9. Walker
Chapter 9
Walker
R ed’s in my bar again, and I can barely think straight as the night goes on. Every so often, I hear her laugh, and I can’t focus on whatever I’m doing at that moment. As much as it fucking irritated me when she said she wanted to forget everything that happened, I can’t help but replay the night we had together. Her mouth on mine, my cock buried deep inside her. Fuck, I had the time of my life with Red. It felt like more than just a night to me. But I guess it didn’t to her if she’s willing to forget it and move on like it never happened.
She’s something else. She’s changed the entire energy in my bar. Everyone seems to love her, and she fits right in here, despite me wanting to keep my distance.
Red doesn’t seem to be the woman who sticks around a place like Bridger Falls. No one sticks around here, mostly they pass through. And that’s exactly why I picked this place fifteen years ago. I wanted to start over in a place where it was quiet, and I could live a quiet life with my kid.
However, there’s nothing quiet about Red. She’s a pure fireball bottled up, and she’s incredible.
Cash comes back up to the bar with a tray full of empty glasses.
“Are you cool with them setting up karaoke, Boss?” he asks, and I freeze as I bend down to put glasses in the dish bin.
“What?” I straighten.
“Karaoke,” he points across the bar to Poppy, Cami, and Red with a box and speaker. “They’re all excited, boss.”
Oh, hell no.
“We don’t do live music in the bar, Cash. You know that.” I groan, but I feel like a jackass as the words come out of my mouth.
“Until now. They’re passing the boot around for Wilder Ranch. It was Jack’s idea, but he wants to keep it on the down low. Ollie and Cami’s ranch is struggling, and they need some funds. So, all tips from tonight and the live music goes to helping the ranch,” he says as he looks at me like I’m a total asshole if I say no.
I exhale, and he knows he’s got me. I’d do anything to help them. Cami and Ollie have been good friends with everyone in this town. Cami’s a little nuts, but she’s a good person. Loyal and fierce like a momma bear. Cami used to babysit Mack when she was younger. They’re all good people. Except for Teresa’s ex-husband. But that’s another story. I look over to see Cami and Jack sparring again at pool. If she found out Jack was passing the boot around, she’d probably kill him. Mental note to keep my eyes on them tonight. I don’t need any trouble there.
Red and Cami get set up with the karaoke machine and stools in the middle of the bar under the light. She begins to sing, and people smile and listen intently. She looks nervous, but she sings beautifully, and Cami...well, Cami does not. But they look like they’re having fun. Eventually, Cami gives up, and Red sings. And she quiets the entire bar with her velvety rich voice. The crowd calls out songs they want her to sing, and soon it just becomes Red singing and entertaining the bar. She seems to become more confident the more she sings.
“Alright, anyone have any songs they want to hear?” she looks over at me and smiles.
I don’t smile back. In fact, I’m going back to my office to catch up on paperwork as soon as Cash has things under control up here at the bar. But my feet aren’t working right now. I’m frozen in this spot.
I want to go back to my office. Hell, I’d even go catch up on the dishes right now, but I still can’t move.
She’s gifted, I’ll give her that. She hits every note like they were made for her. I wonder how good she is with that guitar I saw in the motel room.
The crowd adores her, and people dance, and the energy is great. It’s a great night, and Red made it even better.
I take out the trash, desperate to get out of here, and catch my breath in the cold, crisp air. Tonight, in the bar, every ounce of my patience has been tested. And I’m not passing any of these tests. Not even close.
The door swings open, and Maggie strolls out, looking relieved when she sees me. She pulls out a cigarette and lights it, then shakes her head. “She doesn’t know who you are, honey.”
“I wish you’d quit that,” I say as I look away. I also hate she reads me so well.
My body is riddled with tension; she rubs my shoulder. “She doesn’t know. But I told you that you both had more in common than you might realize.”
I blow out a puff of air and nod. Only Maggie knows about my past. I think. I’ve suspected some figured it out, but no one has directly asked, and Maggie keeps a lid on this town and keeps us protected from outsiders.
“What’s she even doing here in Bridger Falls?” I ask.
Maggie looks at me and looks over at the front of the bar, where a few patrons are leaving for the night. “She went through some things back in Nashville. She’s trying to start over. I don’t really know what happened. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
That makes my blood boil because I know what it feels like to have things go down in Nashville. And I wonder what happened. Part of me wants to find out because I know how the music industry can chew people up and spit them out. But I also know that I can’t take that on. I can’t help her and risk exposing who I am. And while I know Maggie didn’t invite her here on purpose, I’m in a vulnerable spot here if Red were to figure out who I am. Everything would be a mess.
The night passes by in a blur. Red leaves with Maggie, and I hide in my office like a coward and wait until she leaves to head out. I can’t take looking at her and thinking about those songs.
I drive home, and my thoughts are everywhere. Everything was neat and safe, and nobody bothered me here in Bridger Falls. Then I feel like Red arrived, and everything is fucking with me. And I don’t know how to deal with this.
I’m off for a few days. Relieved to get out of here, I realize I need the break. I need to get her out of my mind.
After a few days out of town, I get in late after a long day of Mack’s band competition in Cody. They ended up taking third place, and it was a good, proud dad moment. It was a long drive back, but I needed to get home. I have a huge list of things I need to get done in the morning with the animals and the bar.
I received a text from Maggie that she has the house and animals taken care of for me, and I’m surprised when I don’t see her old truck out front. Thinking she probably parked in the garage, I grab my bag and head inside. The guest room door is shut, and Pickles isn’t in her kennel, so I assume Maggie has her for the night in the guest room that she uses when she stays here.
I take a shower and wash off the long day, falling into bed, not even having more than a few thoughts before drifting off to sleep.
I wake up to the sun peeking in through the blinds and blink a few times when I hear faint music from somewhere in the house. Weird. Mack’s not due back until later tonight. She’s riding back with her friends on the bus.
Thinking maybe I left the TV on or something, I get up, slide on some joggers and a T-shirt, and run my fingers through my hair. I pause when I realize it’s guitar music and not the TV. Who is playing the guitar in my house? I head down the hall and stop when I smell coffee and look over to see the coffee pot nearly full.
Maggie doesn’t drink coffee, and I’m confused about why she’d make it. She drinks Red Bull like its water. And too much of it, if you ask me. I pour myself a cup and almost spill it when I finally realize who is playing music on my porch.
Red.
She’s in my house. She made coffee, and she’s playing guitar on my front porch.
No fucking way.
What in the actual fuck? Dread fills me when I think about a stranger in my house, knowing where I live and possibly telling the world. But I know Maggie would never do me dirty. Maggie is the only person I trust on the planet with my family. But I might actually send her to a nursing home someday for this .
I lean against the door frame, watching Red through the glass. She’s on the porch swinging with a blanket over her legs crossed, cradling a guitar like it’s a baby. Her fire engine red hair is piled on top of her head in what Mack calls a messy bun, tendrils framing the sides of her face as it shines bright in the sunlight that engulfs her. A steaming mug of coffee is perched on the railing next to her. She looks right at home.
She’s stunning, and my breath hitches just watching her on my porch, looking like she belongs.
She softly strums a song and sings it quietly, like she’s trying to get the notes right. She’s good, but she’s missing one chord, and I resist the urge to show her. It feels so strange to have someone in my life who plays music. And it’s weirder that she’s playing my music. A song that I wrote. In my house. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.
I’m lost in thought, watching her hands strum the guitar with precision and grace, and I listen intently to her until her hands stop, and I realize that she’s gazing over at me.
“Hey, Cowboy. Want to join me?” she asks with a grin and moves over in the swing to make room.
I shove off the door frame and slide next to her. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I sip my coffee and stare at her because I can’t seem to look away.
Her knee brushes against my thigh. And she turns to me in surprise, her face closer than I realize. So close I can see the length of her lashes and how long they are. I can see how the freckles line the bridge of her nose. She looks adorably fresh faced for it being so early in the morning. Violet is like sunshine.
She looks at me watching her and says, “Maggie didn’t tell you I was staying here to watch your house and animals? She told me that you asked for my help.”
Pickles pops her head up from under the blanket next to Red and looks at me sleepily, wagging her tail .
Traitor dog.
I can’t be mad at Maggie. She’s meddling again, but I know she means well. I reach over and stroke Pickles’ soft head, and she settles back between Red and me, resting her chin on my leg. I’m suddenly nervous around Red, so I am thankful for the dog distraction.
“Sure, I just forgot,” I muse as I look out over the yard and notice that the flowers Maggie and Mack planted in the pots have bloomed.
I knew she was up to something. She was vague about staying at the house and watching the dog. She just said she’d take care of it. And take care of it, she did.
Her eyes widen, and she pauses. “So, you just woke up to some weirdo playing their guitar on your porch? Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”
I snort and laugh. “You sound good. And thank you for taking care of my dog.”
I want to be perturbed. I want to be mad. But I’m happy to see her.
“Of course, I’m happy to help. I’ll get going now that you’re back,” she says as she stands.
I put my hand on her arm, and she freezes at the current between us when we touch. “Please stay, Red.”
“I saw you have a little girl,” she says softly and nods toward the living room where I have a lot of photos of Mack, most when she was younger.
“Well, she’s not so little anymore. And if you call her little, you two might have problems.” I chuckle as I adjust in the swing and sip my coffee.
“How old is she?”
“She’s fifteen. She’s away at a band competition,” I say softly as I watch her. “She’ll be back later tonight. ”
“I bet she’s a great kid,” she says with a smile and plays another chord.
Surprisingly, it felt good to share that with her about Mack.
She resumes playing her guitar and struggles with a chord.
I reach out and reposition her fingers, and her eyes follow my hands as I move her fingers on the guitar strings. She gazes up at me, and our eyes collide as we stare at each other for a beat too long, neither of us saying anything. My calloused fingers on her warm fingers. It’s an intimate gesture, but I can’t help myself.
I lean back, and say, “Now try that.”
She looks over at me, surprised, and grins widely as she plays and hits the note. “Thanks, Cowboy. I didn’t know you knew how to play the guitar.”
I shrug. “I know a few songs.”
If only she knew.
After watching her play together, I clear my throat and ask hesitantly, “Why do you call me Cowboy? I told you I’m not a cowboy.”
“We didn’t exactly introduce ourselves,” she says sheepishly. “And you look like a cowboy in your hat. It’s sexy.”
Damn, she’s so beautiful. And she thinks I’m sexy. Hmmm.
“Just Walker,” I grunt. “What’s yours?”
“Violet Wilson, but I like it when you call me Red,” she admits with a grin.
I nod and glance around. “Now you’ve seen where I live. Not married, not an adulterer,” I muse. “Just a bar owner, living a normal life.”
She grimaces. “I still feel bad about that. I liked you, and I thought we’d had a special night. Then, when I thought you were married, I felt awful,” she says resolutely.
“Liked? You don’t like me anymore, Red?” I ask and wait for her response, trying not to hold my breath .
She ignores the question but grins. “You are so far from normal, Walker. What’s with this house? Your house is so big it should have its own zip code,” she muses as she looks around in awe.
I stare at her. “We did have a special night, Red. But there are so many reasons why we shouldn’t go there again.”
She cocks a brow and teases, “Like what? And also, can we not just be friends? We have Maggie in common. I’m sure she’d appreciate it if we were friends.”
Shit, I just challenged her. The few interactions that I’ve had with Red, I’ve learned that she doesn’t back down from a challenge. In fact, it seems to fuel her. And she’s not wrong. Maggie is a huge part of my life, which means she is now, too.
“For starters, I’m a lot older than you,” I insist from behind the rim of my coffee cup.
“How old are you?” she questions.
“Thirty-eight.”
“Well, I’m thirty, so you’re not that much older, and we’re both in our thirties. Next,” she commands.
“I have to put my kid first,” I warn.
“I like kids and want a house full of ‘em someday. And take that look of horror off your face, cowboy. You’re not in the running for the job. I’m talking about way in my future. Once I find a decent man and get my life together. Other people’s kids don’t bother me, either. Next.”
Jesus. She’s not letting me off the hook. What does she mean I’m not in the running? And a decent man? What’s wrong with me?
I scowl at her, finding I don’t quite like this imagined future of hers.
I blow out a breath. “I need my privacy, Red. You can’t tell anyone about my house, my kid, my life, none of it. It’s off limits.”
She watches me and then says quietly, “No one knows I’m here in Bridger Falls. I know something about wanting your life to be private, cowboy.”
I stare at her and sigh. “And again, I’m not a cowboy. Not everyone in Wyoming is a cowboy.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
This woman might be the death of me. She’s funny as hell and surprises me. Very few people surprise me. Then again, I never let anyone in, so there’s that.
“I’m going to take a shower and go back to the Dogwood. Thanks for letting me hang out in your zip code. I promise to never tell anyone about it.” She stands and carries her guitar back into the house. Her flannel pajama pants and t-shirt cling to all her curves, and I curse myself silently for messing this up again.
I run my fingers through my dog’s soft fur. I want her—God, I want her—but I’m not the guy who takes risks anymore. Risks terrify me, plain and simple. I have too much at stake to lose, more than I could ever make her understand.