The Bachelor Cowboy Page 8

  Five excruciating minutes later, Megan jimmied the lock and the door opened. Layla let out a sigh of relief and practically hugged the teenager. “Thank you so much.”

  “Yeah, I keep telling the boss to fix the lock, but he never does.” She shrugs. “So the guy outside. That the one you bought at the auction?”

  Layla, who was busy tugging her sweater down over her ass, paused. “What?”

  “You paid a shit ton of money to snatch up some hot guy at that dippy bachelor auction, didn’t you? That’s what I heard from my mom. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Are they?” Layla felt faint. “I just . . . love animals. That’s why I bid that much.”

  “Uh-huh.” Megan smirked. “He’s really hot. You’ll have to let me know if things don’t work out for you two.”

  “He’s too old for you,” Layla snapped, grabbing her coat and shoving her arms through the sleeves. The inside of the bakery wasn’t empty, of course. There were customers patiently waiting in line for Megan to get back to the register, and Layla wanted to sink into the ground when they all stared at her. None of them were Jack, though. She glanced out the bubble-lettering-covered windows, and sure enough, there was a man wearing a cowboy hat outside, leaning against the glass, a doggy butt perched under his arm.

  Waiting for her.

  She didn’t know whether that made her happy or not.

  Layla shoved her hands in her coat pockets and grabbed her purse, then headed out the door. The wind was bitterly cold—especially on her wet ass—and blew her hair in her face, and she felt like an even bigger idiot for wearing it down.

  Jack glanced over at her. He looked gorgeous, of course, wearing a dark plaid shirt, a cowboy hat, and a puffy vest jacket to ward off the cold. He had a backpack casually slung over his shoulder and the dog under his arm, and a huge grin on his face. “Well, hello.”

  “Hi.” She gave him a meek wave.

  He said nothing. She said nothing. For a moment, she wondered which of them would break first. Was he going to comment on her being locked in the bathroom? Or would she give up on her dignity and point it out herself? They both knew the truth. With a little sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So in addition to the buns, the locks are also a bit sticky.”

  “Were your buns sticky, too?” His mouth twitched. “You might be sharing a little too much info.”

  She smacked his arm, and the dog snarled. Layla took a step back and ignored his little smirk. “Sticky buns are a pastry, you doofus.”

  “And part of a bad joke, apparently.” He reached carefully around Oscar’s back and patted the dog’s head. “Poor Oscar thought you bailed on him.”

  “No, I was just busy panicking in the bathroom, because I got here early and sat in someone else’s drink. It’s all been downhill from there.”

  “All your hopes and dreams flushed away?” he asked innocently.

  She glared.

  His mouth twitched again. Then hers did. Then, they were both laughing, and all the tension was gone. “It’s so bad,” she giggled. “There was this big horrible stain on my pants and then, and then”—she gasped for air between choked laughs—“the door wouldn’t freaking unlock! Why me?”

  “I wasn’t sure what to think when Megan told me you were spending so long in the bathroom.”

  “She didn’t!”

  He chuckled. “Oh yeah. She ran her mouth like there was no tomorrow. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid most of this town is going to know that Layla got trapped in the bathroom while on a date.”

  She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is the worst day ever.”

  “Does that mean you want to call off our date?”

  “Is it a date?”

  “You tell me.” His smile remained, but it was less easy. “I’ll understand if you want to head on home.”

  “Now? After all that I’ve endured?” She snorted. “If you don’t mind me having a soaking-wet ass, I’m more than happy to hang out with you and our son.”

  “We could get drinks and move on?” He tilted his head at the little bakery. “If you want to hold Oscar, I’ll order for us and bring them out here. Megan was not a fan of you know who.” He whispered, inclining his head toward the dachshund.

  “I can hold him.” She took the dog from his arms carefully and noticed that Oscar was bundled up in a sweet little doggy coat, but it didn’t seem warm enough for his tiny legs. She unzipped her jacket and tucked him in against her sweater as Jack headed inside. She carefully petted his head and glanced around. The weather was incredibly brisk, so there weren’t many people on the street, the edges of the sidewalks heaped with snow. Perhaps a walk today wasn’t the best of ideas. She didn’t want to cancel, though.

  Now that he was here with her and looking mighty gorgeous—and she’d gone through the bathroom ordeal—she’d put up with a little bit of a chill.

  Oscar seemed content to be in her jacket, and Layla hummed to him while she waited. The coffee seemed to be taking a while, and she turned around and glanced back through the window. Sure enough, Jack was at the counter, smiling, as Megan chatted with him. As Layla watched, Megan flipped her hair and licked her lips, giggling.

  Oh god, Megan was flirting with her date. Seriously? She wanted to bang on the window, but there was a family sitting and eating pastries at one of the tables, so she watched through the window, glaring, as Megan finally turned around and went back to making the coffees. Jack glanced in her direction and discreetly glanced at his wrist, rolling his eyes. Okay, so he knew Megan was taking her sweet time. Layla watched a little more closely as Megan offered the first coffee up and tried to hold on to it, pausing to talk some more. Jack’s smile was polite but strained, and he took the coffee from her anyhow, gesturing at the door. Megan’s smile faltered a little and she made the second coffee faster than the first, and then Jack was finally free.

  He joined her outside, holding out the two cups of steaming coffee in a cardboard carrier. “That was awkward.”

  “You’re welcome to go back in there and spend your date with her if you want.”

  “Why would I want that?” He made a face. “She offered me her number twice.”

  Layla glanced at the cups in his hand. Sure enough, her number was written there, too. “Three times.”

  He groaned. “Jesus. I made sure to point out several times that I was on a date.”

  “But it’s not a real one because I bought you, right?” She could guess what Megan said to him.

  His grimace told her that she’d guessed the truth. “I told her I wasn’t interested. Payment or no, I’m on a date with you.”

  Well now, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that response. He made it sound like an obligation, and the last thing Layla wanted to be was someone’s obligatory date. She got enough of that with her mom and the blind dates she was constantly flinging Layla’s way.

  Oscar shivered in her arms as the wind picked up again, and it reminded her that today seemed cursed, despite everything. “Maybe we should call everything off.”

  “Nope,” Jack said easily.

  “It’s kind of cold for a walk—”

  He gestured down the street, still holding the two coffees. “Is that your office?” When she nodded, he grinned at her. “I’d like to see it, if that’s all right. And we could get Oscar out of the cold.”

  She hesitated, but it sounded so reasonable that she couldn’t refuse. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s just an office.” But he gave her another one of those heart-stopping grins and Layla bit back a sigh. It was so unfair that he was so, soooo pretty. Just being around him made her brain short-circuit. She knew she was being defensive and sniping at him, but it was just so she didn’t get her heart broken too badly when this didn’t work out.

  And when it didn’t, she’d just be that crazy accountant that paid to
o much for a hot guy at a bachelor auction. Oh god. Under her coat, Layla began to sweat.

  She hadn’t thought this bidding thing through in the slightest.

  They walked over to her small office and she unlocked the building. It was an old house—as many of the office buildings were on Painted Barrel’s main street—that had been converted to a suite of five or six private offices with a shared lobby. Inside, it felt uncomfortably warm after getting out of the snow, and she led Jack down the hall toward the small room she called hers as she juggled Oscar under her arm. The window looked professional enough, she supposed, with layla schmidt, cpa, cpp, notary public emblazoned on the window. Inwardly she cringed when she unlocked the door and the extent of her dorkiness was unleashed.

  Her office was craft central. A crocheted blanket was tossed over the love seat against the wall, and a crocheted pillow was tossed into the visitor’s chair. Her desk was covered in paperwork of all kinds, but there was a sewing basket and thread organizer next to the garbage can. The walls had her framed certifications, sure, but they also had her cross-stitch projects all over them. Stitched floral murals proclaimed things like not my circus, not my monkeys and i cannot be held responsible for what my face does when you speak and stitch life.

  “Huh,” he said, looking around.

  “Have a seat,” she told him, pulling out her latest cross-stitch project (a banner that read office, sweet office for one of her neighbors) and emptying her craft basket. She tucked a soft, crocheted blanket in there and gently set Oscar down. The dog looked up at her, tail thumping happily. “You, uh, want some coffee?”

  Jack held out the two coffees in his hands.

  “Right. Sorry if my office is a little dorky.” She’d always liked all the personality that her small office showed. After all, most accountants did boring work and most offices were boring, but not hers. In front of a date, though? That was a very different matter.

  He set her coffee down on her desk and then slowly walked around the room, gazing at the frames all over the walls. “It’s not dorky. It fits you.”

  “Because I’m dorky?”

  “Because you’re cute.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, grinning.

  Okay, she’d take that. “I’m sorry if I’ve been snappish at you today. I know I seem cranky.” She sipped her drink and pulled out a package of peanut butter cookies that she kept in her drawer for that certain time of the month. Carefully, she broke one in half and offered it to Oscar, who snarled at her hand and then gently bit down on the cookie as if he were the most delicate of animals.

  “You’ve had a hell of a day,” he commented, his boots clomping on the old wooden floors as he moved to peer at another frame. “I’d be in a terrible mood, too, if my ass was wet in this weather.”

  “It’s not the most pleasant feeling I’ve had on my ass. Not that my ass has experienced tons of feelings,” she hastily added, and then wanted to sink through the floor when he flashed her another grin.

  “It’s not fun when you’re meeting someone, I imagine.”

  “It’s not.”

  “One time, back when I was in Alaska, I flirted with this one girl at the fur shop for months. Talked a huge game, made it sound like I was a real Casanova. Finally she went out with me, and so I bought all these nice, new clothes to impress her. Of course, I tried to play it all casual-like. I took her out and she immediately asked me if I’d gotten new clothing. I said no. She reached over and pulled a size sticker off my leg. One of those long ones that you don’t see until you put the jeans on, and she peeled it real, real slow. It made the loudest noise and I remember just cringing inside and dying.” He chuckled. “For some reason, she never went out with me again.”

  “Her loss,” Layla defended. She liked that he was trying to make her feel better about her day by sharing a story like that. It was sweet. “And that’s not nearly as bad as locking yourself in the bathroom.”

  “So you say.” He gestured at one of her certificates. “What’s a CPP?”

  “Certified Payroll Professional. I can process payroll for small companies, do reporting and tax returns.” She shrugged. “That probably doesn’t mean a lot to you.”

  “It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But it sounds smart.” And the look he gave her was impressed. He gestured at the walls. “You do all these?”

  “No, I mugged old ladies and forced them to give me their craft projects.”

  Jack stared at her and then threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, I deserved that one.”

  “You kinda did,” she teased back. “But seriously, yes, they’re mine. When I was a kid, I was stressed-out a lot. My parents were divorcing and my mother was, well, my mother. So I went to a lot of therapy. My therapist suggested that if I had something to focus on, a small project of some kind, it would help me relax, and a smaller project would give me a sense of accomplishment when it was finished. So I started to crochet scarves, and then blankets, and then I started cross-stitch. I like the silly sayings more than serious things, though. A lot of cross-stitch projects are just sweet puppies and kittens and flowers, and I like things with a bit of an edge on them. Unexpected sayings.”

  And some of the sayings on the ones she had at home were utterly filthy.

  But he grinned and gave one last look to a sampler that read 99 problems but a stitch ain’t one and then sat down across from her. Oscar finished chewing his cookie, got out of the basket, and immediately went to Jack’s leg, pawing at it.

  “Traitor,” Layla muttered. “Who fed you?”

  “Can I help it if he knows I’m a sucker?” He scooped the dog up and settled him in his lap, resting a big hand on Oscar’s back.

  She smiled, offering the rest of the cookie over to the dog, but he only watched her hand warily. After a moment, Layla gave up and sighed, setting the cookie down at the edge of the desk. Sure enough, Oscar wiggled over to it and began to chew, getting crumbs everywhere.

  She glanced up at Jack, and he was watching her with that unreadable look in his eyes, a hint of a smile on his face. It made her want to squirm, because she didn’t know what he wanted from her . . . or this date . . . or anything. Did he just want her to schedule the whole “date” for the auction thing and get it over with? Or was he here because he genuinely wanted to spend time with her? Or was he just trying to figure out what to do with Oscar? She didn’t know.

  Layla bit her lip and pulled another cookie out of the pack, breaking it in half. “Sorry if this isn’t much of a walk.”

  “I don’t mind. I can walk anytime.”

  “I’ll understand if you want to call things off—”

  He tilted his head, the brim of his hat making the movement seem that much more exaggerated. “Layla, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure . . . ?”

  “Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?”

  She flushed. Dropped the cookie on the edge of the desk and sat back in her chair. “I’m best with numbers and patterns. I know exactly what’s expected of me with those. I’m not that great with people. I’m really, really not that great with the opposite sex.”

  “And?”

  “And all I’m saying is that I know I paid a lot at the auction, but it was mostly because I wanted to make sure that the project took off because Becca and Amy worked so hard on it, and I liked making my mom lose, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you call this thing off—”

  He raised a big hand in the air to silence her.

  Oscar immediately snarled, lunging at his hand.

  Grimacing, Jack hid his hand again, rolling his eyes. “This dog. Okay, Layla. You want me to be bluntly honest with you?”

  “That would be wonderful, actually.”

  “I thought I was the other night, but allow me to be even more blunt.” Jack gave her a heavy-lidded look that made her breath catch in her throat. “I’ve wanted to get
to know you from the first moment I saw you. In fact, I wanted to ask you out then, but you deliberately avoided looking in my direction, so I figured the interest was one-sided. Then you strolled on into the auction and bid on me, stepping on your own mom to do so, and you think I’m not gonna find that incredibly sexy?”

  “I’m more dork than sexy—”

  He raised a hand in the air, silencing her protest, and Oscar yipped. Jack grimaced and then continued. “You think being unique means you’re not sexy? I like a sense of humor in a girl. I like a woman that knows when to laugh. And I sure like a smart woman.” Jack gave her a frankly assessing look. “I like most everything I’ve seen so far, and I want to see more. So you’re not gonna chase me off. This isn’t for charity. Or at least, it might have started off as charity, but I’m here today because I wanted to see you. Talk to you.”

  “I thought you were here for Oscar.”

  He pointed a finger in her face. “Take a compliment, woman.”

  She mock-snapped her teeth at it and grinned.

  Jack threw his head back and laughed. “That’s better.”

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, feeling flustered, yet unable to stop smiling. “Okay, I think I get the idea now.” Whatever it was that appealed to him about her, she’d do her best to just roll with it. It was unprecedented territory for her, but also . . . kind of exciting. “You know you’re the first man I’ve ever bid on.”

  “What, there’s not a string of bachelors in your bidding past? You don’t go to all the charity bachelor auctions and try to snatch up men?”

  Laughter bubbled in her throat. “Believe it or not, no, I don’t. I’m very boring.”

  “I can see that from your office,” he deadpanned, pointing at one of her wry cross-stitch projects of a T. rex trying to use a pencil. “So, Miss Boring, you bought the cowboy experience. When do you want it?”

  Well, didn’t that sound dirty? “And what exactly is the cowboy experience?”

  “You know, some horseback riding, maybe a tour around the ranch. I could mend a fence or chop some wood and show off my guns.” He lifted an arm, flexed, and kissed his biceps.