Winning Over The Cowboy. Shannon Taylor Vannatter
couldn’t let herself get distracted. She’d tagged along for the sole purpose of making Chase realize she was a good person—not the interloper he seemed to think she was. She wanted to make him realize running the dude ranch with her wasn’t so bad after all.
“Resa’s usually in the office. You can come with me. Or look around.” He headed to the back of the store.
Resa? Not a common name. The Resa she knew? At a log furniture store? It had to be.
“Chase, there you are.” Landry caught a glimpse of long, dark hair as a woman hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The voice sounded right. Landry jockeyed for a better glimpse, but Chase followed the woman down a hallway.
Minutes ticked past.
“It’s perfect. I hope our guests will like it.” His voice neared.
Landry ran her hand along a log desk. How could something that used to be a tree be smooth as glass?
“A few may complain, but you can always put them in another room or change bedding. I’ve never had any bad comments from customers on our display.” The woman became visible first. All porcelain skin and contrasting raven hair. Resa. Eden’s friend.
Her thousand-watt smile turned on Landry. “Landry, it’s so good to see you.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t come up with anything else as Resa engulfed her in a hug. A mix of emotion wadded in her throat. Relief in knowing someone, an ally in this town, and grief because the last time she’d seen Resa had been at Eden’s wedding.
“Y’all know each other?” Chase’s frown could have wilted a prickly pear cactus.
“We became friends through Eden.” Resa pulled away. “I was studying drafting, living in San Antonio, while they were in culinary school. We’d meet for lunch at least once a week.”
“Your dream came true.” Landry scrounged up a smile. “You’re the fastest furniture slinger in the west.”
Resa laughed. “Something like that.”
“You own this place?”
“My parents do.”
“I remember now.” Her parents owned a store in San Antonio and this one here in Bandera. And lived next to the dude ranch, Eden and Resa had been lifelong friends.
“What are you doing here?”
“Landry’s my new partner in the ranch.” The resignation in Chase’s voice made her glance at him. But his features were unreadable.
“Of course. Eden’s friend. Why didn’t I realize that when Chase was in here—” Resa linked arms with her. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s all bluster.”
What had Chase said about her? “I love the store. I can’t believe I never visited before.”
“We were too busy studying.” Resa rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad that part of our lives is over. Except for—” She leaned her temple against Landry’s, and her sad tone gave away that she was obviously missing Eden. “We should do lunch sometime. I live at my folks’ place right next to the Donovan property, so we should be able to get together.”
“How about now?” Suddenly lunch with a surly Chase was more than she could handle.
“I’d love to. But I already ate, and I have an appointment with a client.” Resa checked her watch. “He should be here any minute.”
“We’ll get out of your hair, then.” Chase’s large hand settled in the small of Landry’s back.
A shiver went through her.
Not because of him, she told herself. Just at the unexpected touch. Yes, that was it.
“Is he playing nice?” Resa jabbed a finger at him.
“I’ve been a perfect gentlemen.”
Except when you doused me with water. Forced me to unstop a toilet. Used a calf to try to scare me off.
“You call me if he turns ornery.” Resa handed her a business card. “Or for lunch.” She gave Landry one last hug, waved at Chase as he urged her toward the door.
“Chase, how’s it going?” A gray-haired gentleman sat on the church pew outside the store. His skin leathery, a knife in one gnarled hand, an ornate wooden candlestick in the other.
“Things are good. I didn’t see you when we came in.”
“Just got here. Arthritis is acting up something fierce this morning.” His eyes cut to Landry. “Who’s the pretty lady? Got yourself a girlfriend, do ya?”
“No.” Landry’s face heated as her denial blended with Chase’s.
“Hmm.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Methinks they doth protest too much.”
“My Shakespeare-quoting friend here is Jed Whitlow, the best woodcarver in Bandera. This is Landry Malone, my new business partner.”
Was it just her imagination, or did Chase’s tone turn sour whenever he said that? Like he’d gotten the bitter edge of a pecan hull in his mouth.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Jed set his knife down, clasped Landry’s hand with surprising strength in his calloused grip. “You, too, young lady. You keep my friend here in line.” He winked at Chase. “She don’t seem so bad.”
“Let’s go.” Chase set his hand in the small of her back again, propelling her toward the restaurant.
Apparently the whole town knew that Landry had usurped Chase’s inheritance. And that he wasn’t happy about it. She’d just have to change everyone’s mind. Even his. No matter how hard he made it.
* * *
All Chase had to do was get through the rest of his errands with Landry in tow.
The waitress took their drink orders, then scurried away. Old Spanish Trail, or OST, as the locals called it, was Chase’s favorite restaurant. It always stirred memories of coming to town for breakfast with Gramps.
“This place is so cool.” Landry scanned the room.
Chase looked around with fresh eyes at the enormous elk behind the breakfast bar—where servers had to duck underneath the creature to deliver plates to patrons seated on saddle-topped stools—the covered-wagon salad bar, and the John Wayne Room practically wallpapered with pictures and memorabilia celebrating the Duke.
“When I was a kid, on rare occasions when the dude ranch didn’t have guests, Gramps used to bring me here for breakfast.”
“I wish I could have known him.”
“He’s been gone since I was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched his hand. “You’ve had a lot of loss.”
His gaze dropped to their hands.
She pulled hers away, opened her menu. “What’s good here?”
“Everything.”
Their waitress brought their teas, then took their order of eggs, bacon and pancakes for Chase and a cheeseburger for Landry.
“Still got it?” The gruff voice startled him.
Chase looked up at the older man who’d spoken to him, then dug in his pocket and laid a knife on the table.
“Gave him that knife when he was a young whippersnapper,” the elder continued. “Couldn’t have been more than seven.” His ring-around-the-head hair stood in downy tufts on the sides, looking much like koala bear ears.
“This is Wallace Kern. He was Gramps’s friend.”
“I told him not to lose