Cowboy Crushin' (Dalton Boys Book 3) (2 page)

Oh no.
This wasn’t happening. She’d left her hometown—and too many men—behind. After Vonny had been Jeff. Then a few dates with her car mechanic. Not to mention she had an ex-husband—actually two.

Besides two marriages, she’d been stupid enough to get engaged five other times in her life. She’d learned her lesson.

Which had landed her in Vixen, smallest town in Texas. She’d chosen it for just this reason. Low population meant low numbers of men. She’d like to say she trusted herself to be around the opposite sex, but she didn’t.

As soon as a man started sweet-talking her, she was sucked right in. She really was a silly female, and she hated that about herself. She wasn’t going to have a parade of men through Alex’s life, so she was warding them off.

If she got lonely, she had a stack of romantic movies to watch and a thick dildo.

“Jeff, I’m sorry but I’m not interested in going backward in life. You’ll have to move on.”

“Can’t forget about you, sugar girl. Remember I called you that?”

“Yes.” She felt the familiar pull of the man’s deep voice, flattered as hell that he was still thinking about her. But no, she was finished with all virile, honey-tongued men. No more cowboys, cow-pokes or ranch hands. No way, no how.

“Sorry, Jeff, but I’m busy.”
And I’m going to have to change my phone number.
“I’ve gotta go.”

“Mom, sit with me.” Alex had already climbed onto the high stool and placed his brown bag lunch on the circular table. In her ear, Jeff continued to pester her.

“Jeff, I can’t talk. I have a date.” She winked at her son, who smiled, his teeth stained red. Apparently he’d been sneaking licorice anyway.

Jeff made disappointed noises into the phone, but she hung up. The instant she ended the call, another text popped up.

Vonny. Hell, no.

Dodging these men was like living in a war zone. She could
not
have them showing up in Vixen. Why, oh why had her friends told these guys her location?

She switched off her phone and hid it beneath the counter. Then cradling her hot caffeine lifeline, she gave her sole attention to the only man she wanted in her life. The perfect man—forty inches tall and forty pounds. Brown hair and expressive eyes. His father’s square chin with the dimple in the center.

Shelby swiped her thumb over the dimple and smiled at her little boy. Things had been too rough on him, but she was aching just as bad. Since the breakup, Alex had refused to let her hug him. That fingertip on his dimple was as much as he’d allow—and only for a second.

“I think it’s about time you made some friends. Tomorrow we’ll go to the school and have a visit, okay?”

“Okay,” he said around a mouthful of PB&J.

Shelby sipped her coffee, grateful for a quiet spell and alone time with her little man.

Witt leaned against the side of his truck, pumping diesel fuel into the tank in the bed. One of the Dalton boys came to town every so often to fill it. Today he’d drawn the short straw.

The summer heat was draining from Texas, thankfully. He’d had enough of sweating through his shirt before daybreak.

A horn blast made him look up in time to see a beat-up red truck roll by. The old farmer, a friend of his father’s, stuck a hand out the window in salute. Witt waved back.

Vixen boasted one blinker light to direct traffic through the main street, but no one bothered to slow for it. Two more trucks drove by at speeds that made Witt shake his head.

He went over his mental list of things to pick up at the general store. Matches and a new pair of work gloves. And Momma had requested soap.

He also needed to find something for her birthday. Hank’s wife was planning a surprise for her, complete with her favorite red velvet cake.

Witt glanced toward the coffee shop and the new candy store across from it. The pink sign boasted curlicues and a picture of a frosted cupcake that looked real enough to lick.

With his mind made up and the gas tank filled, he got into his truck and moved it to park in front of the new shop.

Through the wide glass window he saw patrons sitting at a café table surrounded by cotton candy pink walls. His boot heels echoed on the sidewalk. When he crossed the threshold, a bell jingled. Delicious scents struck him, reminding him how long it’d been since lunch and how much work he had to do before supper.

The glass case was filled with pastries and chocolates. They looked delicious—but were nothing compared to the woman behind the counter. He slowed his step, taking his time looking at her.

She was tall—maybe only an inch shorter than him. Honey-brown hair gleamed under the lights. Her mouth was too wide and entirely kissable. And her high cheekbones were tinged rose. But her eyes…

“What can I get you?”

Sweet Jesus, her voice was smooth and melodic. The small hairs on his nape prickled.

He snapped himself back to reality and approached the counter. Hooking a thumb in his front pocket, he eyed the case. “I’ll take a box of candy.”

She smiled, and his heart did an odd thump. “Any particular kind?”

“It’s for a gift.”

“Okay. Special lady?”

“You could say that.”

“Does she like milk chocolate or dark?”

“Both.” He couldn’t stop staring at her eyes, a clear, bottomless blue.

She grabbed a box and opened the case. When she reached inside, he noted her ring-less left hand. Of course, that didn’t mean anything—the woman in the bar hadn’t been wearing a ring either. He wasn’t about to ask her marital status, though. He wasn’t in the market for a woman anymore.

“How many would you like?”

“A dozen?” He bent to peer into the case and met her gaze through the glass. His heart rolled again as if he was a little kid looking at a puppy in a store window. Except that puppy was pretty and blue-eyed and created an ache low in his stomach.

“Creams, nut-filled or caramels?”

“All.” He watched her select the chocolates and fill the box. When she straightened and looked at him over the counter, his throat dried out like a Texas creek in July.

“What about you? Choose a treat for yourself,” she said.

He cocked his head and surveyed her. She wore a fitted top that showed off her body. She was athletic, not stick-thin like some girls. No jewelry adorned her, but she didn’t need it. She was beautiful without trying.

“I can’t spoil my dinner.”

“I insist. It’s my grand opening week and I’ve been giving every customer a free sample. Choose your poison.” Her eyes twinkled like a thousand stars on a dark winter’s night.

He swallowed. Right now his poison came in the form of a tall, strong woman with honey-brown hair and a bit of frosting dried on her shirt sleeve. “Well,” he drawled, unwilling to look away from her mesmerizing gaze, “do you have anything apple pie-flavored?”

Her face blanked. Suddenly, her cheeks grew red and she directed a tendril of soft hair behind her ear. The tender shell made him think of late-night nibbles and crickets singing in the grasses.

“I don’t have anything apple pie-flavored. I do have caramel.”

“No good,” he teased, feeling the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“You don’t like caramel?”

He’d like it fine drizzled over her long legs. A low fire began to burn in his groin. “I’ll pass on the treat. Maybe next time you’ll have something apple pie-flavored.”

“Uhhh. Yeah. Okay.” Was it him or was she as flustered as he felt? She fumbled to close the box lid and took two tries to tie a bow around it. When she raised her gaze to his again, a spike of awareness struck him. Her cheeks grew pinker. “Can I add a card?”

“Sure.” He didn’t say more. He didn’t want to end their exchange and knew damn well he was dragging it out.

She located a small blue card and a pen. “To?”

“Momma.”

Her gaze jerked up to his, and he found himself grinning.

“From Witt.”

She wrote it, complete with two Ts. Then she attached the card and pushed the box across the counter to him. He dug his money clip from his front pocket and handed her some bills. When she dropped the change into his palm, he felt the tips of her fingers graze his skin.

His Wranglers grew uncomfortably tight. He wanted her hands all over him to hell with the goodies in the case—he wanted a taste of her sweet lips.

I am NOT going to ask her name and phone number
.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, her eyes glowing. A war raged inside him.

I’m done with women.

Hell, he still bore the traces of his black eye after his last attempt at the dating rodeo. It had gone through a rainbow of colors and was still tinged yellow.

“Thank you.” He tipped his hat and turned for the door. Two giggling kids rushed by him, and he heard the woman’s voice as she took their orders. During his long drive home, he kept glancing at the candy box on the seat, the sound of her voice resonating in his head.

*

Shelby was far too young to be experiencing hot flashes, but holy cowboy, that man was smokin’. As she watched his broad shoulders and trim backside walk out her shop door, she felt like a melted, sticky puddle of caramel.

He wore a dusting of brown hair on his jaw that sent ripples of want through her. With his worn jeans, white cowboy hat, masculine features and piercing eyes, her brain was officially scrambled.

She served cupcakes on patterned plates to the kids and drifted from behind the counter to look out the window. The cowboy was nowhere to be seen, but she stood there looking. Daydreaming of warm, callused hands and first kisses.

What was wrong with her? She’d come to Vixen to shut out men, not invite more into her life.

She straightened and sucked in a breath. The familiar white cowboy hat with the black band appeared, along with the man wearing it.

He strutted out of the general store, a paper bag in hand. Too easily she pictured him with rope looped over his shoulder, jeans pulling against his muscled thighs as he crossed a field to meet her.

She had to find something to do—pronto. But she couldn’t tear herself from the window. She watched him get into one of the better pickups she’d seen in Vixen and tug his hat lower.

Heat skittered along her veins and her pulse began to pound. His voice echoed in her mind.
To Momma.

He was a good man then.

Or a momma’s boy. One of those males who were forever young and irresponsible, letting their mothers make their beds and pick up their dirty socks. No way was Shelby putting up with that kind of man.

What was she thinking? No men. At all.

She pivoted to glance at the wall clock shaped like a milkshake. Alex had chosen it, just as he’d selected many things for the shop. In fact, when she’d asked him what she should do for a living, he’d said, “You make good candy, Mom. You should have a candy store.”

So here she was, riding on the dreams of a child and the happiest she’d been in a long time.

In twenty minutes the bus would drop Alex off at the door and he’d bound in, ready for an after-school snack. For all his troubles, he’d done well transitioning into his new school. His teacher claimed he’d made several new friends and was catching up in the curriculum. Shelby was glad to hear these things, but she missed having him around the shop.

When Nell came in, Shelby grinned.

The older woman set down her purse on the counter and turned to look Shelby over from head to boot. She shuffled her feet, feeling as if she was under the microscope more with Nell than with that cowboy.

Witt.

No, not quite. He’d flicked his gaze over her casually but with a burning heat in his eyes she felt to the marrow of her silly, girly bones.

“How many hours are you putting in at this shop?” Nell asked.

Shelby rubbed a hand over her face. “Too many.”

“You look exhausted. You sit and let me get you a cup of coffee.” Without asking, Nell bustled behind the counter and made herself at home finding a mug and filling it. She came back out and placed it on the table before Shelby, who accepted it without protest.

She
was
tired. Last night she’d stayed up late unpacking the last of the boxes. Then Alex had woken in the wee hours with a nightmare. He’d crawled into bed with her, but when she’d tried to pull him close, he’d kicked and made a fuss until she let him go.

Nell sank to the opposite chair. “Where’s your support system, girl?”

Shelby let the heat of her mug sink into her fingers. She shook her head. “Not here. I’m on my own.”

“With a new business and a young boy. You need friends, and that’s me. I’m going to work the afternoon shifts so you have some time off. I’ll be here from twelve to four every day except Saturday.”

“I can’t let you do that!”

“You can and will.”

“I don’t know if I can pay you—”

“I’m not asking for a paycheck. I’m an old lady with a husband who’s out like a light all afternoon, slumped in his recliner in front of sports on cable TV. Tending the shop will give me something to do, and I’m sure I’ll eat a few treats for payment.” She winked.

Shelby set aside her mug and took the woman’s hands. “It would help so much, but I…”

“I’ll start tomorrow. Finish your coffee and brace yourself for the after-school rush. Here comes that boy of yours now.” Nell stood as Alex burst through the door, making the bell jangle like crazy.

He rushed toward her but stopped short of throwing himself into her arms. She swallowed a little lump, suddenly forgetting the gorgeous cowboy in the white hat and the fourteen texts she’d gotten from two other men she didn’t want in her life.

Her sole purpose in life was to make her son happy and comfortable enough to let her into his world again.

Nell patted her shoulder and said goodbye. For the next two hours, Shelby dealt with the tornado of after-school customers while fixing Alex a snack and assigning him some chores in the back room. She also checked her phone frantically between customers, deleting texts as fast as possible before she was tempted to give in and say yes to any of those guys.

By the time she looked at the milkshake clock again, it was well past the dinner hour and her stomach was rumbling.

She glanced out at the street, thoughts of the cowboy leaping into her mind. A cowboy like that would work on a big spread in the outlying area. At least she wouldn’t run into him often.

Biting her lower lip, she sighed. She’d come here to change, and that meant staying off the bumpy dirt road of meaningless relationships. If she was going to stay on track, she needed to push that cowboy from her mind and focus on other things.

She locked the front door and turned the sign to CLOSED. Then she went into the back and took down a big bowl. As she began to add ingredients for a new recipe that had been revolving through her mind all afternoon, her actions hit her.

She was creating an apple pie cupcake.