Chapter Three
Cole entered the house, sighing as the air conditioning washed over his skin. Damn, the heat was merciless this year, the kind that baked a man’s bones until they felt brittle. Same thought, different summer.
He lowered himself onto the oak bench beside the door, muscles protesting after twelve hours of training, and toed off his scuffed cowboy boots and socks. The cool tile felt good underfoot as he crossed to the laundry room, peeling the sweat-stained shirt from his back.
The pet door flapped. Ollie came skidding across the kitchen floor and planted himself at Cole’s feet, tail going.
“Hey, buddy.” Cole scratched behind his ears. “How was your day?”
After shucking his dirt-crusted Wranglers and boxer briefs, he walked barefoot across the hardwood, the floor creaking in all the familiar places, Ollie padding behind him.
In the bathroom he cranked the shower knob and, while waiting for warmth, laid out his grandfather’s straight razor, the ivory handle worn smooth from decades of use, along with the shaving cream and aftershave.
He hadn’t left the farm in a week. His three-day stubble had thickened into a coarse beard that would take serious effort to tame. Dark hair, silver creeping into his temples and sideburns, thick and stubborn. A Harrison family trait.
When steam began to billow, he slid open the glass door and stepped in, a deep groan escaping as the scalding water hit his shoulders.
That chestnut mare with the white blaze had nearly yanked his arms from their sockets this morning, testing every ounce of his patience, responding to his commands with the reluctance of a teenager asked to do chores.
“Just like a female,” he muttered, his voice echoing off the tile. “Beautiful, smart, and determined to do exactly what she wants.” He worked shampoo into his hair, rinsed, then lathered up with soap.
Reluctantly leaving the steamy sanctuary, he wrapped a blue towel around his waist and swiped a hand across the fogged mirror. Tired eyes stared back at him. The face of a man who’d passed forty-three without much ceremony.
After a sting of aftershave, he shuffled to the bedroom and pulled on Montana State sweatpants and a cotton shirt worn thin at the collar. His stomach growled like an angry wolf as he headed to the kitchen, each step heavy with the bone-deep exhaustion that only honest work could bring.
He yanked open the fridge and stared into it. Nothing appealing. With a sigh, he grabbed the lunchmeat, made a sandwich, and carried it to the living room, sinking into his recliner with a groan. The news droned on while he ate.
He hoped tomorrow went better with the mare. She was catching on, but when she didn’t want to do something, she simply didn’t, and he was half convinced she had mule blood in her. Stubborn as hell.
His thoughts drifted to Aftyn. It had been a week since he’d seen her, and he didn’t know if she was still working at the diner. He’d find out tomorrow. He had a client meeting there for breakfast.
****
Aftyn exhaled as the bell above the door chimed again, its bright tinkle cutting through the clatter of dishes and the steady hum of the coffee station.
The breakfast rush never let up, and she’d scarcely had a chance to rest her feet.
Still, she couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever a familiar face stepped inside.
She’d learned most of the locals’ names by now, and each nodded a greeting that felt like a small window into their morning lives.
Her pulse quickened whenever cowboys strolled in.
Broad shoulders in denim, dust-streaked boots, and hats.
So many of them hovered on the verge of breathtaking.
She glanced discreetly at their ring fingers and cursed her racing heart whenever she spotted a wedding band.
Lucky bitches, she thought with a rueful smile.
She wiped her hands on her apron and peered through the passthrough at the row of hats lining the counter. Straw, leather, felt, each sitting low on a forehead. She bit her lip to keep from sighing.
“You doing all right, hon?” Connie’s cheerful voice preceded her through the swinging kitchen doors; a tray of coffee mugs balanced in her hands.
Aftyn tilted her head toward the counter. “If you love cowboys, you’ve come to the right place.”
Connie chuckled, setting the tray down. “No truer words. They’re a magnet for this town. Plenty of women come through during tourist season and end up planting roots with one of them.”
“I can see why.” Aftyn sighed dramatically. “Every single one at that counter is droolworthy.” She caught Connie and Owen exchanging an amused glance.
Owen handed her a plate piled high with scrambled eggs glistening with butter, crispy hashbrowns, golden toast, and sausage links. “Here you go, Aftyn.”
“Thanks, Owen.” She studied the ticket. “Does this say Trick?”
“Trick Dillon,” Connie said, leaning closer. “Beside Preston. White straw hat, red T-shirt.”
Aftyn nodded and carried the plate along the counter. “Trick?”
He looked up, and she nearly stopped breathing. Strong jaw dark with stubble, eyes so deeply brown they were almost black, holding a quiet intensity.
“Yes, ma’am?” His voice rumbled like distant thunder, and he offered a slow, rueful smile.
“Your breakfast.” She set down the plate and lifted the carafe, refilling his mug. Steam curled up, rich with roast and cream.
“Thank you.” He touched the brim of his hat with a polite nod, and Aftyn felt the world tilt a fraction.
“I’m Aftyn.”
“Trick Dillon.” He removed his hat briefly, revealing black hair that gleamed blue under the lights. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Holler if you need anything.” She retreated.
The bell above the door jingled. She glanced over and felt her breath catch again. Cole swaggered in, jeans hugging strong thighs, cowboy hat shading a perfectly chiseled face. She sighed aloud.
Cole nodded at the counter regulars and threaded his way to a booth, where a lanky man slid out to shake his hand. They settled in like men continuing a conversation started somewhere else.
Lanie materialized at Aftyn’s elbow. “Want me to grab Cole? I can handle the coffee refills if you need to stay at the counter.”
Aftyn smiled. “I got Cole. You get the coffee.”
Lanie laughed. “I just thought you’d want to linger up there. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t?”
Aftyn winked. “You’re right, but there’s nothing wrong with looking at Cole either. Thanks, Lanie.” She turned, smoothing her apron, and made her way to the booth in the corner.
****
Cole watched Aftyn stroll toward him, red ponytail swinging with each step, and his heart thudded against his ribs like a trapped animal.
She was a beautiful woman in her faded jeans and blue T-shirt.
She wasn’t sticking around, he knew that much.
Chuck at the garage had told her it would be at least three weeks before he could even get to her vehicle.
But maybe Cole could get to know her while she was here, and when it was time for her to leave, they’d part with good memories.
No strings. Just something warm to hold onto.
He mentally shook his head. She probably wasn’t the type for that. But damn, he couldn’t stop thinking about the curve of her lips when she smiled.
“Will you be able to take another horse in, Cole?” Cliff’s weathered voice broke through his thoughts.
“I have one giving me a rough time right now, but if you’re not in a hurry, bring him by.”
“No hurry at all. I just think this horse could be a champion. You know how some of them have that instinct. Born with it.”
“I agree. Whenever you’re ready.” Cole grinned.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What can I get you?” Aftyn filled Cole’s mug with steaming coffee and topped off Cliff’s, the rich aroma drifting between them.
“Good morning, Aftyn. How’s it going?” Cole asked.
“I’ll let you know when I can feel my feet again.” She shifted her weight with a sigh, and both men grinned.
“Been a while since waitressing?” Cliff asked, leaning back against the worn booth, the morning light catching the silver in his stubble.
“About seventeen years.” She flexed her arches. “It all came back though. The rhythm of orders, the clink of dishes, and of course the sore feet.” A rueful smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.
Cliff extended his hand, polished wristwatch glinting.
“Aftyn, this is Cliff Hamilton. Cliff, Aftyn Hutchins.”
She took his hand, her grip firm and confident.
“Ma’am, it’s a pleasure,” Cliff said, voice warm.
“You too.”
Cole wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and watched Aftyn as she laughed at something Cliff said. The familiar ache of longing knotted in his chest. What could it hurt to spend some time with her? She’d leave and he’d move on.
They placed their orders, and Aftyn nodded. “I’ll be right back with those.” She turned and wove her way through the tables, apron swishing against her hips, and pinned the order to the wheel behind the counter before ringing the bell for Owen.
Cole watched her retreating figure, the soft sway of her hips under the fluorescent lights, then turned back to find Cliff grinning at him.
“What?” Cole asked.
“She’s very pretty,” Cliff said, brows raised.
“Yeah,” Cole replied flatly.
“‘Yeah’? That’s it?” Cliff folded his arms and leaned back, the booth creaking under him. “You need a good woman in your life, Cole. Makes everything complete. I have no idea what I’d do without my wife.”
Cole shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not interested in a relationship. She’s not sticking around. Once her car’s fixed, she’s gone.”
“Well, you could have some fun while she’s here.” Cliff raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t think she’d go for that.” Cole’s voice dropped.
“You never know. She seems attracted to you. Anyway, the horse.”
They bent over the table; Cliff’s neat notes on training routines and timelines. Cliff outlined how he’d get the horse to Cole, the uncertainties of weather and health, the promise of results but no guarantees.
By the time their breakfast arrived, it was Lanie who set the plates down.
Cole glanced up to find Aftyn laughing with Hud Anderson at the counter, Hud’s easy grin working its usual magic.
Cole’s jaw tightened. Hud never had trouble with women, and he sure as hell wouldn’t hesitate to pursue something casual.
Cole picked up his fork and cut into his Western omelet, steam curling up from the fluffy eggs, green chiles, and melted cheese. He closed his eyes with a quiet moan. He and Cliff carried on about feed schedules and fence repairs until their plates were empty and crumbs dotted the table.
Cliff slid from the booth and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll have one of my guys bring that horse later this week or early next.” He picked up the check, shook Cole’s hand firmly, and moved to the register.
Cole shifted to Cliff’s side of the booth so he could watch the door.
“Yeah, it’s not the door you want to watch,” he murmured to himself, then grinned as his brothers stepped inside. They paused to greet other patrons, the morning sun behind them casting long shadows across the checkered floor. He raised a hand and they wove through the tables toward him.
“You should have let us know you were coming in,” Seth said, dropping into the seat across from Cole.
“I had a meeting with Cliff.” Cole nodded toward the door.
“Does he want another horse trained?” Ethan asked, his youngest brother, hanging his dusty hat on the peg at the side of the booth before sliding in beside Seth.
Cole leaned back, the morning’s tension easing. “Yeah. That and a few other details to hammer out.”