A Cowboy's Heart (The McGavin Brothers Book 4) Read online

  “Did anyone tell you that?” Cradling the coffee mug in his large hands, he leaned against the bar.

  “No.” He had musician’s hands. His long supple fingers were designed for coaxing music from a guitar. Or a woman’s body…

  “Did someone criticize you at an early age?”

  “I never gave anyone a chance to. My family wasn’t excited about me playing guitar so I only practiced in my room with the door shut. When I started at Trail’s End, I’d never performed for an audience so I had a lot to learn.”

  “Well, sure, we all do.”

  “Me more than most. But even though I was inexperienced, they let me open for the band and gradually I got good enough to handle an entire evening by myself. Naturally everyone loved me. They’d watched me improve over time and they were invested.”

  He frowned. “Why assume that was the reason they loved you?”

  “It’s logical, isn’t it?”

  “It’s also logical that they loved you because you’re damned good. Why leap to the conclusion they were acting like proud parents?”

  “Because…” Oh, God, now she could see it. “Maybe because somebody planted that idea in my head.”

  “Let me take a wild guess. Ray.”

  “Yes.” The bastard.

  His blue eyes darkened. “I should’ve decked him when I had the chance.” His fingers tightened around the mug.

  “He’s not worth it.”

  “Maybe not, but damn. Anyone who’d minimize a talent like yours deserves to be buried in an anthill and covered in honey.”

  She smiled. “I like that image.”

  “Me, too.” He hoisted the mug in her direction. “Are we clear, then? Do you accept that the crowd tonight went crazy because you’re an incredibly talented musician?”

  “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  “If you have any doubts, count the money in your tip jar. That should convince you.”

  She picked it up. “I think there’s more in there than I used to get at Trail’s End.”

  “Folks in Eagles Nest are good tippers.” He took another gulp of coffee and set down the mug. Then he began tidying the bar area.

  “You love it here, don’t you?”

  “You mean the bar or the town?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “The bar’s great.” He stacked cocktail napkins in the holders. “Lou taught me bartending and it turns out I enjoy it. As for Eagles Nest, I’m crazy about the place.” He nudged back his hat and braced his hands against the polished surface of the bar. “Wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Beautiful scenery, friendly people. There’s only one drawback. It’s a small town, so if you fall on your face, everyone knows about it.”

  That sounded like a clue about why he’d stopped playing guitar, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “I like it here, too. I can see why Aunt Henrietta chose it.”

  “Except that from what I hear, she didn’t mingle.” He picked up his mug again.

  “That wasn’t her style, although she made friends with Ellie Mae Stockton. They used to meet on Saturday night at Ellie Mae’s house to drink martinis and watch movies.”

  “Because the cat from hell was at your aunt’s house.” He took another swallow of coffee.

  “Correct.” She liked the shape of his mouth, too. It was full and sensual yet still very masculine.

  “Did you ever play guitar for your aunt?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “And what did she have to say about your playing?”

  Nicole smiled. “You can’t give any weight to the opinion of someone who thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

  “Fair enough.” He gestured to the empty room behind her. “But they all thought so, too.”

  “They did seem to, but then again, it was my first night. I’m sure they wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  Bryce gazed at her. “Is that you talking or Ray talking?”

  She took a moment to digest the question. “Ray.”

  “Thought so.”

  Jenny returned. “You can close out the register, Bryce. My coffee drinkers will be leaving soon. I’ve cleaned all the tables but theirs.”

  “Then grab your purse from my office and head on home, lady.” Bryce tossed her the keys. “I’ll save your tip for you.”

  She waved a hand at him. “Keep it. I made enough tonight to get my easy chair reupholstered.”

  “You earned it, too. I’ll make sure you have help tomorrow night, either Ellen or one of the temps we’ve used before.”

  “I don’t suppose you could get Ryker to fill in again? I enjoyed the heck out of working with that cowboy.”

  “I offered him a part-time job and he told me he’d rather spend his evenings with April. Go figure.”

  Jenny chuckled. “It does my heart good to see those two so happy together.”

  “Yeah, same here.”

  Jenny glanced at Nicole. “As for you, young lady, you’re a great addition to the GG. I predict good times ahead.”

  “Thanks. I’m eager for the opportunity.”

  “And I’m eager to get home and take off my shoes.” She walked back toward the office.

  “Since she’s unlocking the office, I should grab my stuff, too.” Nicole slid off her stool.

  “No rush.”

  “After such a busy night you probably want to close up and go home.”

  “I am home.”

  “You live here?”

  “In the apartment upstairs. And for the record, I’m a night owl, so no worries on that score.”

  “All right, then.” She sat down again.

  “Are you sure I can’t offer you something besides water? If you like peach cobbler, the GG has the best in the county.”

  Her stomach rumbled. “I love peach cobbler.”

  “Then let me get you a dish of it.”

  “Only if you’ll have some with me.”

  “Okay, sure.” He came out from behind the bar. “Vanilla ice cream on top?”

  “You know it.”

  “Coming right up.” He pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  “Where’s Bryce?” Jenny came back with her purse and a light jacket.

  “Dishing us some peach cobbler a la mode.”

  Giving Nicole a weary smile, she laid Bryce’s keys on the bar. “You kids have fun.”

  “Take care, Jenny.” Nicole watched her leave. Shortly after that the last remaining couple finished their coffee and gave her a friendly wave on their way out.

  She waved back. What a great evening. She enjoyed people, especially when she could make them happy. As a hair stylist, she usually accomplished that with her clients, but this was way more bang for the buck.

  Bryce returned with two bowls and a couple of spoons. “I take it Jenny left.”

  “Yep.”

  His glance swept the room. “Did the other folks take off, too?”

  “They did.”

  He set one bowl in front of her and the other next to it. “I might as well lock up, then.” Grabbing the keys, he ambled over to the front door.

  Nicole was guilty of checking out his butt. Nice. There sure was a lot to like about Bryce McGavin, but only last month she’d been engaged. If she had a lick of sense she’d take an extended break from romance, especially after mistakenly agreeing to marry someone like Ray. What had she been thinking?

  “Is something wrong?” Bryce walked back toward her.

  “Why?”

  “You’re frowning.”

  “Sorry.” She gave him a smile. “Is that better?”

  He paused to gaze at her. “It’s different, but I don’t know about better. I’m not one of those guys who thinks a woman should smile regardless of whether she feels like it. Is something wrong?”

  Maybe she needed to get this out in the open. “I keep asking myself why I agreed to marry Ray and I keep getting the same answer.”

  “Which is?”

&nbs
p; “I’m an idiot.”

  “Ah.” He came around to the stool next to hers and sat down. “Now there’s a problem I’m well acquainted with.” He plucked two napkins out of the holders and handed her one. “Unless you’re neater than I am, you’ll need this.”

  “Juicy filling and melted ice cream? Guaranteed I’ll be dripping it everywhere.”

  He picked up his spoon. “I could tie a dishtowel around your neck if you’re worried about your clothes.”

  “It’s faux leather. Wipes right off. But I’m glad to have a napkin. I might need more than one.”

  He pulled a stack out of the holder and set them in front of her bowl. “Have at it.”

  She laughed. “Thanks. This looks yummy.” She took a generous bite and moaned.

  “Good?”

  With a mouthful of the best peach cobbler she’d ever tasted, she could only nod.

  “Told you.” He dug into his bowl.

  Some food invited conversation between bites, but this one required total concentration. She focused on her cobbler and managed to keep the dripping contained with only one napkin.

  He was equally focused. When his bowl was empty, he put down his spoon and swiveled his stool so he was facing her. “I can see you hated it.”

  She dropped her spoon into her bowl. “If you weren’t here I’d use my finger to get the last of it out of the bowl.”

  He grinned. “Go ahead.”

  “No. After slurping my way through that cobbler, I prefer to hold onto what’s left of my dignity.” She turned her stool, too, and their knees touched. “But thank you. That was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The point of contact felt warm. Cozy. Sensual in a relaxed way. “I like you, Bryce.”

  He smiled. “I like you, too, Nicole.”

  “But as I’ve established, the mess with Ray has left me doubting myself in the man-woman department.”

  “I get that.” His gaze was kind.

  She moved just enough so their knees were no longer touching. “I should probably collect my stuff and skedaddle on out of here.”

  “Sure thing.” He stood and pulled the keys from his pocket. “I can get it if you want to wait here.”

  “Okay.” There was no reason to follow him like a puppy so she stayed put. If she’d been dumb as a box of rocks before, she must be wising up because she was making the right decision in heading on out of here despite wanting to stay. She wasn’t ready for that. Not tonight, at any rate.

  But as he walked toward her carrying her guitar case, she gave herself the option of revisiting the idea at some point in the future. He was damned good-looking, but she also sensed a kindred spirit. Maybe they would become friends or maybe they would become more than friends. Only time would tell.

  Chapter Four

  After Nicole left, Bryce poured himself a draft and carried it over to a table in front of the stage. He turned one of the chairs sideways to face the raised platform, sat down and stretched out his legs. She might as well be perched up on that stool, because he could see her, hear her and even breathe her flowery scent.

  He sipped his beer and listened to the concert in his head. He might have coaxed her to stay longer tonight, but he’d decided not to try. She’d been a little flirty with him and she might have changed her mind about going home. But letting her go was the right thing to do.

  Good for him. He’d stepped away from temptation so that she’d have plenty of space in which to heal. He’d have a seat reserved in heaven for that noble gesture. At least he hoped so, because he’d devised a hell for himself down here.

  Twice a week he’d be sweetly tortured by her mellow voice and her enviable talent with a guitar. Every note she sang, every string she plucked, aroused him as an artist and a man. But she had doubts about her judgment and only she could resolve them.

  What he needed was a powerful distraction to take him through the next several weeks and only one possibility occurred to him. Might be a huge mistake, though. Setting down his beer, he walked over to the stairway, unhooked the velvet rope across the bottom step and went up to his apartment.

  He flipped on a light. His trusty Martin sat in a corner, right next to a desk piled with boxes of hastily packed recording equipment. Fishing a t-shirt out of the laundry hamper, he wiped the dust off the case before laying it on the small table in his kitchen nook.

  The snap of the latches sounded loud in the stillness. He used to love that snap because it meant one of two things—he was about to play the instrument he loved or he was tucking it away because he’d entered a state of exhausted satisfaction from hours of making music.

  Anticipation skittered down his spine. But the little shiver meant nothing if it turned out the music was gone. He’d abandoned it, so it might have abandoned him.

  Opening the case, he gazed at the light grain of the polished wood body and the graceful shape of the neck with its fretboard worn from the constant press of his fingertips. His throat tightened with longing and he reached for it.

  Then he pulled back, unsure. What if he’d lost the connection? That would make things worse. He started to close the lid, but an image of Nicole on that stool made him pause. It was no coincidence that he’d chosen to fetch his guitar tonight. Her enthusiasm was contagious. She’d reminded him that playing could be a source of joy.

  Okay, he’d take it downstairs and see what happened. He couldn’t truly play it but he’d just…see. Moments later he was back in the chair, the familiar weight of the guitar on his thighs. His hands trembled a bit as he tuned it but gradually he calmed down. And began to hum a little.

  No surprise, his humming was also out of tune. He hadn’t sung for eleven months, either. He stopped to drink more beer before trying an actual song. He chose Flowers on the Wall. And he was terrible. Terrible. He was so bad he started laughing at himself. His fingers hurt like hell, too.

  What did you expect, doofus? He laid the guitar on the table and finished his beer. Getting back in shape so he could produce a decent sound would take forever. If he’d expected some mystical experience when he touched those strings, it hadn’t happened. He wouldn’t know if he had any music left in him until he could play like he used to.

  He wouldn’t call the experiment a success or a failure. Something in between the two extremes. He’d give himself a C. As for Nicole, she was still very much on his mind. He should talk to Lou about hiring another bartender for Sunday and Monday nights. Nicole would likely bring in enough to pay for one and then he could remove himself from the equation. There was the rub. Torturous though it might be for him, he wanted to be there when she played.

  It was late by the time he headed upstairs, but that was normal. Climbing out of bed before sunrise was not. The next morning, he staggered into his kitchen nook to make coffee and discovered he was out. Hell. He could borrow some from the bar’s supply but fetching it would use time he didn’t have.

  His body clock had always been the opposite of his brothers, who were early-to-bed and early-to-rise types who usually greeted the new day with enthusiasm. They were perfectly suited for the lives they’d chosen. He was happier with a different routine. This wasn’t it.

  He made it to Wild Creek Ranch on time, but barely. He hadn’t been out there in a week or so and since then the second barn had been framed and partially roofed. Expanding the boarding and trail ride operation had been Cody’s idea and most of the stalls were already spoken for.

  But the trip to pick up wedding duds took precedence over working on the barn. His brothers had been waiting for him, a fact made obvious by the way they stood in a loose circle in the parking area next to the house, arms folded as they caught up on everyone’s news. They all shared their late father’s broad-shouldered, lean-hipped build and their mother’s coloring.

  But no one would mix them up. Ryker had the most imposing physique and the fiercest expression. Zane ran a close second for sheer muscle mass, but he was a lover, not a fighter. Cody took the pri
ze for most handsome and charming. Nobody could resist the guy’s smile.

  Bryce and Trev were slightly leaner than the other three, but Trev’s volunteer firefighting and his construction work had added some bulk. Trev was a builder at heart and he fought fires because of its power to destroy what he loved.

  Prior to last October, Bryce’s ability as a musician had been his defining characteristic. Although he could ride and rope, he hadn’t used those talents much until he and Trev had recently spent five months in Texas wrangling cattle. He’d returned tanned and fit, but he was no closer to deciding what to do with his life. He knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t a cowpuncher. Hauling out of bed at dawn was ridiculous.

  He parked his truck next to Ryker’s.

  Ryker came over to greet him. “I was about to call.”

  “I said I’d be here.”

  Ryker frowned. “Listen, if you—”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap your head off. Late night.” It was a lame excuse and he regretted making it the second it came out of his mouth.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” He drew in a steadying breath. “Looks like we’re ready to go.”

  “We are.” Ryker gave him a searching glance. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Absolutely. You know me. I don’t come alive until I’ve had coffee and I didn’t have time to make any.”

  “We have a couple of minutes. Go get a sippy cup from Mom.”

  “Just because you called it a sippy cup, I will, smartass.” He turned and cut across to the walkway leading up to the one-story log ranch house. Taking the porch steps in two bounds, he crossed to the front door. “Hey, Mom!” he called out as he opened it. “Got a travel mug of coffee I can take along?”

  “Hey, Bryce!” She walked out of the kitchen with the bright smile she wore every time she greeted one of her boys. “I thought I heard boots on the porch.”

  “Just me.”

  “I have one you can use, but I’m surprised you don’t have your own by now.”