Romancing the Cowboy, page 1
part #1 of Galentine’s Getaway Series
Romancing the Cowboy
GALENTINE’S GETAWAY
NICHOLE ROSE
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Author's Note
The Galentine's Books
Follow Nichole
Nichole's Book Beauties
Also by Nichole Rose
About Nichole
Copyright © 2022 by Nichole Rose
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
To the girls. I'm so happy we're on this adventure together.
And in memory of Hamburger. You were a real jerk, but we loved your mean ass anyway.
About the Book
Spying on a bossy cowboy lands this hot mess romance author in hot water.
Cassia Murphy
I'm used to getting fan mail from readers.
I am not used to being told off by bossy cowboys.
But that's exactly what Cord Decker does when he emails me.
According to him, I know nothing about the cowboys I write.
I'll never admit it to him, but he's right.
Which is exactly why I suggest his hometown for the annual Galentine's retreat.
I can't strangle him in real life.
But no one ever said I can't make him sweat in my next book.
I just have to keep him from figuring out who I really am…
And keep from falling for him and his gruff ways.
Easy peasy, right?
Ha. I'm in way over my head.
Cord Decker
I don't know what prompted me to email Cassia Murphy.
But I can't keep the curvy blonde author out of my head.
I never expected to find her running for her life from one of my bulls.
Didn't expect to fall hard for her smart mouth, either.
She thinks I don't know who she is.
She's wrong.
This sassy little romance author is mine.
I plan to teach her everything she needs to know about cowboys…
In bed and out of it.
When this older cowboy rescues a hot mess author from a crazy bull, she learns a whole lot more than she anticipated. If you enjoy growly cowboys, sassy heroines, and laugh-out-loud comedy, you'll love Cord and Cassia's story!
Prologue
CASSIA
"What the fudge?" I mutter, glaring at the email on my laptop screen. It's so rude!
Ms. Murphy,
My sister left a copy of your book, A Cowboy for Christmas, at my place. I regret to inform you that I made the mistake of giving it a read. You paint a pretty picture with words, but you haven't ever seen a real cowboy a day in your life, have you?
Declan was about as realistic as my prize bull's hopes of escaping this fine establishment for greener pastures. The bastard has been trying for years. Sad to say, he isn't going anywhere but to the butcher if he keeps it up.
A real cowboy would have shot that abusive, lying SOB, Bromley, on sight. And then hid his body where no one would find it. And don't even get me started on having relations in the barn. Hay itches like a son of a bitch.
You should spend some time on a ranch before you try writing about them.
A REAL Cowboy,
Cord Decker
"Of all the nerve," I growl to my cat, Sisyphus. "I bet he's not even a real cowboy. He's probably a middle-aged man who lives in his mom's basement and plays video games all day. He's a troll, that's what he is."
Sisyphus meows his agreement and then goes back to licking his junk. At least I assume it's agreement. With him, it's hard to tell. He's very chill for a cat.
I blow my hair out of my face and scan Cord Decker's email again, my irritation growing with every word. My leg bounces up and down, my foot thumping against the side of the chair. Normally, I ignore critical emails like authors are taught to do. Responding never leads anywhere good, and the last thing we want to do is attack a reader for having an opinion. It just makes us look gross. But something about this one…the nerve of this man!
I hit reply, my fingers flying across the keyboard.
Mr. Decker,
I regret to inform you that I made the mistake of reading your email. You string sentences together quite well, but you haven't ever read a work of fiction a day in your life, have you?
Declan is a romantic hero. He's not supposed to be entirely believable. Also, he didn't kill Bromley because he wasn't worth killing.
I'm rooting for your bull and his future freedom.
My condolences to whomever you're having relations with. I hope she finds your performance more satisfactory than I found your email.
Cassia Murphy
"I can't send this," I say, reading over it again. Writing it filled me with satisfaction, but the last thing I need is for the world to think I'm a crazy pants. I mean, I am a crazy pants. But sending this off into the world only confirms it.
I quickly delete the email before I change my mind, and then close the browser. Stretching my arms over my head, I roll my neck on my shoulders and then climb out of my desk chair. I've been working my butt off all day to finish my new book.
I need food. Maybe that'll make me less grumpy.
Before I even make it out of the office, my phone dings with an incoming email. My inbox is always a nightmare. Mostly because it scares me so I ignore it. It's a blackhole at this point. I'm never going to get it cleaned out. Making a New Year's Resolution to stay on top of it was not my best idea. Now I feel obligated to check it just so I don't break the stupid resolution even though I'm ninety-nine percent positive breaking resolutions is the only reason we make them in the first place.
I groan and pull the phone out of my pocket.
"What the heck?" I stop in the middle of the room when I see Cord Decker's name at the top of the list of unread emails. I quickly scroll to it.
Ms. Murphy,
I'll pass along your support to the bull. He'll be overjoyed to hear of it, I'm sure.
"Oh no," I whisper, scrolling down in horror. "Oh no, oh no, oh no." I sent him the email instead of deleting it! He's probably furious. I gulp audibly and scroll back to his response.
A cowboy never kisses and tells. You should know that, considering you write us. But you'll be relieved to know I'm not what you refer to as a manwhore.
Declan should have killed Bromley. He touched what didn't belong to him. You never touch another man's woman. Ever.
Oh, jeez. He's completely crazy. But that's still kind of hot. No. No way. Nothing about this man is hot. I'm just delusional.
If you ever want to see what a real cowboy does…
Cord
I shove my phone into my pocket, whimpering. I cannot believe I accidentally sent him that email! There's no way I'm responding to this one. I've done enough damage for one day, thank you very much.
"Not again," I groan a week later, staring in dismay at my inbox. Cord Decker is driving me nuts! I'm pretty sure he's reading his way through my entire catalog just to piss me off at this point. Every day, he sends me another email to inform me of something I've gotten wrong.
The way he says it… Argh! I'm contemplating naming the villain in my next book Cord Decker just so I can kill him off. Maybe then he'll take the hint.
Who am I kidding?
The hero in my book has started to sound suspiciously like him. I spend all dang day looking for his emails. When they don't come, I get grumpy. And then when they do come, I get grumpy too. He's so rude! He critiques my heroes like it's his job. I'm pretty sure he's only doing it to get me to respond. So far, I haven't taken the bait since that first day.
Ms. Murphy,
My sister has informed me that I'm not allowed to borrow her books anymore. Apparently, she's very protective of them and I wrinkle the pages. The local librarian is now convinced I'm batting for the other team. This is your fault.
Jedidiah hasn't been a good cowboy name in at least two centuries. But at least he knows how to rope a damn bull. Impressive, by the way. I bet you watched a tutorial, didn't you?
You stopped responding. I'm left to assume this is because you know I'm right.
Still willing to teach,
Cord
PS: The bull is a father again. Out of season. He's also still a bastard.
I huff out a breath that's half grunt of irritation, half laugh. He's persistent, I'll give him that. He's also crazy if he thinks he's right. I know he's only trying to needle me into responding. And it's working, darn it!
Mr. Decker,
Good for your sister. She should make you fend for yourself. You know where the library is located? Impressive. I was under the impression the last book you read before mine was How to Win Friends and Influence People. You should read it again, by the way. You aren't very people-y.
Cord was never a good cowboy name, but you don't hear me complaining, do you?
I'm amazed that a "real cowb
Cassia
PS: Shall I send the balloons in the bull's name or yours?
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, and then click back over to my manuscript. My cowboy and his new vet are in the barn, arguing about a horse. The scene is supposed to end with them doing the dirty up against the stall door, but I've been stuck on it for the last hour. It's Cord's fault. I keep thinking about what he said about hay itching. Now I can't stop picturing him getting her pants down and a piece of hay tickling her rear the whole time.
There's nothing sexy about that!
"Argh!" I cry, throwing my hands up.
Sisyphus startles on the desk next to me, his black ears and tail twitching.
"Sorry." I reach out to rub between his ears.
He purrs and brushes up against me before settling back down to his afternoon nap in the tiny sliver of sunlight shining on the corner of my desk.
Ding!
Cord's name lights up the notification at the bottom of my screen. My heart jumps into a full gallop. I quickly click into his email, eager to see his response.
Ms. Murphy,
How much did it cost to sneak a peek at my library card? Did you find anything interesting? And here I thought Lorna was closely guarding my reading habits. I shall discuss her loose lips with her on my next venture into town.
You say "real cowboy" as if there's any doubt. I can assure you, princess, I ain't the fantasy version. Unlike Jedidiah. Eleven inches?! Christ almighty. Real cowboys get it done with a few less. And still leave you walking funny.
Skip the balloons. The ugly bastard doesn't have an appreciative bone in his body. If you really want to celebrate…tell me more about this bubble bath and tea. Can I drink it from a man mug or must it be from a dainty piece of fine china like one of your romantic heroes?
Cord
PS: If this bubble bath involves you, tell me more. This isn't a request. Tell me more.
"He's a crazy man," I say, smiling despite myself. I don't even know why I'm smiling! He emails me to complain. And yet…and yet I look forward to hearing from him far more than I should.
Mr. Decker (if that's really your name),
You claim to be a "real cowboy", but I've yet to see any qualifications. For all I know, you're actually a forty-year-old who lives in his mom's basement and spends all his time knitting socks for kittens and playing video games. You probably smoke a carton a week and never wear anything except boxers and a wife beater.
Huh. I think I just solved the mystery as to why you keep reading my books when you clearly hate them. I think I also just realized why you aren't a manwhore…
You need a hobby that isn't bugging me every day. Perhaps trolling people on Reddit would be more your speed?
Cassia
PS: Leave Lorna alone. I paid a pretty penny to get her to spill your dirty secrets. You've been up to no good, haven't you?
I read over it and giggle to myself. It's just the right amount of feisty and insulting. If he was hoping to get a rise out of me by being all bossy and sexy, this will drive him nuts. At least I hope it does. It's his turn to stew for a little while.
I quickly hit send before I can talk myself out of it. And then I sit and wait. And wait. And wait.
"Ahh!" I cry fifteen minutes later, nearly catapulting out of my chair when his response comes in. Even though I was waiting for it, it still scares the crap out of me. What is this man doing to me?! And why do I like it so much?
Ms. Murphy,
Proof.
I knit them sweaters, not socks. Get it right, princess.
Now, about that bubble bath…
Cord
I click on the link in his email, rabidly curious. A webpage for his ranch loads, stalling me in my tracks. Either he's a real cowboy, or he's catfishing me. For some reason, I doubt it's the latter. He seems too…comfortably familiar with cowboys. I have no idea why he's torturing me by reading my books, but I don't think he's lying about who he says he…
"Holy crap," I whisper, my mouth gaping open when a picture of him loads on the screen. This is the bossy, rude, crazy man who keeps emailing me? He's precisely the reason that saying, save a horse ride a cowboy was created. I am not mentally prepared to deal with this.
His penetrating gaze cuts through me, even through the dang computer, making my stomach tremble. His square jaw and dark scowl give him a rough, mean look, as if he's as wild as the bull he keeps telling me about, but there's something about him, something…soothing. His skin is tanned a dark golden brown from the sun, with darker spots on his forearms and bold tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He's a brick wall of muscle, easily more impressive than the massive horse at his side.
My stomach trembles again.
"He's a giant," I mutter. "A hot, sexy giant."
No wonder he's all…ugh! And argh! I bet growing all those muscles shrunk his brain. He probably thinks it's totally normal behavior to annoy me every day. I bet he's been thrown from horses and bucked around and who knows what else. Clearly, it addled his brain. It definitely has if he thinks I'm telling him about me in a bubble bath.
He's not wrong, though, not entirely.
I haven't ever seen a real cowboy in action. Everything I know about them, I learned from books. That's what I'm good at. Books. Reading. Researching. Men like Cord Decker…well, I wouldn't know the first thing about them. It's safer that way.
And yet…and yet a big part of me wants to learn about this man. Not because he's a hot, sexy giant. But because I think I like his emails a little bit too much. At least I did before I saw him. Now though?
"No way, Cassia Murphy," I whisper to myself. "No way, no way, no way."
Chapter One
CASSIA
Six Weeks Later
"We're going to die," I announce, hanging onto the oh-shit handle in Clover Thompson's rental like my life depends on it. I think it might. She's careening around curves as if there aren't patches of ice on the road and no barriers standing between us and certain death.
I have no idea why I suggested Lake Tahoe for our annual writers' retreat. Actually, I do know why. Because Cord Decker—hot, bossy cowboy extraordinaire—has turned me into a madwoman since he started emailing me six weeks ago to complain about my books.
