Down Home Cowboy

“Of course,” he said. “Have you had dinner?”

He didn’t know why he was testing this line. Or maybe he did. Because she was here. She was here in his house. Baiting him with her perfect ass. And if she was going to do that, then he was going to push right back.

“No,” she said. “But that’s fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“You don’t need to feed me.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I didn’t offer to.”

“Dad,” Violet said, jerking him out of the interaction, and out of the haze that had descended upon him. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. But I do think that Alison should stay for dinner. And then we can enjoy the cake afterward. I was just giving her a hard time.”

“Whatever. You’re weird. Can I...” She shot a sideways glance at Alison. “I just want to talk to my friends until dinner.”

“You’re not on the clock,” Alison pointed out. “But thanks for asking.”

“Well, I didn’t want to deprive you of my company,” Violet added.

“Go talk to your friends,” Cain said. “We’d hate for them to experience Violet deprivation.”

Violet walked out of the kitchen, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she moved away from them to head up the stairs.

His stomach tightened, a strange sense of anticipation stealing over him. Oh, yes, he remembered this. Very vaguely. That crackle of possibility that sizzled over your skin when you were near somebody that you wanted. When you wondered if you were going to have them.

It had been a long time. But he still remembered that.

And he wondered where all his common sense was. That common sense that told him he needed to steer clear of a woman who was so involved in his daughter’s life.

But then, flirting wasn’t sex.

It had just been so long since a woman had looked at him like that. With color in her cheeks. Since he had felt this kind of excitement. Since he had wanted.

“I hope she’s better for you than she is for me,” he said, not really meaning to lead with mention of his daughter. But then, he supposed that was a pretty fitting metaphor for his life. Violet came first. No matter what. Even when he would rather just be a man, just talk to a beautiful woman, he couldn’t really. Because he was a father. First and foremost.

His ex-wife might have forgotten that. But he hadn’t. He never would.

“She’s fine, honestly. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but with me she’s fine.”

“Normal teenage stuff, I guess.” he said, making his way over to the fridge and opening the freezer. There were several meals that had been premade by Lane there, ready for them to heat up when necessary. “Did you like your parents when you were a teenager?”

“No,” she said. “Not even a little bit. But I don’t like them very much now either.”

“That...isn’t encouraging.”

“Do you have a better relationship than that with your parents?”

He laughed. “Hell no.”

“Right. Well, then.”

“Do you have a food preference?” he asked. “It looks like there’s pasta, pot roast and...meat loaf? All made by Lane Jensen.”

“Then all of it will be good,” Alison said. “Lane is one of my best friends, so I’ve eaten most of her food.”

“Right,” he said, “I know that she’s a good friend of yours. She talks about you a lot. And she kind of helped Violet get the job at your bakery, right?”

“Oh,” Alison said, leaning against the island in the kitchen, tucking a stray curl behind her year. “Right. What else has she... She talks about me?”

She looked concerned by that. Which seemed strange to him. “She hasn’t told me anything.”

“Okay. Good to know.”

“I’m voting for pasta,” he said lightly, taking a metal pan out of the freezer. “I had a long workday.”

“Have you always been a rancher?” she asked. “I mean, Lane did tell me a little bit about you. Or, I mean about Violet. But I applied some of it to you.”

“Right. Well, then you know we just moved here from Texas. And yes, I have always been a rancher. I sold the spread back in Dallas. That was beef, this is different. But I like different. Violet not so much.”

“Well, you know what they say. You can please some of the people some of the time... But you can’t please teenagers ever.”

He laughed, making his way over to the oven and sticking the pan of pasta inside. “True. Very true.”

“Really though, she’s not bad as far as teens go. She’s a good kid.”

He felt a momentary flash of... Something. Jealousy almost? That this woman, this stranger, got something from his own child that he didn’t. And then, he was just pissed. Pissed that he was standing here with a beautiful woman, the first woman he wanted to touch since his divorce, and he couldn’t.

Because of his daughter who hated him anyway.

“Do you want to come sit in the living room while that warms up?”

That was better than inviting her up to his room, which was what he actually wanted to do.

“Sure,” she said.

They both walked into the living room, and he took a seat on the couch. She took the chair across from him. Probably for the best.

“She’s a good kid,” Alison repeated, keeping her eyes focused on the window, on the view outside. Which was pretty spectacular. His grandfather had had the custom home built a few years ago, if Cain understood the timeline correctly. It was nestled in the center of the mountain, taking advantage of the scenery of the valley and the fields below.

“You said that,” he responded.

“Yes,” she said, “I did. And I mean it. She’s a good kid. But I think she needs to take a little more of her own responsibility. She could be driving herself to work. And she can definitely get herself up in the morning.”

Irritation streaked through him, heat that rivaled the heat of attraction that had been firing in his gut just a moment before. “Excuse me?”

“She can take more responsibility than she is. I understand that you’re feeling protective because you just moved here...”