Hot Buttered Rum: Standalone Romance (Silk Stocking Inn Book 4) (27 page)

Chapter 5

I drove up to the house and parked. It seemed the whole place was held together by luck. One good wind would surely bring it down around the owner’s ears. Which brought me to the obvious question—who was the owner? Someone with amazing marketing skills that was for sure. That was someone I needed to meet. Marketing was always at the top of my priority list. If I could grab some tips from the inn’s owner, it would make this unexplained detour worth the confusion.

I grabbed my rather useless cell phone, deciding that even if I couldn’t call help with it, I could at least bludgeon someone if necessary. I grabbed my purse, also heavy enough to give someone a good wallop, and headed up the warped steps to the front door. A prickly vine, the last dead remnants of what must have once been a thriving rose bush, grabbed at my sweater. I unhooked it and took a deep breath before knocking.

The door opened on its own. The inside of the house looked nothing like the outside. Inviting decor and sumptuous wallpaper flooded the entryway. One step inside and my senses were overwhelmed by the rich mingling scents of coffee and chocolate. If the aroma was any indication, I was soon to be rewarded for my courage and initiative with an incredible mocha latte cupcake.

“Hello?” My voice echoed back to me.

“Just down the hallway. Follow the cupcake scent.” The woman’s voice was welcoming and kind. I did as she’d instructed and followed the delicious aroma down the narrow hallway and into a large room that had been set up with quaint tables, metal chairs and all the decor and flowers of a street corner bake shop.

I’d had only the slightest apprehension about entering the house, and it had all but disappeared. I felt welcome and safe and inexplicably happier than I had been in a long while. I chalked it up to the charming ambience and the tray of luscious looking cupcakes that silently begged me to approach the sparkling counter that was bursting with an array of baked goods. But my eyes and my nose stayed focused on the dark brown cakes. Each one was topped with a rich chocolate glaze.

I could hear someone clinkering around in the kitchen, so, like a well-disciplined child, I sat on the stool in front of the cupcakes, nearly drooling over them, as I waited for permission to try one.

And as if my thoughts had been read, the woman called out from her kitchen. “Please, help yourself to a cupcake. I’ll be right out.”

It was all the invitation I needed. I picked up the cupcake. With no patience for removing those pesky paper wrappers, I dragged my tongue across the chocolate glaze on top. It was melt in your mouth delicious, and I made a sound that went along perfectly with the taste.

My sugar taste buds saturated with topping for the moment, I took some time to strip the tender cake of its paper peel. The bite I took nearly obliterated half the cupcake. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the shiny marble tile on the backsplash. My cheeks puffed out like a well-fed hamster’s. I chewed the massive bite into something more manageable. I finished by licking my fingertips. The creamy, coffee-infused glaze was not the kind of thing you wasted on a napkin, even though there was a stack nearby.

“Think I might just need a cold shower after watching you eat that cupcake.”

I spun around on the stool and nearly toppled sideways when my eyes landed on the tall figure in the far corner of the bakery. He had pulled out a second chair, and his boots were crossed at the ankles as he had them resting up on the seat of the chair. His hat, a black Stetson, was sitting on the table next to a plate of food and a bottle of beer. I couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark corner, but he had nice shoulders and an unshaven jaw that looked pretty damn good from my vantage point. The kind of tight angular chin that went well with a black cowboy hat.

I was never easily embarrassed, and while I should have been somewhat ashamed of my unabashed finger licking session, I couldn’t work up even the lightest blush. I even concluded my snack session with a final lick of my thumb.

“Didn’t realize anyone was watching. Otherwise, I might have toned it down to a PG version of cupcake gobbling.” I held the empty wrapper up proudly. “Although, it tasted so good, I was actually holding back some.”

“Well damn, don’t let me stop you from thoroughly enjoyin’ the next one. But take your time. I like it slow and easy. You sort of inhaled the last one as if it was ‘bout to jump from your fingers.” His twang was just enough to make me more than interested in seeing his face clearly. But he remained shadowed in the corner.

“Slow and easy? Huh. Don’t think I’ve ever met a cowboy who liked it slow and easy.” I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d jumped into a flirty conversation with a complete stranger, a man whose face I hadn’t even seen yet. But I was enjoying it.

He dropped his boots to the ground, one foot at a time, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. For a second time, I nearly slipped off the stool. Pale green eyes gazed at me from beneath a head of shiny black hair. And I’d been right about the jaw. In fact, the entire face would look spectacular gazing out from beneath the shade of a cowboy hat. Mostly because the face was nothing
short
of spectacular.

A lopsided smile curled his mouth, adding another layer to the layers of heartbreak. “So you know a lot of cowboys, do ya?”

I shrugged. “Let’s just say I spent my carefree teen years on a cattle ranch. Might have been a few young wranglers passing through for work.” I froze for a second and laughed. “Jeez, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it. Let me reword that. I was a curious teenage girl with more than one crush on a man in a hat and cowboy boots. I never actually—Well, you get it.”

Footsteps pattered along the floor behind me. I was relieved to have a reason to pull away from his highly seductive gaze. A woman appeared around the corner. She had on a flannel shirt and jeans as if she’d just stepped out of the barn instead of the kitchen. Oddly enough, as she turned the corner, she was much younger than I’d first thought. Something about the way she moved had me confused. Her bright green eyes sparkled with youth, but something about her face assured me she was wise for her age. One thing was certain—the woman knew how to bake a cupcake.

“Rebecca, or should I call you Becca? I’m Coco, the owner of Silk Stocking Inn.” She held out a smooth, thin hand that went with the young face.

“Uh—Becca is fine. How did you know my name?” I stopped and waved a finger at her. “Cookies. Not only are you an expert at cupcakes but you are masterful at computer cookies.”

She blinked an enviable set of long, black lashes at me, acting as if she had no idea what I was talking about. It had to be an act. It seemed she wasn’t planning to hand out any trade secrets.

She pointed back to the kitchen she’d just come from. “I do have some oatmeal raisin if you prefer cookies.”

I laughed, letting her know that I was on to her. “No, thank you, Coco. The mocha latte cupcake will do just fine. I suppose my online coffee buying habits are stored in those cookies as well.”

She continued with a clueless expression. “I’m so sorry, Becca, I’m not following your line of conversation.” She glanced at the empty wrapper on the counter. “Did you enjoy the cupcake?”

“Best one I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad.” Her glittering eyes flashed to the corner of the bakery. “Jackson, are you through with that plate? I want to run the dishwasher.”

My quest for marketing secrets had temporarily pulled my attention from the handsome, flirtatious diner at the back of the room. I turned around to look at him.

He pushed the hat down low over his head and stood up. He had the whole tall, broad shouldered cowboy thing going on. He picked up the plate and beer. There was even the usual swagger in his stride, a swagger that came from spending a lot of hours in the saddle. My grandpa used to call it his John Wayne strut. He’d been extra proud of his bowed legs, even though they pained him with arthritis in the end. He’d always boasted that he’d earned every ache and pain.

The closer the cowboy got, the clearer the picture became. He was amazing.

“Jackson, I don’t know if you two have met. This is Becca. She’s a producer at a children’s television network.”

My surprised gaze shot Coco’s direction for a fleeting second, but I reminded myself that it would be easy enough for anyone to know my position. My name was listed on the credits and the studio website, not to mention all the social media I was part of.

Jackson’s handshake was strong and firm as expected. What I hadn’t expected was the sudden rush of heat that swirled through me as I momentarily imagined his hands all over me. He reached up and tipped his hat in a typical cowboy hello. He truly had it down to an art.

“Never would have pegged you as a television producer type.” His eyes drifted down to my knee length skirt and red leather, slip-on heels. “Guess that skirt and those shoes should have been a clue.”

Coco poured me a cup of coffee and placed it on the counter. “Becca knows horses. She grew up on a ranch.”

This time my shocked look stayed glued on Coco. “How on earth did you know that?”

Jackson answered for her. “You were just telling me about your teen years on the cattle ranch, remember?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. I suppose that means you heard the whole conversation?” I asked, feeling more than a little ashamed.

Coco laughed. “Wasn’t really paying attention.” She reached back to untie her apron and placed it on a hook behind the counter. “I’ll bet you’re tired after your long work week. Follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

“What? My room? I can’t stay. I just stopped in for a cupcake.”

“Oh,” Coco said disappointedly. “I suppose you have big plans. Makes sense that you’d be in a hurry to go.”

I nodded weakly. If there was one thing I was terrible at, it was lying. “No plans really. It’s just—it’s just my plants need water and then there’s the mail . . .” My voice trailed off as each aspect of my dull, pathetic life was revealed.

“I’m sure those plants can survive two days without you,” Coco said cheerily. “Anyhow, it’s free. And I can promise you the best cup of Joe—” She lifted her coffee pot. “
And
the best vittles this side of the Mississippi,” she said with her own practiced cowboy drawl.

“I don’t understand. How can you do this for free?”

“Let’s just say it’s part of my masterful marketing skills.” She winked as if she had been reading my thoughts. Something that seemed more plausible with each passing moment.

Jackson walked his plate into the kitchen. “I’m going to head out and finish the barn chores, Coco. Thanks for the dinner.”

“Wait, Jackson,” she called.

He poked his handsome face back into the bakery.

Coco smiled at me. “I’ll bet it’s been awhile since you did barn chores, Becca.”

My mind drifted instantly back to Grandpa’s big red barn. I’d spent so much time in the place, Grandpa used to joke that he’d move my bed there. Everything about the memories of living on the ranch warmed my heart and made me feel homesick for those carefree days.

“It has been a long time. Not even sure I’d know which end of the mucking fork to hold anymore.” I laughed.

“I’ll show ya,” Jackson said. “Meet you out there, but you might want to trade in those heels for something more practical.” He looked pointedly at the skirt. “But I’m kind of partial to that skirt, so if you want to wear it—I’m sure the horses won’t object.” With that, he walked out, his boot heels pounding the wood floor as he headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

“He raised a good point. I’ve got nothing to wear for a weekend away. Especially one that involves horses and barn chores.”

Coco stepped out from behind the counter. She was smaller and more petite than I’d realized, but she was one of those women with a huge presence, regardless of physical size. “I’m sure I can rummage up some clothes that’ll fit. Follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

Chapter 6

After showing me to a glorious room, complete with floral printed linens and an incredible antique iron bed that was overflowing with pillows and downy quilts, my weekend hostess continued her surprises by bringing me a pair of jeans, a soft flannel shirt and a pair of cowboy boots. It seemed they hadn’t been worn and yet they were comfortable as if someone had walked a hundred miles in them to soften the leather. Most surprising of all was that everything fit as if it had been made just for me.

“I’ve brought you some supper,” Coco called through the door, as she knocked again.

I click clacked to the door in my boots to answer it. For the briefest, strange moment, as I opened the door, I was sure Coco’s face looked older, with fine lines and creases around her eyes and mouth. Then the faint wrinkles faded. I pushed the incident out of my head when she walked past with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw.

“Figured you’d be hungry after a long day at work.”

“I am. Although I’ve already had dessert.” I chuckled. “Best cupcake I’ve ever had, by the way.”

“My theory on dessert is you should eat it whenever the need for sweet happiness arises. And, Becca, I know you’ve been through some unhappiness lately. I can see it in your eyes. So, I think dessert first is completely justified.” Coco lowered the plate onto the small table sitting in front of an upholstered window seat. She drew back the heavy drapes. A silver moon shined through the wavy glass pane.

“Is it really still that obvious? That I’ve been through something? I was hoping it didn’t show much anymore.”

“It’s starting to fade, I think. This weekend might just erase it for good.”

There was no possible way she knew what had gone on in my personal life, but with the way she looked at me, it seemed she knew just what I was feeling. She really was a remarkable person.

The aroma of her fried chicken was making me nearly dizzy with hunger. I walked to the window seat and looked down at the crispy golden chicken and fluffy mashed potatoes. A dollop of butter melted in the center of the potatoes like a golden pool in the crater of a mountain.

“This reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking. He made fried chicken that could make your mouth water just thinking about it. Thank you for this. It’s bringing back memories that I needed to find. I hadn’t lost them, after all. I’d just been too busy to reminisce.”

“I’m glad then. Everyone needs to hold on to the things that matter most. Even a broken heart can’t take them away. It’s those little, nostalgic moments, those epiphanies, that keep us grounded and happy.”

She took a breath and beamed excitedly down at my outfit. “You look great, by the way. Like a girl ready to sling a mucking fork and look darn sexy doing it.”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about darn sexy, but the boots and jeans will definitely work better in a barn. I’m looking forward to the familiar sights and sounds.”

“And smells,” she added.

“I know this sounds nutty, but I’ve always been comforted by the animal smells.” I rocked back on my heels to lift the toes of the boots. They were two toned leather beauties with an intricate pattern and stitching. “These are beautiful. They remind me of a pair I grew up in. I had them so worn out, they were more like socks than leather boots by the time I shelved them for good. Not that I wanted to give them up, but when the rocks started seeping in through the holes I knew it was time to let them go. I still have them in my closet.”

After yet another stroll down memory lane, I sat down to the plate of food. “I know you call this an inn, but where do the horses come in?” I lifted a drumstick to my mouth and took my first glorious bite.

“Horseback riding is one of the activities we offer at the Silk Stocking Inn. I hired Jackson recently to look after the horses. He was in need of a place to stay.”

I swallowed fast, nearly choking on the bite. “He stays here? At the inn?”

“For now. My needs and this place change a lot. Let’s just say, I like to adapt activities to my clientele.” Something about the twinkle in her eye told me there was more to the statement than just changing things up a bit. “Although, cupcakes are standard. Sometimes it seems as if the Silk Stocking Inn was built up around a batch of cupcakes. Like the chicken and egg conundrum. What came first—the cupcake or the inn? Either way, they are both here to stay.” She took a deep breath. “And so are you, for the next few days. So enjoy. I’ll point you in the direction of the barn when you’re finished with your plate.” She headed to the door, opened it and then looked back at me. “And, Becca, remember everything happens for a reason.” She walked out and closed the door.