Chapter Eighteen

“You look yabba-dabba-dynamite.”

“Right back at you,” Callie said to Nova as they stood on Main Street ready to partake in the annual Windsong Pumpkin Crawl.

“I think Wilma and Betty should find a couple of cavemen, and if the cavemen play their clubs right, we do some bedrocking.”

“Would you stop already?” Callie bumped bare shoulders with her best friend.

“Hey, we look hot, and there is no Fred or Barney in our lives, so let’s have some fun.”

Every year on the Saturday before Halloween, the streets of their small downtown turned into a costume party and pumpkin crawl where restaurants and bars offered up specialty pumpkin dishes and drinks.

“Let’s take a selfie.” Phone in hand, Nova extended her arm in front of their faces. “Say cheese!”

“Did they have cheese in the Stone Age?” Callie teased.

“Okay, meat then.”

“Meeet,” they sang out as Nova snapped the picture. “Where to first? Sutter’s?”

Callie vividly remembered how delicious their pumpkin mac and cheese with bacon tasted. “Do you even have to ask?”

The late afternoon sun shined, but their skimpy costumes offered little warmth, so they fast walked to the town’s oldest and most beloved tavern. On the way there, they said hello to vampires, witches, superheroes, and fairy-tale characters.

“Lookin’ good, Wilma and Betty,” a guy in a Scream mask said before he crossed the street in front of them.

Nova hip checked her. “Told ya.” Callie had quickly made their white and blue cavewoman dresses this morning after Nova had popped into the bunkhouse with the fabric and accessories to make their matching costumes.

The second they stepped inside Sutter’s, a heat wave and celebratory racket greeted them. The restaurant hadn’t decorated for the holiday but for one lone jack-o’-lantern sitting atop the bar where zombie bartenders made drinks. She and Nova showed the wristbands they’d purchased earlier and then wove through the main room to find a spot at a high-top table. A server came by and dropped off pumpkin mac and cheese inside small paper containers. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Nova slid over two drink vouchers. “Two pumpkin beers, please.”

“There is a party in my mouth right now,” Callie said around a mouthful of food. As another server walked by, she snagged a second helping. A girl could never have too much mac and cheese.

“It’s a crime they don’t serve this all the time.” Nova enjoyed her own bite. “You know what else we need?” She looked around, and when a server dressed as Thor approached carrying a tray, she smiled and held up her pointer finger.

“Pumpkin mashed potatoes?” Thor asked.

“Please.” Nova made room on their round top for the additional dish.

“I love that we speak the same food language.” Callie clinked forks with her best friend. “Where should we go next?”

“I was thinking Baked on Main.”

“Oh yes, I need a pumpkin whoopie pie.” Callie noticed an attractive man dressed in a business suit sitting at the bar. He stuck out given everyone else wore a costume. Unless that was his costume? His eyes were on Nova. Zeroed in on her like there was no one else in the room. Callie turned back to her friend, then glanced back toward the man a minute later. He remained focused on Nova.

“Suit, three o’clock, has not taken his eyes off you.”

Nova boldly stared in the man’s direction. Callie swore she saw an electrical current flare to life between them when their eyes met, like they’d both been struck by lightning.

“Do you know him?” Callie asked.

Without taking her eyes off Mr. Suit, she said, “No. But I think I want to.” She turned her head to look at Callie. “Do you mind if I walk over there?”

“Don’t you usually like the man to come to you?”

“Yes, but…” She glanced back over at him. He put down his drink—probably a pumpkin old fashioned from the looks of it—and met her gaze. “Something tells me he won’t make the first move.”

“Okay. I’ll wait here. Give me the signal if you need me.” Callie watched Nova stride to the bar with confidence and take the seat next to the mystery man.

“Guess I get the rest of you,” she happily said to the mac and cheese and mashed potatoes.

“Hello, Wilma.” The soft whisper on the back of her neck sent a shiver down her spine. “Mind if I join you?” The achingly familiar voice, not to mention Hunter’s warm breath, touched her skin like a velvet caress, so yes, he could join her, please and thank you.

He popped into view and took the spot vacated by his sister. “Hi,” she said like his nearness did not make her weak in the knees. “Where’s your costume?”

“This is it.” He tipped his cowboy hat and one corner of his mouth lifted.

“You always dress like that.” Jeans. Flannel shirt or Henley. Boots. Tonight’s shirt brought out the blue of his eyes. Like they needed to be any bluer. She pretended her food was much more interesting than him.

This past week she’d tiptoed around her growing feelings for him. Avoidance, however, only served to make her more aware of him when they were together. It was like the spider bite had not only poisoned him but caused him to release pheromones with her name on them, and unscientifically speaking, they’d had a direct impact on her brain and body.

Not to mention the effect he had on her at night before bedtime. With no lights on in the bunkhouse and feeling safe to let down her guard—their nightly tradition of talking before falling asleep had become her favorite part of the day.

“Which makes it the greatest costume there is.” Both sides of his mouth lifted to show off his straight, white teeth and dimples. “I’ve never liked dressing up. You, on the other hand, look fantastic.” The beers arrived, and he took a drink of Nova’s.

She downed a big gulp of hers.

“That was just a compliment, by the way. I’m not flirting.”

“You’re not?” The question sounded far more disappointed than she’d intended.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. Yeah, join the club, cowboy. Confusion is my new middle name. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to flirt with you.”

Callie toyed with her chunky “bone” necklace. Hunter wasn’t a caveman, but if she were going to let go and have some fun tonight, she wanted it to be with the handsome cowboy standing across from her.

“You’re not. But tonight, I’m not me, I’m Wilma.”

He ran a hand over his jaw. Indecision furrowed his brows, and she wished she could rewind the last twenty seconds and take those words back.

“Okay,” he finally said. “And who would the beautiful Wilma like me to be?”

“Hey, you two,” Brett said, arriving at their table with his girlfriend, Janey, and saving Callie from admitting she wanted him. “Dude, that is the worst costume ever.” He eyed Hunter top to bottom.

“And yours is better?” Hunter made a face at Brett’s onesie cow costume.

Brett put his arm around Janey. “It is. Because I have my very own milkmaid.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Callie almost spewed her beer, Brett’s innuendo striking her funny bone just right.

Janey swatted Brett in the chest. “Don’t be rude.”

“Like that’s possible,” Hunter said kindly. “I think it’s his default setting.” Hunter’s gaze caught on something over Janey’s shoulder. “Who’s my sister talking to?”

“I don’t know,” Callie said. “But she’s got it handled.” Her best friend didn’t need rescuing or her big brother interfering, even though Hunter’s protectiveness came from a place of love. Plus, the fact that she hadn’t given Callie the signal—a tug on her right earlobe—meant she was having a good time.

Hunter narrowed his eyes, deciphering for himself if his sister had it under control. Seeming satisfied, he gave a small nod and returned his attention to their table.

“Oh, hey! We’ll take some of those.” Brett waved over a server—this one offering a great impression of Britney Spears—carrying a tray of shots, each with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

“Hi, everyone,” the waitress said with her eyes directly on Hunter. She put down four shot glasses. “Start you a tab?”

“Sure.” Hunter flashed her a smile.

“What are they?” Callie asked.

“Fireball pumpkin pie shots. It’s Hunter Owens, right?”

“Right.” It was just one little word, but it sounded like, That’s me and how about we get to know each other better later? to Callie. She didn’t especially like it.

“I’ll check back in a few and see if you need anything else,” she said directly to Hunter before drifting away.

“Bro.” Brett put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder after the waitress was out of earshot. “I’m pretty sure she’s on your menu.”

“Every single girl in this bar is on his menu,” Janey added.

Callie glanced around. More than one set of female eyes were on him, some obvious, others more subtle. She pushed a shot glass in front of each of them. “Let’s do this.”

“On three,” Hunter said. “One, two, three.”

Oh wow, that tasted good. Callie put her empty shot glass down and ran her tongue along her upper lip.

“You missed a spot.” Hunter gently wiped the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. His warm touch had her cheeks heating. When he sucked the bit of whipped cream off his finger, heat flooded other parts of her.

“Callie, I hear you’re opening your own dress shop.” Janey snagged some pumpkin mac and cheese from a passing tray. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m excited and nervous. It’s a big step for me.”

“We also heard you’re dressing this guy for his brother’s wedding.” Brett gave a chin up to Hunter. “That true, too?”

“He’s my first best man, yes, but I don’t plan to make it a thing. It’s more of a favor.”

Brett laughed. “Yeah, he needs all the help he can get. Poor guy, no one ever wants to date him.”

“The struggle is real,” Hunter said. The sincerity in his voice surprised Callie. When had he struggled? For as long as she could remember, girls lined up to be with him. From the glance around the restaurant, they still did.

“The suit isn’t about dating,” Janey said. “It’s about finding his one true love.”

“Another round?” Flirty Britney Spears asked, already placing shot glasses on their table.

“Hey, you know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Hunter said with clear interest.

“Brittany.”

“For real?” Hunter asked.

“For real. I spell mine with two Ts and an A, though.”

“Shot time!” Callie picked up her glass and downed it before everyone else. The second taste went down even smoother. She scooted closer to Hunter and smiled at Brittany, who took the hint and stepped away to another table. Twenty minutes and another shot later, Brett and Janey moved on to other friends, and was it her imagination or had Hunter moved closer, too? More than a little tipsy, she couldn’t be sure. He did smell better than any man had a right to smell.

She looked up into his bright blue eyes. “You smell really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” She pictured running her cheek along his clean-shaven jaw and breathing him in. “Your aftershave is making my nose nosey.”

He grinned. “I have no idea what that means, but I hate to tell you I’m not wearing aftershave. This is all me, sweetheart.”

She braced her arms on the table and leaned back. “No.”

“Yes.”

A server who was not flirty what’s-her-face dropped off two more shots.

“That’ll do it for us,” Hunter said, handing over his credit card. He lifted his shot glass and held it in front of his face. Callie did the same with hers. They took a moment, and then he said, “Bottoms up.”

“Down the hatch,” she countered, drinking the flavored whiskey in one gulp before slamming the glass on the table and licking her lips. “Who knew whishkey tasted so good?”

“Whishkey?” Hunter said, amused.

“That’s what I said.”

“Has anyone ever told you your pronunciation is cute when you’re drunk?”

“It’s my lips.” She pouted.

“Why the face? Your mouth is gorgeous, Cal.” Voice husky, he cleared his throat before seeming to backtrack and adding, “I mean some mouths are functional looking and some are thin and forgettable, but yours is…yours is noticeable. Again, I’m just stating a fact.”

She swung her head back and forth in an exaggerated “no.” Ouch, no more swinging of heads. “In elementary school, kids called me Fish Lips.”

“Stupid kids.”

“I ended up punching one of them in the mouth, I was so mad. I got suspended for the day, but I didn’t care.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?” She put a hand on her hip.

His gaze moved there, then took a slow tour over her torso, up to her chest, her neck, her mouth, before connecting with her eyes again. “I pictured you as this sweet little thing and here you were fighting and getting in trouble.”

“I can be tough if I have to be,” she argued.

“I’m sure.” He smirked, and instead of finding it irritating, she found it attractive. So attractive that she felt her face flush.

Or maybe that was the result of one too many fireball pie pumpkin, err, pumpkin fireball pie, whatever they were called, shots. “Is it warm in here?”

“A little. You okay?”

A wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth with her hand and carefully shook her head. “I think I’m going to be sick. Be right back.”

She hurried to the bathroom, not bothering to lock the door behind her. “Occupied!” she said into the toilet when she heard the door open a minute later.

“It’s me,” Hunter, the sexy cowboy and flirt master—who should have knocked first—said.

“Please go away.” She shooed him.

He didn’t budge. He stayed and handed her a wet paper towel. Rubbed her back. Left for a quick minute to check on Nova. When he returned, he took her under his arm and got them both safely home via the town trolleys working that night. She felt like shit, and the only thing she wanted to do was crawl under a blanket and sleep away the pain and misery. He sat on the foot of his bed while she got herself into the bathroom to put on her pajamas, brush her teeth, and down a couple of aspirin.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” he said softly when she exited.

Sleep blessedly came quickly. Before she completely dozed off, she heard him leave the bunkhouse, returning to the crawl, no doubt. And all the Brittanys hoping for a chance to be his cowgirl now that she was Wilma’d out.

…

Hunter caught the trolly working overtime tonight and went back to Sutter’s. With Callie safely asleep on his couch, he hurried in answer to the SOS text from Nova.

He walked into the restaurant to find Brett folded into a corner booth with a bottle of whiskey and a shit-ton too many shot glasses. Why he needed more than one when he was drinking alone, Hunter didn’t know. What he did know was his friend needed to get his ass home before he drank himself to the point of no return.

Glad he’d eaten enough to combat much of the drinking he’d done himself, Hunter slid into the booth across from the heartbroken man. According to Nova, Brett and Janey had had another one of their public blowouts, only this time they’d yelled words they couldn’t take back.

Hunter lifted the bottle of booze and handed it discreetly over to Nova as she walked by the table. Brett turned into The Hulk when drunk and upset and had apparently put on quite the show twenty minutes ago. Thankfully, Janey had left a minute later, and Nova and a couple of other friends had managed to plant Brett here.

“Hey,” Hunter said.

“Don’t.” Brett’s bloodshot eyes held little steam to go along with the one firm word.

“I hear I missed all the excitement.” Hunter held up two fingers and mouthed two waters to a passing server.

“It’s over for good this time,” Brett slurred. “She accused me of being a rude slacker and letting my business degree go to waste.”

To Hunter’s mind, Brett just hadn’t found his calling yet. The boot camp seemed to fulfill him at the moment, and with their plans to grow it, who knew what might happen? “I’m sorry, man.”

“I need another drink.”

The server put down two glasses of water. Perfect timing.

“There you go,” Hunter said. “Drink up.”

“Not what I meant, asshole.”

“Too bad.”

“Where’s my bottle?” he sloppily shouted. With boisterous conversations all around them, no one noticed. Or if they did, they decided to ignore him.

“I’m not letting you poison yourself anymore. Let’s get you home.”

“I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do,” he snarled with a slur. “I’m good right here.”

“Let’s agree to disagree on that.”

“Hey.” Bella stopped at their table dressed in a sexy nurse’s costume. She wore the outfit well; anyone would say so. “How’s he doing?” she asked under her breath.

“Hey! My nurse is here!” Brett bellowed.

Bella handed him his glass of water. “Drink this.”

He did, downed the entire eight ounces.

“Looks like you’re my lucky charm to help get him out of here,” Hunter said.

“Let’s do it,” she agreed.

With Bella’s assistance, they got Brett home without incident. Getting him out of his cow costume proved futile, so they left him as is on top of his bed. “Think he’ll be okay?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, but to be sure, I’ll stay a while. If he gets sick, I don’t want him to choke on his own vomit.”

“I’ll stay, too, then.” Brett had a good six inches on Bella and at least fifty pounds. She’d have a tough time maneuvering him, if need be.

They took to the couch, talking quietly so they’d hear any signs of distress from Brett’s room.

“You’re a good friend,” Bella said.

“He is, too. He’s saved my ass a time or two when I’ve messed up.” Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “I think he’s better off without Janey.”

“That’s what your sister said, too. Breaking up then getting back together more than once seems like a good sign there’s a problem with the relationship that can’t be fixed.”

“Yeah.” He stared down at the carpeted floor, thinking about his brothers’ relationships. His parents. They’d all set great examples for love. Commitment. Respect. Hunter had spent his twenties sowing his wild oats while waiting for something to happen between him and Callie. And tonight, if she’d hadn’t gotten drunk, they may have given in to the chemistry between them. Eventually, no matter how hard they fought it, the heat that crackled when they were close to each other had to go somewhere.

He hoped it didn’t go south.

“Chad was telling me about your ranch. You have a mule named George who is whip smart and likes to get into trouble?”

Hunter lifted his gaze. Their ranch hand gave good publicity.

“He does.” The conversation continued to flow with ease. Bella shared freely. She showed interest in more than the ranch and asked about him. Her long, bare legs were nice to look at.

But the entire time they were together, he couldn’t stop thinking about Callie and getting back to the bunkhouse.