The Bull Rider’s Keeper (6 page)

The inside of the bar was dark. Spilled beer, years of cigarette smoke, and grease from the kitchen assaulted Taylor as soon as she stepped inside. The three women sat in a booth. The red vinyl seats had turned brown from age, and the dark wood of the table was scratched and gnarled with use. Thankfully, someone had wiped it down before they arrived. A waitress or barmaid, Taylor wasn’t sure what role the woman held, dropped off three menus and three plastic cups filled with water and ice.

“What can I get you to drink?” the woman asked. Taylor looked up, ready to order a glass of white wine. She stopped mid-order when she noticed a tattoo on the top exposed part of the woman’s breast. It looked like … No, it couldn’t be. Taylor felt Angie’s and Barb’s gazes on her.

“Sheryl, show Taylor the rest of your tattoo,” Angie said. “You’ll love this.”

The woman, Sheryl, grinned and leaned in closer. “You’re not the first to notice. I got this last month.” She pulled down her elastic neckline and Taylor was rewarded with the full view of a fully erect circumcised penis inked on the woman’s breast. “My husband likes to tell people it’s not at full scale, but he’s fooling himself. The man isn’t as well endowed as he thinks.”

Taylor bit back a laugh. “Can I get a glass of white wine?”

Sheryl nodded, then listed off the available brands. Although they weren’t the quality of wines the gallery carried at openings, they weren’t that bad. Taylor ordered a dry chardonnay from Sun Valley winery, the same brand she kept at her house for
those
kind of days.

After Angie and Barb ordered their own drinks, beer and a large coke, Sheryl disappeared, promising to be right back.

“Sorry about the tattoo. Sheryl’s pretty proud of it. She says her tips have tripled since she got inked.” Angie grinned. “I bet you don’t see that in the places you go.”

Taylor laughed. “You’re right about that. I don’t think I’ve been in this bar since I was eighteen and trying not to get carded.”

“Yeah, Gary had some issues with his bartenders when he took over the place. He had to put the fear of God into them. He’s gotten rid of the few that wouldn’t respect the law.” Angie studied the menu.

“Gary?” Taylor asked.

“The owner.”

“So his name’s not Dave?” She glanced at the top of the menu.

Angie laughed. “Dave started the bar in the ’70s. He was a great guy, fun loving, had a wicked sense of humor. Gary kept the name after he bought the place, kind of like a tribute.”

Sheryl came back, dropped off their drinks, and took their lunch order. “Ten minutes, at the most. We’re just like a chain place. You can get in and out in your thirty-minute lunch hour.”

“And still get your beer,” Barb added dryly when Sheryl was out of earshot. She held up her hands in mock surrender. “I know, I’m being a snob. But seriously, look at that guy over at the bar. You know he’s been here since it opened this morning.”

“Probably never left last night,” Taylor added, turning to glance at the man. He wore jeans and a gray t-shirt, and had salt-and-pepper hair that stood up in random places on his head.

Angie sniffed. “You both are snobs. Nothing wrong with a man sitting at a bar all day. Maybe he’s homeless and this is the only place he can sit.”

Barb leaned into Angie and gave her a hug. “You’re always looking for the best in people. I know; I shouldn’t judge.”

“I just think you need to be more open to the lost souls in the world.” Angie’s fingers drummed on the lacquered tabletop, diamond rings flashing in the glow cast from the neon sign lighting their table. Taylor took a long look at Angie. For all the bling around her neck and the bright yellow satin pants with matching floral-print shirt, the woman’s words didn’t match her sixties Barbie look.

“My mom would tell me the same thing,” Taylor admitted. “My friends and I would go to the mall and laugh about someone’s outfit, or the way they were dressed. But if my mom caught us, we knew we were in trouble. One day she took us to the rescue mission, and we served lunch for a week.”

“Sounds like your mother raised you right.” Angie nodded.

Taylor tilted her head. “Did you do the same thing to Jesse when he was a kid?”

Angie’s face paled and tears filled her eyes. Taylor froze. What had she said?

Finally Barb spoke up. “Angie didn’t raise the boys. They lived with their dad.” Her quiet voice told Taylor there was much more to the story.

“Oh.” Taylor dug into her purse and handed Angie a tissue. “I didn’t mean to be too personal.”

Angie took the tissue and waved away Taylor’s apology. “No worries. My issues.” She blew her nose. “Barb went to school with James and Jesse in Shawnee. They were all friends.”

Taylor focused on Barb. “Shawnee? Does that place even have a school?”

“Hey, it’s not that small. Okay, it’s not big like Boise, but yes, Shawnee had three schools: elementary, middle, and high school. I was friends with Lizzie, who dated James. Therefore, Jesse tagged along, too. We’ve been friends for years.”

Taylor thought about Brit, who she’d met freshman year at Bishop Kelly. “My assistant and I went to high school together. She understands me.”

“Yeah, I get that. Lizzie was the only one I could talk to when my husband and I started having problems.” Barb twisted the ring on her left hand. Taylor hadn’t noticed it there before.

Angie huffed. “No, Lizzie was the only one you told. You have to realize that once you’re in the Sullivan fold, you have family. We may be unusual, but we’re family.”

Barb laughed. “Jesse came over the day I signed the annulment papers. He watched
Sleepless in Seattle
with me for hours. I drank three bottles of wine that night.”

“Wait, the annulment?” Taylor was confused.

“Long story. Let’s just say, Hunter and I have been through some intense times. I tell him we should get that Chinese curse tattooed on our shoulders, the one that says ‘may your lives be interesting.’” Barb leaned back as Sheryl delivered the food.

The smell of French fries and grease filled Taylor’s senses, and her stomach growled. “I haven’t had a burger in years. Usually, we order sandwiches for lunch, and then I have a salad for dinner when I get home. My folks are gone a lot—either for work or traveling—so, I’ve been on my own.”

Angie smiled. “You live at home then? I keep telling Jesse that it’s not unusual for an unmarried child to live with his parent. But he keeps telling me I need my own house when I’m in town. I’ve been looking at one of those condos over by the river.”

Taylor brightened. “Me, too. I thought, once the gallery gets settled in a year or two, I should be able to—” She cut off her thought, realizing that if Jesse continued with his plans to buy the gallery, her dream would be out of reach. If that happened, she’d have to dip into her trust fund or ask her parents for money to get her condo. Those were two things she didn’t want to do.

The table grew quiet as the impact of Taylor’s words hit the ladies. The women focused on their food, and all casual conversation stopped.
Great,
Taylor thought.
Way to alienate friends and influence people.

A man’s hand reached in and grabbed a couple of her fries. She slapped at it. “Hey!”

Jesse Sullivan slipped in to the booth next to her. Heat coursed through her body and pooled in the spot between her legs. Damn him and his crooked smile.

“Sorry, they just looked too inviting. Besides, you can’t eat fries, not with that body.” Jesse half stood, leaning over the table to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

Sheryl returned to the table. “The usual, Jesse?”

“Sounds good. Make sure the hot wings are really hot this time.” Jesse took a swig of the draft beer Sheryl had brought without asking. Apparently, the man and his mother were regulars.

“Who invited you?” Barb asked, pointing a fry at the newcomer.

Jesse leaned back in the booth and smiled at his manager. “Now, Barbie, why are you being a brat? It’s not like I crashed your wedding, or something.”

“Boy, you’re always showing up at the wrong time.” Barb grinned. “Hunter’s still peeved at you crashing in my hotel room the night after our first wedding. Every time we leave for a rodeo, he checks to see if you have your own hotel reservation.”

“He’s just doing his due diligence as the doting husband. Besides, I know not to touch sold goods. I get beaten up enough on the bulls; no way I want some angry husband messing with this pretty face.” Jesse ran his hand over his chin.

“The face that didn’t get shaved this morning,” Angie observed.

Jesse leaned over to Taylor. “Now you understand why I sent these two over to the gallery this morning. If they’re all up in your business, maybe they’ll stay out of mine.”

“Jesse.” Angie shook her finger at her youngest son. “You stop being a brat.” She frowned at the plate of chicken wings Sheryl just sat down in front of him. “Lord, do those things smell.”

“Like heaven.” Jesse smiled and ripped into a wing. The smell of Tabasco hit Taylor, and she coughed.

“Wow.” She took a sip of her wine. “I’m not even eating them and I can taste the hot sauce.”

Grinning, Jesse waved a drumlet near her. “I know, aren’t they amazing?”

Angie laughed. “Better get used to it, Taylor. Now that you’re part of the gang, Jesse’s eating habits are one thing you just have to ignore.”

Taylor smiled, but deep down she wondered if she was really part of the gang. How had this family accepted her so quickly as a friend when she was working as hard as she could to get them out of her life?

“Relax, Mom. Maybe Taylor’s looking for the exit door instead of being brainwashed into our little cult.” Jesse wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Mom, I mean, Angie, has this habit of moving too quickly in her relationships. If you don’t watch out, pretty soon she’ll be mother-henning you, too. And you’ll be one of the family, like it or not.”

Taylor ate her lunch and wondered why the prospect didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Jesse walked through the gallery alone. Yesterday’s lunch had gone long, and the three women had acted like best friends before they’d left Dave’s. The dark, old, dive bar had been the last place he thought prissy Miss Taylor would agree to eat. His mom had that effect on everyone, though. The ability to break down class barriers. He wondered how Susan and her husband would react to the Angie experience.

Standing in front of a modernist take on a landscape, Jesse found himself not thinking about the angles of the painting. Instead, he thought about the angles of Taylor’s face. He’d worked on the drawing of her for the last week, trying to find the missing spark, the look he saw every time their eyes met. But his skill level had failed him, and he’d started over time and time again, frustrated with the results. Three weeks and this semester would be over. Would Susan agree to keep him on as a private student, even though he was taking over the gallery? Was there some sort of conflict in the two items? He hoped not. Besides, if everything worked out, he’d be more of a silent owner for the next few years, allowing Taylor to stay on and manage the gallery.

If she agreed
.

He stepped to the next painting, trying to focus on the technique. But his mind returned to Taylor. Maybe Angie was right. Maybe he was drawn more to the woman than the actual business. If Taylor wouldn’t stay he’d just hire a new gallery manager. Angie didn’t want to take over the business. She’d agreed to share the open receptionist position that a college student on summer break currently held. Angie didn’t love art, not the way Taylor did. Or the way a gallery manager should, he corrected himself. The gallery manager didn’t have to be Taylor. His lips curled into a smile. It would just be a bonus if she stayed on.

As if his thoughts had made her materialize, the girl he couldn’t capture on paper walked out of her office. With the suit behind her. The same man she’d had dinner with on Tuesday. Today, she wore a sleeveless summer shift dress that showed off her well-toned arms. No wonder the man kept showing up. He was marking his territory, Jesse guessed. She walked the man to the door, then turned and spotted Jesse standing in the gallery. The girl had the grace to flush.

She strolled toward him, and he could see her processing her thoughts as she made her way over. She nodded to the painting. “Nora Wilson is the artist. She sells well here. You’ll probably want to keep her happy if you take over.”

Jesse cocked his head. “Don’t you mean when?”

Taylor flushed a beet red. “Yes, of course. Sorry for the poor choice of words.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m late for an appointment. Busy day.” She started to step away.

“I was hoping I could shadow you today.” His words stopped her forward movement.

Turning, she frowned. “I thought Angie and Barb were doing that yesterday.”

Jesse leaned against the wall, watching her. “It’s a big investment. I’d like to know what I’m buying.”

She arched a brow at him. “How will shadowing me help?”

“You’re the manager. The manager knows everything. Just ask Barb.” He let his gaze drop to her suntanned legs. Damn, the woman didn’t have a flaw on her body.
Or at least the parts of her body you’ve seen.
He inwardly shivered at the thought. He slowly brought his gaze back up to her face. His attention had been noticed, and now there was a hardness in her eyes. She was angry with him. Probably for making her feel something after her suit of a boyfriend had just left. Oh, well.

He watched her consider his request. Finally, he saw her surrender, and she sighed, verbalizing it. “Fine, I’m driving out to Baker City to meet with a potential artist. You sure you want to be stuck in a car for that long?

With you? Anytime
.

“I’ll even drive.”

She stopped in her office to grab her purse and let Brit know they were leaving. The assistant smiled and waved at him like she thought they were going on a date, not a business drive. He wished. Taylor frowned at the girl as they left.

As they left the gallery, Taylor slipped on a pair of sunglasses, hiding her eyes. He nodded to the Porsche sitting in the parking lot to the side of the gallery. A 1985, 944 model, the baby was his pride and joy. He’d bought the thing for pennies and had put thousands into restoring the car to its former glory. Candy apple red, the car got its share of looks when he took it out for a drive.