One Hundred Choices (An Aspen Cove Novel Book 12) Read online

  He lifted a brow. “Only half?”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “I got hungry and ate part, but if you stop by when I get home, I’ll give you your half.” “You could have eaten anything that’s mine. I don’t want you starving.”

  She stood and waved him off. “I don’t like to owe anyone.” She patted her back end. “It’s not like I’ll starve to death.”

  “Seriously, Three. You need to eat. A girl can’t live off half a brownie.”

  She smiled. “Oh, I didn’t. I ate the cookie I brought home for Abby too.” She reached into the pub mix jar and popped a few crackers into her mouth. “These are tasty as well.”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” He checked his watch. “You hungry now?” If he hurried, he could get something at the diner before it closed.

  “I’m good.” She looked toward the corner where the rowdies sat holding their empties in the air.

  “I’ll be right back.” Wyatt slid off his chair and walked out the door. As he passed the men in the corner, he gave them a look that said, don’t mess with my girl.

  He laughed all the way to the diner. What in the world made him think of Three as his? Maybe it was because Tom was such a jerk or because Cade hadn’t shed a flattering light on his sister. Everyone needed someone to back them up. How long had it been since Trinity had a champion in her corner?

  He stepped inside Maisey’s. Riley rushed over. “We’re closing in ten.”

  “What do you have that’s quick and easy?”

  “I’ve got a Salisbury steak blue plate special. I think there’s a few left.”

  “I’ll take two and a piece of pie.”

  “Two? You got a date?”

  “Nah, just feeding Three.”

  She cocked her head. “You need three?”

  He pulled out his wallet. “No, it’s for Trinity and me. She’s working at the brewhouse and hasn’t eaten.”

  Riley fisted her hips. “Why didn’t she tell me?” She pointed to a table by the window. “She sat right there with Luke and drank a glass of water but said nothing about not eating.”

  “Pride, probably.”

  “No place for that in Aspen Cove. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have your order ready.”

  He pulled twenty-five dollars from his wallet. “Here you go.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not taking your money to feed Trinity. She’s family.”

  “Well, I’m not family, and I’d like to pay for both.”

  “You know the saying, want in one hand and spit in the other and see what fills up faster.”

  “I don’t think it’s spit.”

  Riley turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Within minutes she was back with two Styrofoam containers.

  “Thanks for looking out after her.” She chewed on her lip. “Luke said she’s had a tough life.”

  That was probably an understatement. “Thanks for the food.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll take care of her.”

  He was only outside a second when the open sign in the window turned off, and Riley clicked the door locked. Back in the brewhouse, he took his seat at the bar.

  Three was back at the table with the men who looked like they’d had one too many already. She slapped the tab on the table and told them she couldn’t serve them another round.

  One guy tried to tuck a twenty into her shirt. She pushed his hand away. Three wasn’t anything like Tom described. He’d seen his fair share of women who manipulated men to get what they wanted. Any girl would have gladly taken the money and run. Three needed the job. She was desperate for money, but she wasn’t willing to lower her standards to get it.

  “That went over like a pregnant pole vaulter,” she said.

  “That’s a vision I don’t want to imagine.”

  She laughed.

  Goldie moved behind the bar and began to wash glasses. “What’s so funny?”

  “Pregnant pole vaulters,” Three said.

  Goldie stared at her for a second. “I got nothing.”

  “Just commenting on the drunk guys in the corner. They weren’t happy to be cut off.”

  Goldie stared at the Styrofoam boxes. “But, you’ll be happy that Wyatt brought you dinner.” She pointed to a table. “Go eat. I’ve got this.”

  Three sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get this.”

  “You will, but not before you wear a keg of beer.”

  Wyatt picked up the to-go containers and moved to a nearby table. “It’s Salisbury steak night.”

  “You bought me dinner?”

  “That was the plan, but Riley sent them over on the house.”

  “Geez, what’s up with this town?” she asked.

  “Don’t complain, just chow down.” He opened one box and breathed in the smell of the dark brown gravy.

  Though the drunks in the corner paid Goldie and walked outside, Wyatt worried they’d come back. “Are you and Goldie closing the bar?”

  “Cannon will come to close up at midnight.” She opened the container and grinned. “Oh my God, mashed potatoes too?”

  He pointed to the box. “And green beans. Eat your veggies.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  He stabbed a bite with a plastic fork. “Calling me Dad makes that kiss we shared, so wrong.”

  “You mean that kiss you took.”

  “Yep, that’s the one.” He still felt bad, but at least it made for good bantering material.

  They ate in silence. It wasn’t because they had nothing to say, it was just that the meal was too good not to eat while it was hot.

  “Thank you for feeding me again.” She collected their empty boxes. “You’re far too nice to me.”

  “Someone has to be.”

  She said nothing, but her smile said it all. “I have to go back to work.”

  “I’ll leave you be.” He paid for his beer and left her a hefty tip. When he walked out, he didn’t drive back to the ranch. Instead, he moved his truck to the back of the bar and parked beside Three’s SUV. He set his alarm for eleven forty-five and fell asleep.

  When his alarm sounded, he stepped out and leaned against the passenger door waiting for her to come out.

  Goldie and Three walked out at the top of the hour.

  “Looks like you have company,” Goldie said.

  Three moved toward her SUV. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bunkmates creed,” he said. “Leave no one behind.”

  “That’s not the bunkmates creed.” She opened her door. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “So have I.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Her alarm went off before the sun peeked over the horizon. She rolled out of bed and into her boots. The long shirt she’d slept in hung within an inch of her knees. She didn't know who it had belonged to, but they had great taste in music.

  Staying in a bunkhouse was like living in a dorm where the musical tastes varied from old rock to country. The person who had this shirt had loved the Eagles, but who didn’t?

  On a normal day, she would have been up mucking stalls, but nothing had been normal since she’d left Texas. She pulled reins, not taps. She usually smelled like hay and sunshine, but this morning she smelled like an unbathed drunk on a three-day bender. It would depress her if there wasn’t a sparkle of light and laughter named Wyatt.

  It was because of him she was up at four in the morning, making her way to the kitchen, attempting to pay it forward. She could nap before work, but he would be up and out of the house just as the sun inched over the horizon. The silly man had stayed out way past his bedtime to make sure she got home safely. Who did that?

  Why did the strangers in Aspen Cove show more care and consideration than her brother? She trudged into the bathroom to splash water on her face and tie her hair into a ponytail. Her boots shuffled across the worn wooden floors into the kitchen. She figured breakfast was needed and would be appreciated. The only problem was her lack of skill. She cons
idered eggs and bacon, but there weren’t any. The muffin would have been a great idea if she hadn’t already eaten it. She had half a brownie, but a cowboy couldn’t get far if his internal fuel tank was low.

  In the cupboard, she found a box of oatmeal. It was a solid breakfast that stuck to the gut for a few hours. Standing before the front of the stove, she mixed the ingredients and followed the directions to a T. The finished product didn’t resemble the creamy smooth texture on the box but a thick, clumpy mess.

  There weren’t any add-ins like brown sugar or nuts. She plopped a glob into a bowl and hoped he would come out soon. She continued to scout for anything to make it taste better. All she found was a tub of margarine.

  Inspiration hit her, and she raced back to her bedroom to get the brownie. Without another sweetener, this was the best she could do. She put a dab in the center of the bowl and crumbled the brownie on top. Leaning against the counter, she waited another five minutes.

  Worried he’d slept in, she debated delivering breakfast to his door. Noise came from the hallway. Relief washed over her because she wouldn’t have to deliver. But what if it was Tom? Did she want him to know she’d cooked Wyatt breakfast?

  After a quick thought about actions and consequences, she decided any interaction with Tom was unwelcome and unwise. She swiped the bowl from the counter, picked up a spoon, and hurried to Wyatt’s door. A light tap got no response.

  When the door handle to the bathroom across the hall turned, she threw caution to the wind and stepped inside Wyatt’s room. She didn’t know who was coming out of the bathroom, but if it was Tom, she didn’t want to be standing at Wyatt’s door.

  His room was dark. So dark she couldn’t see in front of her. “Wyatt?” She moved forward. “Wyatt, are you asleep?”

  She inched forward until her knees hit the bed. She breathed deeply and held her breath, hoping to hear something. Not only was the room pitch black, but it was dead silent. The only sign anyone was there was the soft musk that filled the air. She exhaled and then breathed him back in. Most men she knew smelled of sweat and cow shit, but he smelled like Christmas trees and sunshine.

  She leaned over to feel the bed, and as she stretched to touch the sheets, the door swung open, and a body was backlit from the hallway light. Startled, she fell onto the mattress. Quick thinking and good balance allowed her to keep the bowl upright.

  “Three? Is that you?” He flipped on the light switch.

  “Yep.” She tugged at the T-shirt riding up her thighs to give a glimpse of her one and only pair of underwear. She struggled to sit up.

  “What are you doing here?” He stood before her dressed in a towel wrapped loosely around his hips.

  She lifted the bowl and spoon into the air. “I brought you breakfast.”

  She knew she shouldn’t stare, but how was she supposed to ignore the body in front of her? He was sculpted by hours in the saddle. His firm chest, honed by roping, led to solid abs. She silently counted the cans and came up with a six-pack. Her eyes followed the deep V of muscles that disappeared into the terry cloth.

  He stepped inside and closed the door.

  “You made me breakfast?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t expect much. I’m not known for my culinary skills.” She thrust the bowl forward. In the five minutes since she’d sprinkled the brownie on top, it had sunk into the oatmeal, turning it murky. She lowered her head. “I wanted to say thank you for being considerate.”

  He sat beside her and took the bowl from her hands. “What is this?”

  “Can’t you see it’s oatmeal?” She wished she could have come up with a creative name, but what would she call something that looked like chunky throw up?

  “Yes, I can see it resembles oatmeal, but what are the brown specks?”

  She dipped the spoon in and scooped up a bite. “It’s the brownie I owed you. Now open up.”

  He stared at the spoon. “I’m afraid.”

  She took the first bite. It had the texture of clay. She chewed and swallowed. “It’s awful, but it won’t kill you.”

  He grabbed the spoon and took a mouthful.

  He moved it around a few times before swallowing. “It is awful, but maybe the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How can it be awful and yet the best thing?”

  He forced another bite and smiled. “You made it. You got up early and cooked me something. That makes it taste a hundred times better.”

  “A hundred times better than awful is still bad.”

  He ate another bite. Each time his eyes grew wide, and his throat bobbed with the forced swallow. “It’s total shit, Three, but I will finish it because you took the time to make it when you could have slept in. And you delivered it.”

  She pulled at the T-shirt, so it covered her knees. “There wasn’t anything to put on top to sweeten it.”

  “I see a shopping trip in my future. I’ll pick up sugar and milk and raisins.”

  She made a retching sound. “I hate raisins. They look like animal poop.”

  “No way, that would be the mini meatballs in canned spaghetti.” He scooped up the last bite and set the bowl on the dresser. “Thank you for being thoughtful.” He turned toward her, and the towel slipped off his thigh.

  His legs were solid and covered in coarse dark hair. The muscles strained against his skin as if begging to be set free from their confines. She took him in from his bare feet to the knot of his towel, which seemed to unravel under her gaze.

  “Okay, I just thought I’d do something nice.”

  He chuckled. “Food poisoning is nice?”

  “At least I tried it with a brownie and not arsenic.”

  He tugged the towel closed. “Thank you. I’m touched.”

  She rose to her feet and stepped away before his sexiness touched her and she made bad decisions. “I should go. I have a lot to do today.”

  “Like take a nap?” He adjusted his towel so it wouldn’t drop.

  The action filled her with relief and regret. Her mind said, Cover that shit up, buddy, but her body screamed, Show me more.

  “No, I promised to look in on Cade’s horses. When I’m done, I’ll nap or drive into Copper Creek and buy underwear.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “I made thirty dollars in tips last night.”

  “I gave you ten.”

  She smiled. “I know. The rest of the guys were cheap bastards.”

  “I suppose telling them they were next to be castrated might have something to do with their generosity.”

  She fisted her hips. “It’s a bar, not a brothel. What’s wrong with men?”

  He stepped toward the door. “They’re men.”

  “But you don’t act like that.”

  “No, but at thirty-six, I’m older and wiser. I’ve already been verbally castrated a time or two.”

  She moved to the door. “To be a fly on the wall during those conversations.”

  He lifted a sexy brow. “So, you’re a voyeur.”

  She stood tall and jutted out her chin. “Never considered it, but … I’m trying new things. Last week I wouldn’t have thought I’d be serving beer in a small-town bar.”

  “Hunger does crazy things to us, doesn’t it?”

  There were many hungers in life. Starving for love and affection were two. Respect and consideration were at the top of many people’s lists. Passion. Peace. Companionship. Understanding. Those hungers gnawed at a person’s insides far longer than an empty stomach.

  She opened the door and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, it does.” When she pivoted to walk away, she bumped into Tom.

  “Didn’t take you long, did it?” he said.

  “It’s not what you think.” She had no place to go. Wyatt was at her back and Tom at her front.

  “It’s always what I think.”

  She pushed against Tom’s chest. “What you think is shit. Might serve you well to pull your head from your ass.”

  “Enough, Tom,”
Wyatt said. “It was just breakfast.”

  “Is that what she’s calling it these days?” He moved down the hallway, leaving them alone.

  Wyatt spun her around to face him. “You and I know what happened here.”

  She nodded. “It’s the same everywhere I go.”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No good deed ever goes unpunished.”

  “You’re right, but I’m so tired of taking the beatings.” She turned and walked away.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I promised to look in on Cade’s horses. After that, I’ll bury my head in my pillow and sleep. What about you?”

  “I’m heading to Lloyd’s because if I stay here any longer, I might kick his ass.”

  She walked back and gave him a hug. “I appreciate your friendship, but I’m not worth fighting over.” She spun around and went back to her room. Just before the door clicked shut, she heard his reply.

  “You’re wrong. I’d fight for you any day.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It had been two days since she made him breakfast. For two more nights, he waited outside the bar to make sure she got home safely.

  He dragged himself out of the shower and toweled his wet hair. He couldn’t keep this up long-term, or he’d die of exhaustion, but he hated that Three didn’t have anyone to be her protector.

  She reminded him each night she was thirty years old and well past the need for a babysitter. He disagreed. Criminals didn’t put an age limit on their victims.

  He always loved an underdog but didn’t expect to find the one in Aspen Cove dressed in ill-fitting jeans and T-shirts.

  When he walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, she was standing there with two cups of coffee. How she looked so spry and beautiful, he couldn’t fathom. She’d had the same amount of sleep he had, but he felt like the dung found on the soles of his boots.

  “You’re up early.”

  “I’m off today.” She thrust a cup into his hands.