Romancing the Cowboy, page 4
part #1 of Galentine’s Getaway Series
"I agree," Clover says, tipping back the shot glass she's been holding in her hand. "The last thing I want is some one-night stand to remember the day I lost my virginity."
"Yeah, this doesn't sound like a good idea to me either," Zoey chimes in.
"I mean it," Mina says. "This retreat is the perfect opportunity for all of you, but especially you," she says, pointing a finger at Emmy. Poor Emmy looks like she wants the earth to open beneath her feet and swallow her, but Mina's on a mission. "Stop looking at me like you don't know who I mean. The guy who fixed your porch light."
"Cabin door," Emmy groans.
"Door, light, sink, who cares?" Mina laughs. "Same difference."
"I'm sure he could fix your plumbing too," Paige says with a snort.
I grab Paige's wine glass, sliding it away from her.
"My point is, the guy is hot, and you like him. He's here and so are you. You'll never see him again, so do the math."
"Who's that?" Paige nudges me to get my attention as a curvy brunette peeks her head into the restaurant and then marches in our direction. She's pretty, and something about her feels familiar. It's her eyes, I think. Initially, I think they're gray like Cord's, but clearly, that highhanded cowboy is just stuck in my brain because this woman's eyes are a pale green.
"I don't know," I murmur.
"She works for the Sheriff," Zoey says, her voice soft. "I think her name is Cleary."
Cleary draws to a stop in front of our table.
"Hi," she says, smiling brightly at us. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I heard through the grapevine that you guys were staying here this week, and I couldn't resist gatecrashing to meet you. I love your books so much!"
"Aww," everyone says at the same time.
"I'm Cleary, and I brought some books." She motions to the weighed down tote bag hanging from her shoulder. "Wow, I feel like an ass ambushing you this way, but we've never had actual authors here before. At least any that write books that I care about."
"Don't be silly," Paige says. "We love to meet readers. Why don't you join us?"
We all scoot over to make room for her. She seems like a sweet girl.
Cleary's eyes widen and she smiles. "Seriously?" She scoots into the booth next to us.
"We'd be happy to sign. Sorry if I'm the token spokesperson," Paige says. "Most writers are introverts and actually pretty shy around people. I have two younger brothers so I can't afford to be shy." She rolls her big blue eyes.
The younger woman starts to pull books out of her bag, and sure enough, she has copies of all our books.
"Oh, this is one of my favorites!" I say, holding up a copy of one of Zoey's books. "I loved it so much."
"Me too!" Cleary gushes, excitement firing in her eyes.
"So you're from around here," Paige says. "Would you be able to help me find somewhere I could camp? I'm doing research for an upcoming book, and I just need a small patch of land where I can set up a little tent. I like to truly experience the things my characters would experience."
Mina chokes on a swallow of her drink and the rest of the girls try to swallow their laughs.
Cleary smiles widely. "I think I know just the spot. My older brothers own a ton of property around here." She rolls her eyes as if she commiserates with Paige about brothers.
I know I do. My older brother, Rhys, is a detective in Washington. I love him to death, but he drives me crazy! He's so overprotective. He would lose his mind if he knew I was going to spy on a cowboy I've only ever spoken with via email. Come to think of it, he'd lose his mind if he knew there was a cowboy, period.
Mina is right though, as much as I hate to admit it. I know nothing about the things I write. Not about cowboys or sex, not really. I'm not giving up my V-Card to just anyone, but I came here to learn about cowboys. It's time to strap on my big girl panties and grab that bull by the horn.
Tomorrow, I'm going to see what a "real cowboy" does.
"What are you doing?" I ask Paige, ducking underneath a tree limb.
"Camping. You?"
"You're camping? Already?" I stop walking and blink, surprised. She really does move fast when she sets her mind to something. It's honestly impressive. It's barely even nine in the morning. I figured she'd still be in bed, nursing a hangover like everyone else.
"Yep. Cleary found me a spot, so I set out first thing this morning. What are you doing?"
"Hiking."
"Hold the phone," Paige says, her shock rippling down the line. "You're hiking? Is this one of those things where I'm supposed to call 911 because someone abducted you and you're really asking for help?"
"What?" I laugh, startling a bluebird into flight. It squawks indignantly as it wings into the air in search of safety. I'm a little surprised it hasn't already flown off in search of warmer digs. It's supposed to snow later today. "No. I just decided to give this outdoors thing one more try."
"Uh-huh. We are so talking about this when I get back."
"Whatever," I mumble, my cheeks red even though she can't see me through the phone. Having a guilty conscience is exhausting. Everything shows on my face. "Have fun camping. Don't die."
"Have fun hiking," she sing-songs. "I want details!"
I hang up on her before she can tease me more. It's way too early and I'm hungover. Plus, I don't want to confess that I'm really going to spy on Cord. Hiking sounds less insane than I'm trooping through the woods to spy on a cowboy I think I'm obsessed with. I already almost chickened out twice this morning, mostly because it's cold out and my bed is nice and toasty. And also because jail sounds less appealing every time I think about it.
Also, I'm not very stealthy. I had the Uber drop me off about a mile from the ranch. I thought it would be less conspicuous that way. The driver thought I was a crazy person, asking to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere, but I shoved a bunch of cash at him and swore him to secrecy. Now, I'm hiking through the woods that run adjacent to Cord's property.
If they haven't already heard me coming, it'll be a miracle. The movies make sneaking look easy. It's not. I've tripped over every branch, root, and stick in the general vicinity, and got my boot stuck in the mud twice. My mind instantly flashed back to all those childhood fears of quicksand.
This is why the outdoors and I don't get along. If anyone were going to die in a freak quicksand accident, it would be me. It's far safer to stay inside where things like quicksand and poison ivy and furry caterpillars and nope ropes and flying cockroaches aren't supposed to exist.
I lean against a tree and fire off a quick text to Emmy, letting her know that I'm out exploring near the Decker ranch. That way, if I die out here, at least someone at the resort knows to send a search party. Paige probably won't be back for a day or two, so she won't know to send help until then. Especially if she loses cell signal. I'd really like to not die in the woods because I fell in a hole and froze to death waiting to be rescued.
Once I've texted Emmy, I shove my phone back into my pocket and set out again, placing my feet carefully to avoid any pitfalls. Within five minutes, I've tripped twice, tearing the pocket of my jacket and soaking the leg of my pants. Thirty seconds later, my boot tangles in a root. My arms windmill wildly as I try to keep myself upright, but it's no use. The root snaps, releasing its hold on my boot just in time to throw me completely off balance.
I fall face first over a downed log, landing in a pile of damp leaves.
"You're not allowed to die in the woods, Cassia Murphy," I mutter, rolling onto my back to stare up at the sky. A dense tangle of pine needles directly overhead blots out the sky, darkening this patch of woods. Aside from the wind rustling through the branches and the gurgle of water coming from deeper in the thick press of trees it's eerily quiet and somehow…peaceful?
I reluctantly drag myself upright, wincing when I put weight on my right foot and my ankle throbs. I think I twisted it when I fell. There's no way I'm going to make it the rest of the way in the woods without seriously injuring myself. But I'm not ready to give up either. I came this far. I might as well see this insane plan through to the end. Ride or die, right?
"Right," I say, even though I'm pretty sure that is absolutely not what that saying means. Deciding I need to get out of the trees before I do actually die out here, I limp toward the fence. The pasture stretches clear across the horizon, nothing but grass and a herd of cattle in sight to the north and south. A farmhouse and a cluster of barns and outbuildings dot the horizon to the east. I limp alongside the fence, not quite brave enough to trespass by climbing over it. Until I see part of the wiring pulled down around a metal post.
It's not technically climbing if all I have to do is step over it….
"I'm so going to jail," I whisper, darting a glance around to make sure no one is watching. If anyone is around, they're better at blending in than I am because all I see are trees and cows. The farmhouse and ranch buildings are a good half a mile ahead, still too far for me to make out much more than cows and a flurry of activity around the barns. I need to get closer to see what's happening.
I hold my breath and creep across the fence-line. My heart pounds.
Doing crime is exciting. And mildly terrifying. I feel a little like I'm in one of my books, waiting for someone to accuse me of trying to steal cattle. Cord Decker is a hot, giant jerk. If I go to jail, I'm blaming him. If he hadn't emailed me, I wouldn't be here now.
"Moo."
"Eek!" I spin around, my heart sinking when I see the giant bull standing near another break in the fence. It might be my imagination, but I'm pretty sure it's the same bull from Saturday…the one who tried to kill me and Clover on the road on the way to the resort. I peer around him, hoping to see the giant mountain man who wrangled him out of the road, but there's no one out there. It's just me and the bull.
"Good bull," I whisper, frantically trying to remember his name. Surely Cord told me his name in one of his emails. If he did, I don't remember it. I specifically remember him saying the bull is an asshole though. "Um, you have nice horns. Very pointy."
He chuffs and takes a step toward me.
Crap.
I back deeper into the pasture. Which is clearly the wrong thing to do because it seems to make the bull even angrier. He picks up speed, moving toward the downed fence far faster than an animal his size should be able to move.
I limp backwards, trying to keep one eye on him and look for safety at the same time. The only problem is he's on the other side of the only thing that passes for safety around here—the fence. And it's broken. As far as bad ideas go, this is quickly shaping up to be the worst one I've ever had.
"Good bull," I whisper. "Good, good bull."
He bellows at me.
I give up trying to be reasonable and run for my life. My ankle throbs in protest as I turn and flee toward the ranch in the distance, screaming for help. If they hear me, they probably think I sound like Pumba in that one scene in the Lion King where he's running from Nala and gets stuck in the tree root, eyes wide with fear, screaming, "She's going to eat me."
Only she is a he. And he is a very pissed off bull. Which, in this moment, seems somehow more terrifying than a starving lion. Possibly because I'm not currently running from one of those.
This is all Cord Decker's fault.
I spy a copse of pines and zag toward them, waving my arms in the air in the hopes that someone at the ranch ahead hears the commotion and is looking for the source. Please, let them be looking for the source. I'll take myself to jail after this.
There's no way I'm going to make it to the trees. The last time I ran, it was under duress. I was in high school, and my GPA depended on it. I'm still yards away from safety and already out of breath. Not to mention, sharp pains shoot up my ankle with every step. I scream and sob and run as the bull clears the gap in the fences and charges toward me, gaining ground with every step.
My ankle buckles under me. I plummet to the ground like a falling star, landing hard on my hands and knees. The abrupt stop knocks the wind out of me. Pure terror fires through my system, demanding I get up and run.
Somehow, I manage to drag myself back to my feet. But I already know there's no way I'm going to outrun the bull now. He's going to skewer me with those horns. I decide right then and there that if I'm going to die, I'd rather do it on my feet than running for my life. It's going to hurt either way, but at least I won't spend my last moments doing something I hate—running.
I prepare to turn and meet my fate.
"Hamburger, stop!" a half-naked man roars, stepping out of the trees. At least I think he's half naked. It's hard to tell because he's moving so fast, he's like a blur of dark golden skin and rippling muscle. His boots hit the ground hard enough to kick up dust as his long legs cover the distance almost as quickly as the bull's.
Two gray eyes—filled with equal parts fear and fury—tangle with mine across the distance. A shock of recognition rips through me, shaking me all the way to my core. This isn't just any half-naked man coming to my rescue. It's Cord.
Before I can even process that fact, he slams into me like a brick wall, flinging me off my feet. He hits me so hard I expect to go flying across the pasture…except I don't. Two strong arms surround me, pulling me up against his broad, sweaty chest. I smell leather and hay and him. He's bright sunshine and rich earth, leather and brandy.
We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Well, he hits the ground.
I land squarely on top of him. Yay for me. Also…wow.
He's hard everywhere, his body a thick slab of hewn muscle.
"Jesus Christ," he growls, rolling us until I'm sprawled in the grass and dirt beneath him. Only then does it occur to me that the bull stopped trying to murder me when he told it too…and that he called it Hamburger.
"You named your bull Hamburger?"
Chapter Four
CORD
"You named your bull Hamburger?" Cassia asks, staring up at me with the prettiest doe eyes I've ever seen. It might be my imagination, but they're full of outrage, like she's pissed I named the bastard Hamburger even though he just tried to split her from her alabaster throat to her soft belly.
"Don't tell me you're one of those PETA people," I mutter, running my hands all over her curvy body, worried as fuck the goddamn bull hurt her before I got to her. Seeing her running for her life shaved a good ten years off mine. As soon as I heard the screaming, I came running to see what the hell was going on. Never expected to see her fleeing in terror from that fucking bull.
"PETA people?"
I opt not to answer her question. Just in case she is one. I've got nothing against vegans, hippies, conservationists, environmentalists, or anyone else really. But the fact that I raise cattle tends to rile most of them up. Never mind that my family and my ranch have done more to solve problems than they'll ever know.
"Are you hurt, pretty baby?" I ask.
"No." Her breath hitches when I call her pretty baby. And then she seems to catch hold of herself. Her stubborn little chin comes up and she swats at my hands. "Would you stop trying to touch all of my parts and let me up?"
"I'm checking for injuries."
"On my boobs?" she hisses.
I glance down and realize she's right. I've got a hand full of one perfect tit. It overflows my meaty palm, making me grin. God yeah, she's perfect. Exactly as soft as I knew she would be. The kind of sweet a man like me could drown in and not regret a second of it. Even covered in mud, she's somehow erotic as sin and as adorable as a day-old kitten.
"What the hell are you wearing, princess?" I ask, doing a sweep from head to toe. Her black coat hangs open over a black long-sleeved t-shirt that stretches tight across her tits. Her matching leggings hug her thick thighs. They're soaked all the way to her knee on one side. She looks like a cat burglar. One ill prepared for the weather and the ranch.
"Clothes," she sniffs, pushing at my shoulders. Is it my imagination or are her cheeks red? "Will you get off me, you giant bully? Jeez, you're bigger than that maniacal bull."
"Told you he was a bastard," I grunt, jumping to my feet. Hamburger stands a few yards away, his big body positioned between us and the herd. He's protective of the heifers…which is precisely why he still has horns. He's far better security than any cowboy with a gun. Meaner too.
I glance toward the ranch to see Jace and Toby hauling ass toward us. Of course, neither of them was smart enough to saddle a horse. It's a good thing Cassia isn't hurt. Fuck. I need to hire better help around here. I've got a ranch full of horny cowboys without a lick of goddamn sense between the lot of them.
"Excuse me?" Cassia sits upright behind me. "T-told me? I don't know you."
I turn to face her, wondering what the hell she's playing at. Surely she remembers calling me a video game playing basement dweller? The way she avoids looking directly at me tells me plain as day that she remembers me just fine. She just doesn't want me to know that.
"I'm a cattle thief," she blurts before I can sort out why.
"You're a cattle thief?" I blink down at her, trying not to laugh in her face. If she's a cattle thief, I'm a fucking ballerina. Why am I smiling so hard? Better question, why the hell couldn't her friend pick a better day to camp out at Cam's? I need him here to deal with…everything so I can carry this sassy little thing upstairs and plant my kid in her.
"Yes. A cattle thief. You should call the police and have me arrested."
"Right." I chuckle, running a palm over the top of my head. The only time she'll be going near the police station is when she's bypassing it on the way to the courthouse to marry me. But I don't tell her that. I'm guessing by the panic in her voice, she doesn't want me to know who she is. Until I figure out why, I'll play her little game. But we're playing it by my rules. "Well, come on then, little cattle thief. Let's go."
"Oh, good, you believe me," she says, her shoulders sagging with relief.
"Any reason I shouldn't?"
"Nope, none at all." She beams at me, smiling so brightly the heavens part and angels actually fucking sing. My cock and heart throb, the blood in my veins resonating in time to that heavenly chorus. I've never been a religious man, but something about this wild woman has me ready to drop to my knees and praise Jesus.
