For Sam: A new-girl small town cowboy romance

Chapter 5 Sam

Iswear my fingers have a mind of their own. My brain tries to be polite and not make contact, unlike someone with an unrequited crush might do. But no, they grab the cup just below his and my index finger practically smothers his pinky.

Cheeks burning, I fight to not react. I just keep looking into his eyes, which have completely ensnared mine.

“Oat milk?” I ask.

A twinge of doubt enters his expression. “Isn’t that how you take your coffee?”

I smile, hoping to reassure him and not look like my heart is melting into a puddle at the thought of Tommy knowing how I like my coffee. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, it’s always with oat milk.

“It is.”

“Whew,” he says. “For a moment, I thought I had messed up something pretty elementary.”

“There’s nothing elementary about knowing how someone takes their coffee,” I reply, thinking of all the times friends and even family have panicked about getting my order wrong and accidentally getting me something with dairy in it.

He raises his eyebrow. “It sounds like someone set the bar pretty damn low.”

“The bar?” I feel like this conversation is coded as confusion stirs inside of me.

“Yeah. If you’re even mildly impressed by my coffee observations, just you wait for what else is coming.”

“What’s coming?” I ask, purposefully trying to breathe normally because internally I might be freaking out just a little bit. It sounds like he”s talking about setting the bar low for… dating.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He frowns. “I hope.”

“What does that mean?” Nice one, Samantha, way to not sound pathetic and needy.

“It means you have to be interested. I don”t want you to ever feel pressured about anything.”

Opening my mouth to say something, totally unsure of how I was going to respond, he looks at the clock on his dash, breaking our eye contact.

“We’ll both be late for the meeting if we stay here much longer, and I know you like to be early to get a seat in front,” he says, rubbing his free hand on his jeans. Is he nervous? “I bet that’s where you sat in high school and college, too.”

“Of course I did, that’s where you can see and hear the best.” Curiosity gets the best of me. “Where did you sit?”

We get out of the truck, both carrying two drinks. I’m happy that I grabbed this particular tote since it hangs easily from my shoulder.

“The side of the room, but not in the back or front.”

“I can picture high school Tommy Landen in class, actually.” It fits what I’ve learned about him. He’s full of life and joy, but he has a reserved side without quite being a wallflower.

A mental image from the “Date a Cowboy” auction night. I remember how hard it was for me to concentrate on the script I was reading of Tommy’s admirable qualities, and I’ll admit I had to really pare them down so his list wasn’t twice as long as every other bachelor’s there. The struggle to not just watch him move across the stage like he owned the place was very real. He didn’t walk, he strutted. He turned in time with the music, winked at Mrs. Fields, gave Courtney a little wave, and then I was brought back to reality. Or what I thought was reality. Tommy and Courtney really do seem to be friends and not more.

“Allow me,” he says, pulling me back to this moment. Of course he got the door.

“Thanks,” I say, attempting to not blush. I don”t know the last time a guy did that for me. I mean, one I was really dating. Jackson did, but that wasn’t even close to dating. He introduced me to everyone, sometimes more than once, so I wasn’t floundering with names, and then he stepped back and let me talk to everyone. Those were some of my first meetings and Tommy was absent for most of them for some reason.

I pause.

“Sam?”

If I go out with Tommy, are people going to think I’m basically jumping from one brother to the next with no thought?

The Landens are one of the most well-respected families in Greenstone. Quite possibly the one with the most influence.

Everyone’s going to think I’m—

No. You didn’t date Jacksy. You were each other’s helper and you carpooled a couple of times. And Tommy hasn’t asked you out, Sam.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks, his brow knitted in concern.

I mentally give myself a shake and plaster on a smile. “Never better, I just thought I left my highlighters back at my place.”

“We can head back so you can get them. We won’t miss anything vital, I can promise you that.”

Pushing down the guilt that wants to surface, I wave him off as best I can while holding two drinks. “No, they’re in my case, I remember now.”

“Okay, then let’s see if Sharon has music this year to help keep us all awake.” He gives me a warm smile, but there’s a little concern lingering in his eyes. Not judgment. Lord knows I’m an expert at spotting that in a man’s eyes.

Tonight isn’t even a date. We’re going out with a group after a council meeting, seriously, Sam. It’s time to focus on the meeting that’s about to start.

The conference room door is propped open for everyone and this time we’re in a smaller one with only one table instead of two pushed together.

“I’ll grab chairs for us,” Tommy says as he sets down his drinks and nods his head for me to set my things down next to his.

“Thank you,” I tell him, remembering my manners.

Stop trying to panic over nothing, Samantha Davies.

Plus, you didn’t date Jackson. You went to things together so you could network and he didn’t look like a grump in the corner. But what if people think I’m taking advantage of the Landen brothers somehow? My gaze darts around the room, trying not to get too paranoid.

Tommy is already talking to Mr. Barnett as I smile at Hank and give Sharon a wave. Taking a slow breath, I focus on unpacking my things and laying them out neatly on the table.

Without interrupting my organizing, Tommy tucks a chair under the table for me before he sits down. He even situates things so I can be in the front. I glance back at him, still chatting with Mr. Barnett who puts his chair on the other side of Tommy.

As usual, Tommy pulls out three different color pens and his hardback and travel-sized notebook. I have to bite down a little on my lip to not smile at how organized he is. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed he always seems to have a notebook in his front pocket and from our work with Avery on our co-op, I know that he color-codes notes and reports.

“Sam?” Tommy’s voice pulls me back into the conversations happening around me.

“Pardon?” I ask reflexively, my feet shuffling a little so I’m facing him as I hope I didn’t miss anything too big.

He gives a little smile. “Have you tried these?” He holds up a Barnett’s Farm jar filled with pepper flakes. Just the thought of the spice they’re packing has my gut twist in warning.

“Oh sorry, my mind was elsewhere. No, I haven’t. They look incredible. How long do you have to process them before they’re ready to go out?” I ask Mr. Barnett, diving right into engaging in the conversation.

“It’s pretty efficient now that we have special trays so we can do them in big batches in our ovens,” he replies.

“That’s a great system to have in place.”

He beams at me. “That was Chase’s idea.”

“Smart son,” I say.

“That he is.”

“If I can have your attention, I’ll get this show on the road,” Sharon calls out to the seven of us.

I look down at my chair that’s touching Tommy’s as well as the corner leg of the table. How do I sit without falling on top of Tommy?