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One
At the bar of the Silver Saddle, Vic Grandin tipped a fresh bottle of ice-cold beer to his lips and let out a sigh. Tonight at the family ranch he’d gotten into it with his oldest sister, Chelsea, over—what else—who was going to be in charge of the place once Dad retired.
Butting heads with Chelsea over him being the “chosen one” was nothing new. She and Vic were oil and water and had been since the day he’d been born. His four-years-older sister was a force to be reckoned with, and it just so happened he was the reckoning who’d come to set her straight.
Dad had chosen to put Vic in charge. It’d been decreed from the day Victor Jr. and Bethany Grandin learned they were having a baby boy. Their only boy, as it turned out. Vic had three other siblings—all sisters—but none of them had given him the hell Chelsea had.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, figuring he wasn’t going to come to a solution tonight any more than he’d skip the TCC charity pool party tomorrow. He hadn’t been in a partying mood lately, but he was resigned to going. Attending the Texas Cattleman’s Club parties was tradition in Royal, Texas. In other words: mandatory for all members.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He could try his luck tomorrow and talk a curvy, bikini-clad woman into warming his sheets for the night. He’d been no stranger to strangers in his bed for the last decade or so. Why change now?
But a quiet voice inside warned that a hookup would be less satisfying than it sounded. He’d been on a sort of sexual hiatus for just that reason. Lately the company of a good woman—even for a night—had made him feel empty. A tough sell for a man who’d been seeking the rest of himself for as long as he could remember.
Before he could remind himself to snap out of his shitty mood, a musical voice wafted along the shining bar top, over his left shoulder, and dripped like honey into his ear canal. Beer bottle hovering in midair, he paused, allowing the sound to coat his body in a familiar, aching warmth. He knew that voice. The soft, kind quality of it when she was being polite, or the tremor of hurt it held whenever she was angry.
Aubrey Collins had never truly been capable of meanness. During their long-deceased relationship, meanness had been reserved for him.
He turned his head after bracing himself for seeing her, but the sight of her still sent him into a spiraling, sputtering tailspin. Her profile—the cute nose, full pouty lips and long, carelessly styled auburn hair—served as reminders of all he’d lost. Those features were virtually the same as the day she’d thrown his engagement ring at him and told him under no uncertain terms to go fuck himself.
“Evening, Ms. Collins,” he drawled, unwilling to let her flee the premises without first acknowledging his presence. He guessed their interaction wouldn’t end well, and he’d likely feel like shit on the drive home as he remembered the hand he’d had in turning his starry-eyed good girl into a jaded, bitter woman.
Since Vic was no stranger to bad ideas with worse consequences, he wouldn’t let her leave without talking to him. She’d either ignored him or avoided him over the years, but there’d been no missing hearing her ask for her take-out order a moment ago. He figured he had a few minutes, tops, to converse with his ex.
She faced him, smooth, fiery red hair sliding over one delicate shoulder. A shoulder covered with the capped sleeve of a floral dress. She looked every ounce the girl next door, but he knew beneath that tasteful frock lay a seductress who’d let loose with him more times than he could count. Now she was closer in proximity to him than she’d been in years, her green eyes flashing a warning not unlike the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail. He wasn’t scared. She couldn’t hurt him any more after rejecting him so thoroughly years ago.
“Mr. Grandin.” A regal eyebrow arched over grass-green eyes. They weren’t piercing or sharp, but gentle. It was a dichotomy he hadn’t expected when they’d met as teenagers, much like her red hair didn’t equal a hot temper. Though with him, she had managed to argue damn well. And hold a damn good grudge.
He spun the beer bottle in his hand and tried for small talk. “What brings you out tonight?”
“Takeout. I had a craving for dessert, and no one does cannoli better than Bo.”
Cannoli. She loved the dessert, with its cinnamony shell and sweet ricotta filling. Bo went the extra mile and topped it with fresh whipped cream, house-made chocolate sauce and a cherry, which was likely why Aubrey had come here to buy the confection. Or it could be that it was nearing nine at night and the bakeries around town were closed.
“I hear you’re announcing the chili cook-off winners tomorrow,” he said, opting to stick to what little they had in common. Sadly, their attendance at the event was about all they had left.
She turned her body toward him, curves subtle but visible in the simple dress. Short cowboy boots were on her feet, which made him remember how they used to ride together on his horse whenever she visited the ranch. The wind would blow her hair, and his senses would be filled with the soft fragrance of wildflowers and Aubrey. She was standing two seats down from him, but the electricity that had always zapped between them hummed in the air all the same. He’d felt that way the first day he’d laid eyes on her. She’d been a high school freshman and he was a sophomore with no idea how fucking lucky he was about to be. His luck would eventually run out, and faster than he would have liked.
“Announcing the winner is an honor bestowed upon teacher of the year, you know.” She feigned vanity as she flipped her hair. Hair that had tickled his cheek when he’d first kissed her, and later, his chest—and lower—when he’d talked her into doing a host of bad-girl things with him. She’d turned him into a shuddering, brainless mess back in the day. He’d bet she still could.
Damn memories.What he wouldn’t give to lose every last one of them where she was concerned. The great ones only reminded him of worse ones. What was the point?
“I heard. Congratulations.” He hated the bend of their bland conversation, but he was out of time. Her name had been called by a hostess, who came from the direction of the kitchen carrying Aubrey’s to-go order.
“Thank you. It included an honorary TCC membership for the remainder of the year, so looks like we’ll be seeing each other around.”
He ignored the skipped beat of his heart. Would she show up with a date to future TCC engagements? He didn’t know if he could tolerate seeing her with another man.
Her smile for the hostess was genial as she took the paper bag by the handles. She offered him the same smile and paired it with a generic “Good to see you.” Like she was talking to a mailman or a clerk rather than the man she used to love with her entire being. He refused to let this opportunity pass without doing something. Anything.
“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? You can eat your cannoli here.” He had no idea where that ill-fated suggestion had come from, but he doubled down, pulling out the high-backed stool next to his at the bar. “I promise I’ll be nice.”
Fingers looped around the paper bag’s handles, she let out a disbelieving laugh. “Nice is not a description of Vic Grandin one hears very often.”
“No, I s’pose not. Come on.” He slapped the seat for emphasis. “One drink.”
She was thinking about it. He could tell by the way she tipped her head and pursed those luscious lips. Lips he suddenly needed on his more than another sip of beer. If he could talk her into staying for a drink, maybe he could talk her into more. What’d be the harm in one kiss?
She glanced at the exit, as if calculating how long it’d take for her to sprint to her vehicle, before looking back at him. She shook her head, and that’s when he knew he’d convinced her. She held up her index finger. “One.”
