seem to be a part of his emotional vocabulary. That much she had learned over the past week. “Sounds good.”

“The only kind of muffin I have left is blueberry.”

“That's fine.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another and for some reason she found it fascinating. “Every muffin you've ever served me has been delicious.”

Cassie nearly choked. “I'm glad you like my...muffins.” For some reason it all sounded dirty. Maybe her mind was in the gutter by default because he was here.

Maybe it didn't even have anything to do with him. Maybe it was her. After all, it had been three years since her divorce and even longer since she'd made skin-to-skin contact with a man.

That was a long time. She hadn't been conscious of just how long until Jake had blown back into town.

“There's nothing to dislike about your muffins.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and choked on it, coughing violently. She turned her head to the crook of her elbow, trying to suppress it. “Sorry.” She patted her chest as she grabbed the portafilter from the espresso machine. “Swallowed wrong.”

She went over to the grinder, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as she turned it on, putting the portafilter beneath it and releasing enough grounds to produce a double shot. She tamped them down and went back to the machine, fitting the portafilter back in and pressing the button, counting the seconds on the shot as it filled the little tin cup she had placed beneath it.

It was a nice distraction, and once again she felt justified in her selection of a manual machine versus an automatic one. She emptied the completed shot into a paper cup and then poured hot water over it, putting the lid on and setting it on the counter. Then she reached into the basket and pulled out the last remaining muffin.

She extended her arm to hand it to him, only realizing her mistake when the tips of his fingers brushed hers and the shock of pure electricity ran through her body, immobilizing her for a moment.

She looked up and compounded her mistake as their eyes clashed and she was hit by a second bolt of lightning. And for just one nanosecond, she saw something flash through his eyes, too. Something not entirely cool and neutral.

She took her hand off the muffin and it went flying over the edge of the counter and onto the floor somewhere around his feet. She wasn't sure exactly where, because she was too horrified to look. “I thought you had it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. No charge. Nobody wants a floor muffin.”

He arched a dark brow, bending down and retrieving the muffin before standing back up and holding it out. “It's still wrapped. I'm sure it's fine.”

“No, really. I insist. Everything is on me.” Because, if she charged him, she would have to take his cash and if that happened they might touch again.

“All right, I'm not going to argue with that.” He took his helmet, the muffin and the coffee and turned away, giving her a half wave with the hand that was clutching the coffee cup.

He walked outside again and rounded the back of the shop toward the exterior stairs that led up to his apartment. Cassie let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

She really needed to get it together. Yes, Jake Caldwell was back. But now, just like back in high school, there was no point in lusting after him. Nothing had happened then, and nothing was going to happen now. End of story.

And she had more inventory to take.

* * *

J
AKE
SET
THE
muffin and the coffee down on his counter and jerked the fridge open. It was early, but he was going to go ahead and grab a beer rather than that afternoon caffeine hit he'd been looking forward to.

Because he didn't need to be any more amped up than he already was. Something about this damn town screwed with him. Always had. Foolishly, he'd imagined that after so many years away the place might have less power.

Nope. Between the afternoon he'd spent at his dad's place clearing junk out and that little interaction with Cassie down in the coffee shop, he needed to cool down, not rev up.

He wasn't the same man he'd been when he left town. So what was it about this place that made him feel like he hadn't changed all that much? Still not quite able to handle all the shit at home. Still finding himself drawn to the kind of women he shouldn't be allowed to touch.

Cassie Ventimiglia was one of those nice girls. Caring, way too sweet for her own good. She'd been one of the few people who'd spoken to him back in high school. They'd been thrown together, part of a tutoring program to help his delinquent self get it together and get his grades up.

She'd been tempting, inexplicably. Because she was not the kind of girl he would normally look twice at. But she'd looked at him like she'd seen him, and he'd...

Well, it was just a damn good thing for her he'd left when he had.

But even now, when he'd come back to deal with selling his family's properties, she'd been first in line to welcome him back, even if it had been unintentional.

By default, he owned the building her business was in, and the place she lived. Going over his dad's paperwork he could see that before Cassie the building had been out of use for years, and bringing no income in. And while Cassie was getting a better deal than was reasonable, her being in the place was preferable to it sitting there bringing in no revenue at all.

Yeah, Cassie was definitely not the kind of woman for him to go messing around with. Probably he was looking at celibacy for the duration of his sentence in Copper Ridge. He had a history with too many of the women here. Either they'd already been with him in high school, or they hadn't wanted to be for very specific reasons.

Plus, a one-night stand would be almost impossible here. The odds of you running into each other the next day on the street were way too high. Just another reason Seattle suited him a whole lot better than this place.

A little anonymity was much better for a guy like him.

And possibly right now a cold shower would be the thing for a guy like him. Dammit. How long had it been since he'd gotten hard over brushing fingers with a woman? Answer: fifteen years.

He thought again of his last night in Copper Ridge. Sitting in an empty library with Cassie, all of his focus zeroing in on her lips. He'd been saying something about his family and she'd reached out and put her hand over his.

A caring gesture. One that had sent a rush of heat straight through his body and he'd wanted... He'd wanted to close the distance between them then. To kiss her. Deep and hard. To make that connection he felt with her real, physical.

He shook his head. What was it about her? What was it about
here
?

He grabbed the bottle opener off the fridge and popped the top on his beer. Taking a sip, he turned to look out the window. His view was of Old Town's main street. Painted clapboard buildings, with red brick interspersed. An American flag rising up above City Hall. And beyond that was the ocean. Without seeing it he could still picture the coastline. Evergreen trees, yellow bursts of Scotch Broom, and weedy blades of grass with edges sharp enough to cut into your skin.

Across the street, behind the apartment building he was currently residing in, was a long stretch of winding highway, forest and ranches. Yeah, he knew all of that, could picture it all without having to look.

Copper Ridge hadn't changed, but he had. He wasn't the same Jake Caldwell he'd been.

He wasn't a juvenile delinquent who couldn't do a damn thing right to save his life. Hell no. He managed a successful business in a very competitive environment. His boss trusted him, and he had done everything he could to earn that trust.

Unlike his old man, his boss actually believed he could do things right.

Which made him wonder yet again why he was here and not back in Seattle in the mechanic shop.

He sighed heavily. That was all because of John, too. The older man, who was, unquestionably, a mentor to Jake, had told him he had to come back and handle his family affairs himself. He'd said that was what a man did.

So he was here, handling his family affairs like a man.

And there would be no handling of pretty female tenants while he was at it. So his body was just gonna have to calm down.

He had a feeling this was going to be a long couple of months.

CHAPTER TWO

W
HEN
C
ASSIE
FINALLY
made her way back up to her apartment she was exhausted. She also had no fewer than three missed calls from her mother. She kept her phone on vibrate during the workday, which probably gave her mom fits. But then, her mom was the main reason she kept it on vibrate.

Work hours seemed to mean nothing to the woman.

Cassie was about to call her mother back when the phone started to shiver in her hand, the screen lighting up and her mother's picture appearing on it.

Cassie groaned and hit “accept.”

“Hello?”

“Cassie, I've been trying to get a hold of you all day.”

“Yeah, Mom, I've been working all day.”

“Did you just get home?” The note of worry in her mother's voice did not inspire any warm fuzzy feelings in Cassie. Not at this point. Not considering Cassie lived directly above her workplace. Her commute was a staircase. “It's late, Cassie.”

“I know, Mom. But such is the hazard of running your own business. Anyway, I walked back up to the apartment using the interior stairs. Nothing is going to happen to me between work and home.”

“But you work too much. How in the world are you supposed to meet anyone when you're working all the time?”

Ahhh, and here we came to the bottom of Mama Ventimiglia's worry. Not so much for Cassie's safety, but for her singledom.

The guilts would come next. They were her mother's specialty. A single mom, she'd always been hyperinvested in keeping her daughter from making the same mistakes she had.

The biggest mistake being getting pregnant without securing a man. Cassie was always thrilled to be numbered as one of her mother's mistakes, even if the other woman didn't really mean it that way.

“You know, Mom, I serve people coffee all day. I talk to people all day. I meet new people every day.”

“But I bet you're going to tell me you can't date a customer.”

Cassie sighed heavily. “You never know. Never say never. Never assume windows are locked when doors are closed, or something like that.” What she really wanted to say was absolutely
no
, never, no. But she knew that would only keep her mother on the phone longer. And it wasn't like she didn't enjoy talking to her, sometimes. Her mom was nothing if not well-meaning, but when it came to the topic of Cassie's love life, or lack thereof, Cassie would rather she left well enough alone.

“I worry about you. I don't want you to end up like I did.”

Alone. With nothing but a daughter and no man. “I know. But I'm fine. I really am. I'm happy.”

“I don't see how you can be happy, losing Allen like you did.”

Cassie fought the urge to scream and hurl the phone across the room. “I don't feel like I lost much of anything divorcing him. He was a dud. Better to have no potato chips than broken potato chips, or something.”

“It's still a potato chip, Cassie.”

Cassie sighed. Hoisted by her own bad analogy. “Right. Well, I'm on a diet.”

“Do you still have the meals I sent for you in the freezer?”

“Yes, I do. I'll have one of those, thank you.”

“I only say these things because I worry. Because I love you.”

“I know.” Cassie sighed again, heavily. “I love you, too. I'll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

Cassie disconnected the call and flipped it from her hand onto the couch, walking through the open- floor-plan living room and into the kitchen to rummage around for dinner. There was meatloaf in the freezer. Along with frozen mashed potatoes all portioned up for her already, and cooked with love by her mother. So yeah, she could be a bit overbearing, but there were some things Cassie really couldn't complain about.

She put the plastic container in the microwave and started it, then wandered over to the couch and flopped down. The couch butted up against the connecting wall to Jake's apartment. She heard a squeaking noise, then the sound of running water and realized it was the shower. She and Jake must typically run on different schedules, because she hadn't heard his shower noises before.

She'd never lived in this place while someone else lived in the adjacent one. It had originally been open space, and at one point in time, both units had been rented out. Then it had sat empty for ages before Cassie had rented it from Dan Caldwell, and until now, she'd never realized how thin the walls were.

And now she was terminally distracted wondering if Jake had taken his clothes off yet. Realizing that he was naked just on the other side of the wall. She jumped up off the couch and scurried back to the microwave, tugging open the door and closing it as loudly as possible in a vain attempt to drown out the sound of running water.

She pulled the lid off the Tupperware and grabbed a spoon, stirring the potatoes with much more vigor than was necessary.

Taking a bottle of wine and a glass out of her cabinet, she poured herself a generous amount. The wine would help. It would dull her senses. Hopefully make her slightly less edgy, and slightly less aware of what was happening in the apartment next door.

She took a sip of wine, and eyeballed the couch. That was usually where she ate but she wondered if she was inviting disaster by moving back over there.

But then the alternative was huddling in a corner of her kitchen just because she couldn't get a handle on her hormones. That was ridiculous.

She sniffed and collected her dinner, walking back over to the couch and setting the plate on her coffee table. She startled when she heard what sounded like his shoulder bumping up against the shower wall. It sounded very slippery. And solid.

She took another gulp of wine.

She found herself thinking back to the last conversation they'd had before he'd left town. The one that had made her realize she had to tell him how she felt. She'd been tutoring him. Meeting with him twice a week after school in the library to go over math.

She'd been the only one to volunteer for the job—at least, the only one who'd been qualified to do the job who had volunteered for it. It had been intoxicating to be near him finally. And something else entirely to actually spend time talking with him. She'd been certain that there hadn't been more to the guy than everyone thought he was.

Yes, he'd been into some trouble. There was no denying that, and he didn't try to. But there was more to him than that, and she'd seen it clearly.

It had been an unseasonably warm day in Copper Ridge. The sun taunting them as they sat inside, beneath stale fluorescent lights. But Cassie hadn't been sad to miss it. Because looking at Jake for an hour or two during their study sessions had quickly become the highlight of her week. They had been the only two students left in the library, and she'd been able to see his stress written in every muscle, every tendon in his body.

He'd actually been picking up on all the math really well, but that day he hadn't been able to concentrate.

She'd asked him what was wrong.

Just family shit.

He hadn't said anything else, but she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. About him. And for a moment she'd been overcome by a sense of longing that was much stronger than fear. She put her pencil down, and her hand over his.

That had been the first time they'd touched. The second time had been today, when she'd brushed his fingertips handing him a muffin.

Fifteen years between those touches and both had affected her much the same. Electricity that shot straight down to her bones.

She'd jerked her hand away then, too. But she had decided that night that when she saw him again she wouldn't pull away. Because they had a connection, she had felt it.

She'd been an idiot, which was basically her track record with men, as she knew now. But she'd been so innocent then that she hadn't realized she could be so wrong about another person.

Jake had been her introduction to that. Jake should've served as a warning. Because the next day, Jake had been gone. And the day after that Jake had still been gone. And the day after that.

He had never come back. Hadn't graduated. At least not at their school. His father was still in town, but Jake was gone. The older man had never reported him missing, so she'd assumed he knew where he was.

But she hadn't.

She hadn't seen him after that day in the library until last week when he'd come riding back into town, but that didn't mean she hadn't thought about him in the years between.

She'd thought about Jake Caldwell far more often than was reasonable.

And she was still thinking of him, though it was sort of hard not to when the man was showering just on the other side of her living room wall.

She heard another thump, followed by a very male sound, something that verged on a grunt. She froze, her wineglass touching the edge of her lip.

She shouldn't be listening to him. It was a violation of his privacy, and there was no excuse for her to be sitting there trying to work out exactly what was going on.

But then, in her defense, this was sort of an invasion of her privacy, too. She was a hostage to the noise. Yes, she could move farther away from the wall. And yes, she did not have to lean in closer to it, or hold her breath so that she didn't miss anything, but this was her home and if she wanted to sit at an awkward angle and listen intently to the activity happening next door, she had every right.

She heard another sound, similar to the first and heat flooded her face as realization crept over her. She suddenly had a guess as to what exactly was happening in the shower. That realization should have sent her searching for a pair of earplugs. Instead, she set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and, biting her lip, leaned even closer to the wall.

Unbidden, her eyes fluttered closed, images filtering through her mind. His muscular body, water sluicing over his bare skin, and his hand wrapped around his—

She swallowed hard.

Her heart was beating in her ears, and she willed it to slow down so that it didn't block out any of her auditory entertainment. Guilt played companion to the tightening ball of adrenaline in her stomach. But it wasn't enough to stop her.

It had been a long time since she'd felt like this. A long time since she felt that sweet anticipation, that low-level hum of excitement that ran along every nerve ending, shooting sparks through every vein.

She was unwilling to let it go. Unwilling to do anything that might break the spell she was under.

She heard one more sound, a short, harsh groan and a curse, then the water shut off and she was left feeling unsatisfied, hollow and unsteady.

She picked the wineglass back up and gulped the rest of the contents down. She was going to need another glass to forget the sound of Jake's self-administered pleasure. Another glass to soften the need that was currently cutting into her like a knife.

The temptation to take her own shower and indulge in exactly the same activity was almost overpowering. But she was going to see him tomorrow. She was going to have to look him in the eye and make his coffee, and it was already going to be nearly impossible. If she thought of him while doing...that...it would be the most terminally uncomfortable moment in the history of mankind.

She was going to drink another glass of wine, watch reruns of
Gilmore Girls
and forget that this ever happened. It shouldn't be too hard.

She ignored the fact that the moment when she'd put her hand over his fifteen years ago remained one of her most vivid memories. Ignored the fact that that probably meant tonight would be burned into her brain forever.

Because there was no point in dwelling on Jake Caldwell. None at all.