Книга - Texas Outlaws: Billy

Texas Outlaws: Billy
Kimberly Raye






“This is all about business …”

Sabrina licked her bottom lip and Billy had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “My business. FindMeACowboy.com.”

“Sounds highly illegal.”

A grin tugged at her full lips. “It’s a dating service.” “Why cowboys?”

“Because they’re generally hard workers, trustworthy, loyal.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever thought about meeting someone online?”

“I meet plenty of women as it is, and I barely have time for any of them. I ride bulls for a living, and I’m this close to my first championship.”

“Yet here you are dancing with me.” Despite the stiff way she held herself, there was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep blue eyes that said she was hungry for more than she wanted to admit. “One would be inclined to think you’re looking for someone.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t about a date.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s about sex, darlin’.” Billy pulled her closer, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm around her waist.

“Lots of breath-stealing, bone-melting sex …”


Texas Outlaws: Billy

Kimberly Raye




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


USA TODAY bestselling author KIMBERLY RAYE started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. To date, she’s published more than fifty novels, two of them prestigious RITA


Award nominees. She’s also been nominated by RT Book Reviews for several Reviewer’s Choice Awards, as well as a career achievement award. Currently she is writing a romantic vampire mystery series that is in development with ABC for a television pilot. She also writes steamy contemporary reads for the Mills & Boon


Blaze


line. Kim lives deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country with her very own cowboy, Curt, and their young children. She’s an avid reader who loves Diet Dr Pepper, chocolate, Toby Keith, chocolate, alpha males (especially vampires) and chocolate. Kim also loves to hear from readers. You can visit her online at www.kimberlyraye.com (http://www.kimberlyraye.com).


This book is for Josh. You’ve turned into a fine young man and I couldn’t be more proud of you! Go Tarleton Texans!


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u5af5bcc6-5fa6-5830-9d8f-df8c5fd0f7fb)

Chapter 2 (#u41cc0ce7-03ae-592a-8933-1925e89107b8)

Chapter 3 (#u8e32a80b-f01a-5bc4-a8a0-6467430a83e6)

Chapter 4 (#u26980f76-b48c-539f-a852-9d2225202da8)

Chapter 5 (#u0e4cdc1f-2dc0-5700-b9c6-9fc98640f58d)

Chapter 6 (#u0491e9ac-6c8d-5c78-8979-4c46340353f3)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


1

PRO BULL RIDER William Bonney Chisholm had a hard-on the size of Texas.

He stood smack-dab in the middle of the kickoff dance for the Lost Gun Fair and Rodeo, a three-week-long event taking place at the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town. The band had started up. Couples two-stepped across the dance floor. The pungent scent of beer and livestock teased his nostrils. Cigarette smoke cluttered the air.

Easy, bud. Easy.

He shifted and damned himself for being such a sucker for the opposite sex. Blondes, in particular.

He’d fallen hard and fast years back the first moment he’d set eyes on Tami Elder’s Malibu Barbie. Tami had taken riding lessons at the ranch where Billy and his two older brothers had grown up. They’d been taken in by rodeo star Pete Gunner after their crook of a father had died in a house fire. Since Billy’s mother had passed years before that and the Gunner spread was an all-male domain—home to the infamous Lost Boys, a crackerjack group of young riders trained and honed by pro bull rider Pete Gunner himself—the only female Billy had ever kept company with had been a paint horse by the name of Lula Bell.

Until Tami had started coming out to the ranch every Sunday. He’d done his best, like any ten-year-old boy when faced with a cootie-carrying girl, to make her life a living hell. He’d shot spit wads while she’d rubbed down her horse and fired his water gun at her while she’d trotted around the corral.

He’d hated her, and she’d hated him, and all had been right with his male-dominated world. Then one hot summer afternoon, everything had changed. That had been the summer he’d turned eleven and spied his oldest brother, Jesse, kissing Susie Alexander, the local rodeo queen.

Kissing, of all things.

Billy had been hurt, then he’d been mad, and then he’d glimpsed an actual tongue and he’d been damned interested. For a little while. Then he’d been mad again and he’d raced off to gather some chinaberries for his slingshot. To see how many shots it took to get his brother away from Miss Travis County.

He’d been up in a nearby tree counting his berries when Tami had finished her riding lesson. She’d slid off the horse and wandered over to the tree, her doll case in hand, to play until her dad finished talking to the riding instructor. He’d meant to shoot off a few practice shots at her, but then her dad had called her over. He’d climbed down and had been about to stomp the daylights out of her Barbie when he’d realized that it wasn’t just any old Barbie.

It was a naked one.

Just like that, his belief system had done a complete one-eighty. One glance at all those interesting curves and that long blond hair and those deep blue eyes, and he’d started to wonder at the possibilities when it came to the real thing.

Yep, he loved blondes.

The trouble was, the pretty little thing standing near the bar was a brunette.

His gaze swept from her long, wavy brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail to the shiny tips of her black stilettos, and back up again. She looked nothing like the other buckle bunnies crowding the dance floor. No itty-bitty tank tops or scandalous Daisy Duke shorts. Instead, she wore a black skirt that accented her tiny waist and a sleeveless black blouse that fell softly against a modest pair of breasts. There was nothing voluptuous about her. Nothing outright sexy.

Ah, but there was something about the way she stood there, her back so stiff and straight, her lips parted slightly as she sipped from a red plastic cup, that made his adrenaline pump that much faster.

She was a yuppie through and through. Out of her element, given the three-inch heels and what he would be willing to bet was wine in her glass. Probably a big-city reporter who’d gotten stuck covering the local rodeo.

He would have figured her for one of the big-time reporters who’d been in attendance to cover the “Where Are They Now?” episode of Famous Texas Outlaws, a documentary that had featured his father and the crime that had brought a wave of notoriety crashing down on the small town of Lost Gun, Texas. The original episode had aired just six years after his father’s death, and the “Where Are They Now?” follow-up just two short weeks ago.

But most of the press had all cleared out, making way for the influx of rodeo riders and fans who’d come from all over the state for the best little rodeo in Texas.

Still, she had that big-city look about her.

She didn’t belong here, and damned if that didn’t pique his curiosity. A man could only drink black coffee so many mornings before he started hankering for something different. Maybe a few packets of sugar to sweeten things up. Or one of those fancy lattes with all the whipped cream.

A vision hit him, of her naked beneath him, whipped cream covering the really interesting parts, and his groin throbbed. He shifted, eager to give himself a few precious inches of breathing room. No such luck. He’d been training for weeks, straddling the celibacy horse in order to maintain his focus. Tomorrow was his chance. His first shot at riding his way straight into the champion’s seat. His brother Jesse, the current PBR champ, had just announced his intention to marry the love of his life and start a business breeding his own bucking bulls. After sweeping the preliminaries with perfect scores just a few days before, he’d decided to pull out of the local rodeo. He was ready to step down from professional bull riding completely and turn his attention to something more long-term. Which meant every bull rider from here to kingdom come was gunning for that top spot.

But the winner’s seat belonged to Billy.

He’d waited too long for this shot, worked too hard. He wasn’t letting anything mess it up and he wasn’t letting anyone beat him.

All the more reason to turn and get while the getting was good. Billy had come out tonight to have a few beers and relax. To lose the nerves.

He’d had a shitty training session today and all because he was wound tighter than a rattlesnake about to strike. He’d gone four days without a decent night’s sleep. Four days of tossing and turning and visualizing the semifinals coming up in eight days. He needed a good strong ride to push him into the finals. And he needed great to actually win.

And he had to win.

Because even more than the title, Billy had several sponsorships riding on this next win. Big money all looking to back the next superstar since they were losing Jesse. And if there was one thing Billy liked, it was money. Before Pete had taken him in, Billy and his brothers had grown up dirt-poor without a pot to piss in. Their dad had spent his time drinking himself into a stupor and looking for the next big score instead of taking care of his three boys. That had meant cheese sandwiches for dinner every night.

When they’d had dinner, that is.

There’d been too many times when they’d had nothing at all. No food on the table. No shoes on their feet. No decent clothes on their backs. No bed to lay their heads. He and his brothers had spent more than one night in the backseat of their dad’s broken-down Chevy because the old man had gone on a drinking binge, thanks to some moneymaking heist gone wrong.

Billy had been young at the time, only eight when Silas Chisholm had died in that fire after the biggest score of his life had earned him two minutes of fame and a feature spot in the hour-long Famous Texas Outlaws.

More like Stupid Texas Outlaws. The old man had been celebrating with a case of white lightning that had made him more than a little careless with a lit cigarette. He’d set himself on fire and taken the money with him.

At least that’s what everyone thought.

Billy ignored the mess of questions swimming in his head. Questions that had just started to surface, thanks to a surge of new interest sparked by the anniversary of the documentary and his oldest brother’s crazy intuition.

Jesse had dropped the bomb just a few days ago that he felt certain the money was still out there and that Silas had had a partner in the heist. His older brother had even uncovered said partner’s identity.

Not that Billy gave a shit about any of it. He was more content to let sleeping dogs lie. To stop trying to dig up the past and just leave it six feet under where it belonged.

He wanted to forget those early days. The cold upholstery beneath his cheek. The hunger eating at his gut. The uncertainty knocking in his chest. And the bitter fact that out of all three boys, Billy was a chip off the old block. The spitting image of his father.

The same hair.

The same eyes.

The same, period.

Like hell.

He might look like the old man, but he wasn’t following the same miserable path. He was going to ride his ass off, impress as many sponsors as possible and bring home a win.

Hopefully.

He stiffened against the niggling doubt and took another drink of his beer.

He needed to get out of his head and breathe for a little while. Maybe talk shop with the other contestants and see who posed the biggest threat. He had an idea, since he’d been following all of his fellow contenders, but still. It was good to see them face-to-face, to look deep into their eyes and see the drive. The determination. To see who messed up tonight by drinking too much, or staying out too late, or carousing with too many women. All three were distractions better avoided.

Which was why Billy sure as shootin’ wasn’t out tonight looking to get laid. No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

Hell, no.

He tugged at the top button of his shirt and tossed down another swallow of Coors Light. Neither did much to cool the fiery lust burning him up from the inside out. Tossing down another long swallow, he turned his attention to the old cowboy standing next to him.

Eli McGinnis was the grandfather that Billy had never had. He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a Larry McMurtry novel with his snow-white slicked back hair and a handlebar mustache that curled up at the ends. He wore a plaid Western shirt starched within an inch of its life, a pair of Wranglers and a knowing expression that said he’d been there and done that a dozen times over. An old rodeo cowboy, he’d been a permanent fixture at the Gunner spread for as long as Billy could remember. A mentor to all of the Lost Boys, Billy included. Eli had also been instrumental in Billy’s success on the rodeo circuit. The old cowboy had been handing out advice and badgering him into hanging on just a little longer, a little tighter, a little more, for years now.

“...make sure your hand’s under the rope real solid before you even think about giving the signal.”

“Got it.”

“And keep your back bowed, but not too bowed.”

“Will do.”

“And get your eyeballs back into your head.”

“Already done—” The comment cut off as Billy’s head snapped up. He stared into the old man’s knowing gaze. “What the hell are you talking about, Eli?”

“That uppity-up over yonder.” Eli motioned across the sawdust floor. “If you keep staring at her like that, she’s liable to burst into flames right here and now.”

“You’re losin’ it, old man. I’m doing no such thing. My mind’s all about tomorrow.”

“True enough, but to get to tomorrow, you’ve got to make it through tonight.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Landsakes, do I have to spell it out for you?” He gave Billy a nudge. “Get your ass over there and dance with the woman. Otherwise, you’ll keep wonderin’ and that sure as shit’s gonna kill your concentration and lead to another sleepless night. Better to blow off some steam and get your mind off everything for a little while.”

“I thought it was better to avoid any and all distractions.”

“Yeah, but if that isn’t working out too well, you have to move on to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Just get to it and get it out of your system.”

Billy glanced across the dance floor, his gaze colliding with the hot brunette’s. The air rushed from his lungs in that next instant, and for a split second he forgot to breathe.

A crazy reaction. But then that’s what happened when a twenty-six-year-old, red-blooded male in his prime went without sex for four months and six days and two hours and twenty-nine minutes.

Lust.

That’s all it was.

And nerves.

Tomorrow was big. The first official day of training for the semifinal round that would, hopefully, lead him straight to the finals. The press would be there. The rodeo officials. The fans. All watching and speculating. It made sense he’d be a little nervous. Not scared, mind you. More like anxious. Excited.

He sure as hell wasn’t getting all worked up because of the way her eyes sparkled and her lips curved into a smile.

A smile, for Christ’s sake.

“Maybe you’re right,” he heard himself say. “Maybe I should just get to it.”

“The sooner you start, the sooner it ends.” Eli nodded. “Then you can get focused again and forget all about those long legs and that tiny little waist and those really big—”

“Enough,” he cut in. “I get the point.”

“Then stop talking and start walking.”

“Yes, boss.” He left the old man grinning after him and headed across the dance floor.


2

SABRINA COLLINS NEEDED a cowboy in the worst way.

One hundred and fifty of them to be exact, which was the only reason she’d agreed to leave her L.A. apartment and head for a place like Lost Gun, Texas.

The small town played host to one of the biggest rodeos in the state, which had started a few days ago with several preliminary events. The official start, however, was tonight’s dance. While the town was little more than a map dot, for the next few weeks it would be the place to be for rodeo fans across the nation. Particularly the male variety.

On top of that, the town had gained recent notoriety thanks to a documentary featuring famous Texas outlaws. Lost Gun had started out over one hundred and fifty years ago as a haven for outlaws and criminals, and so it had been a natural pick for the documentary crew who’d not only played up the town’s history but also focused on a crime committed by one of Lost Gun’s very own who’d robbed a local bank and then bit the bullet in a house fire. The money had supposedly perished in the fire, but the television host had raised enough questions to make viewers think that the treasure might still be out there. The town had been a go-to spot for fortune seekers ever since.

Not that Sabrina was interested in a bunch of treasure hunters.

She wanted cowboys. Hot, handsome, real cowboys.

Just like the one headed straight for her.

He had short blond hair and chiseled features. The faintest shadow of a beard covered his strong jaw. A white cotton T-shirt—the words Cowboy Tuff blazing in red letters across the front—framed his massive shoulders and hugged his thick biceps. Worn, faded denim cupped his crotch and molded to trim hips and long, muscular legs. His scuffed brown boots had obviously seen better days, but then that was the way every cowboy worth his salt liked them.

She could still remember the boys back in her small-town high school, a map dot in East Texas that wasn’t so different from this one. The boys back home would rather duct-tape their favorite boots than give them up for a shiny new pair.

There was no duct tape in sight, but this guy still looked every bit as wild as any wrangler she’d left behind when she’d rolled out of Sugar Creek and headed for UCLA.

Sabrina’s fingers tightened around the plastic cup in her hand and a shiver of excitement worked its way up her spine.

Because he was a cowboy and another name to add to her currently growing database.

She certainly wasn’t feeling all tingly because of the way he looked at her. As if he wanted to take several slow bites and savor each one.

No biting.

No savoring.

No.

She pulled a business card from her purse that listed her email address and her cell phone number.

Numbers. It was all about the numbers.

That’s what Mitch, team leader for the investment firm, had told her when she’d approached them about fronting the start-up cash for a new online-dating service that specialized in Western singles. The service was the brainchild of Sabrina and her two college roommates, Livi Hudson and Katherine Ramsey. Since Sabrina knew how to write, she’d penned the business model, while Livi focused on the marketing and Kat handled the actual web design. The idea had grown out of yet another bad breakup for Livi, followed by a night of apple martinis and Bonanza reruns.

Forget the bank executives and the grungy tattoo artists and the egocentric personal trainers. Livi wanted a real man. A man’s man.

A cowboy.

And if she wanted one, then there had to be a ton of other women out there who did, too, right?

Sabrina hadn’t been as convinced, but money talks and polls on Facebook and Twitter had convinced her that Livi’s idea might be just the ticket to becoming her own boss.

The three had set up a website, done some soft-launch testing at various singles events and now it was time to put up or shut up. If they could prove to potential investors that they could stock their database with an adequate number of profiles, both men and women, then Southern Money International would front the initial capital needed to officially launch FindMeACowboy.com. They’d given the trio three months to build their singles database.

That had been two months and two weeks ago and while Sabrina and her besties had managed to sign up a decent number of females, they were falling a little short when it came to eligible males.

Men were crucial.

Tall, strong, Stetson-wearing men.

With time running out, Sabrina had had no choice. Kat had stayed back in L.A. to fine-tune the website and finish entering profiles while Sabrina and Livi had headed to Texas. It was Lost Gun or failure.

“Listen, I know this isn’t your favorite place, but how bad can it be?”

Sabrina cast a sideways glance at the petite redhead standing next to her at the bar.

Livi shrugged. “Okay, so we’re talking bad with a capital B. You hate small towns and we’re in a small town. Still—” she cast a glance around “—it’s kind of fun. I always wanted to learn to two-step.”

“And I want to be the next Woodward and Burns.”

Or at least, she had back when she’d been a freshman taking her first journalism class and the real world had been four years away. But entry-level journalist positions were hard to come by, and if she did manage to land one, she wouldn’t make enough to cover her rent, much less pay back the mountain of student loans.

Which is the reason that she’d taken a slight vacation from hard-core journalism to write fluff pieces for a few local tabloids and work on FindMeACowboy.com. The fluff coupled with the dating service would pay the bills and then some. Meanwhile, she would keep writing for the few blogs that actually liked her work and build her résumé. She was already brainstorming a new piece—an in-depth look at the bank robbery that had put Lost Gun on the map. Who knew? Maybe she could find a new twist regarding the missing money. She was here, after all. She might as well ask around.

In the meantime, she was going to sign up as many cowboys as possible and get the hell back to the city just as soon as she filled up her database.

“I feel like dancing.” Livi’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m going to head over to that table and ask one of those hunks to dance.” She indicated a handful of good-looking men in starched Western shirts. “And then I’m going to sign him up and find him the love of his life.”

Sabrina smiled as Livi made a beeline for the group. The expression died a heartbeat later when she heard the deep, seductive voice.

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Excuse me?” She cast a sideways glance at the hunky cowboy she’d spotted earlier.

Up close he was even more mouthwatering.

“Love.” His eyes glittered a hot, potent violet. His lips curved in a sexy smile. “Life isn’t about love. It’s about lust.”

“Is that so?”

He shrugged. “Lust makes the world go ’round.”

“So sayeth a commitment-fearing man.”

“I don’t fear commitment, sugar.” He shrugged. “I just don’t see the point in it.”

“And you are?”

“William Bonney Chisholm—” he touched a tanned finger to the brim of his Stetson and tipped it toward her “—but folks around here just call me Billy.”

“As in the Billy Chisholm?” Her mind scrambled, recalling bits and pieces from the posters plastered around town and the commentaries airing on the local radio stations. “The bull rider?”

A grin spread from ear to ear. “You’ve heard about me.”

“Actually, I’ve heard about your brother. He’s the current pro bull-riding champion, right?”

“For now. But he’s getting slow and preoccupied and I can guaran-damn-tee that another win isn’t in the cards for him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he sold out in the name of love and now his concentration’s for shit. The only plus is that he smartened up and ran for the hills before he embarrassed himself.” He arched an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Sabrina Collins.”

“You a reporter?” he asked, which made sense since the place was crawling with them.

“I wish.” The words were out before she could stop them. She stiffened. “What I mean is, I do have a journalism degree, but I’m not here for that.” She handed him her business card. “I’m with FindMeACowboy.com. We’re an online-dating service for cowboys and cowgirls, and anyone wanting to meet either one. You’d be perfect for our website.”

“What about a dance? Would I work for that?”

Her gaze went to the crowded dance floor filled with sliding boots and swaying Wranglers. “I’ve never really danced to country music.”

He winked. “There’s a first time for everything.” He touched her and her heart stalled.

And then his strong fingers closed around hers and he led her out to the dance floor.


3

BILLY HAD RUBBED bellies with more than his fair share of women over the years. But none had ever felt as soft or as warm as Sabrina Collins.

The notion struck him the moment he pulled her close and felt her pressed up against his body. He trailed his fingertips down the side of her face, under the curve of her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, until the silky fabric of her blouse stopped him.

“You don’t look like much of a rodeo fan,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “Rodeos I can do without. Cowboys are a different matter altogether. I need as many as possible.”

“I’ve heard a lot of pickup lines, but that’s a first.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She licked her bottom lip and he had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “This is all about business. My business. FindMeACowboy.com.”

“Sounds highly illegal.”

A grin tugged at her full lips. “It’s a dating service.”

“Why cowboys?”

“Because they’re generally hard workers, trustworthy, loyal.”

“You don’t sound one hundred percent convinced.” There was a cautious air about her and she seemed to stiffen as he stared down at her.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” She shrugged. “It’s about the three thousand, four hundred and seventy-two women that we polled last year. So?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever thought about meeting someone online?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I meet plenty of women as it is, and I barely have time for any of them. I ride bulls for a living and this is my year. This rodeo is the first step to my very own championship in the fall. I don’t have time for dating.”

“Yet here you are dancing with me.” Despite the stiff way she held herself, there was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep blue eyes that said she was hungry for more than she wanted to admit. “One would be inclined to think you’re looking for someone.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t about a date.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s about sex, darlin’.” He pulled her closer, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm around her waist. “Lots of breath-stealing, bone-melting sex.”

Billy’s words slid into her ears, coaxing her to soften in his arms the way the warm heat of his body urged her to relax and let her guard down.

Fat chance.

The last thing she needed was to wind up in bed with a cowboy. For all her determination to find as many hunky, Wrangler-wearing hotties as possible, she wasn’t looking for one for herself. Sabrina Collins didn’t do cowboys. She’d seen firsthand just how unreliable they could be, and she certainly wasn’t interested in spending the rest of her life with one.

Then again, Billy Chisholm wasn’t exactly proposing marriage.

“You smell like cotton candy,” he murmured, his rich, deep voice sizzling over her nerve endings.

“A cotton-candy martini. The out-of-towner special over at the bar. About the sex thing, I’m really not interested.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you like sex?”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Maybe I don’t like you.”

“Sugar, you don’t even know me. I’m a great guy. Awesome.” The teasing light in his eyes eased the stiffness in her muscles and she felt the flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach. A good sign if she’d just run into a nice-looking guy at her local Starbucks. But Billy Chisholm wasn’t your average Joe and she wasn’t letting herself get sucked in by his Southern charm.

Still. He talked a good talk. She arched an eyebrow. “Awesome, huh?”

“In bed and out.”

“Most men who walk around talking about how awesome they are in the sack usually aren’t much to talk about.”

“I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

She wanted to.

Her hands crept up the hard wall of his chest, her arms twined around his neck and she leaned closer.

His heart beat against her breasts. His warm breath sent shivers down the bare column of her neck. His hands splayed at the base of her spine, one urging her even closer while the other crept its way up, as if memorizing every bump and groove, until he reached her neck. A few deft movements of his fingers and the tight ponytail she wore unraveled. Her hair spilled down her back.

His hand cradled the base of her scalp, massaging for a few blissful moments, making her legs tremble and her good intentions scramble.

For the next few moments, she forgot all about her website and the all-important fact that she was supposed to be working right now.

She tilted her head back and found him staring down at her, as if he wanted to scoop her over his shoulder and haul her home to bed.

She had a quick vision of him wearing nothing but his cowboy hat, looming over her, his muscles gleaming in the moonlight as he loved her within an inch of her life.

And then walked away the next morning.

And that was the problem in a nutshell.

Sabrina had been there and done that. After she’d left home at eighteen, she’d been hellbent on not falling in love, and so she’d focused on lust. She’d indulged in too many one-night stands during those slutty college years, and beyond. Until she’d watched one of her roommates, Kat, meet the man of her dreams and fall in love. That had been two years ago when Kat had been a kindred spirit. A faithful believer in one-night stands just like Sabrina. Until she’d met Harry. He was an accountant by trade and living proof that there were a few good men out there. He didn’t lie or cheat or try to charm his way out of a difficult situation. He relied on honesty and integrity and he made Kat feel like a queen.

Sabrina wanted a Harry of her own and so she’d stopped wasting her time with one-night stands.

Sure, she liked sex, and she sure missed it after eleven months of celibacy—the amount of time since her last relationship—but she also liked camaraderie. She wanted a man to make her pancakes the next morning. A man who called if he was running late after work. A man who wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of commitment.

A man who could give her more than just a really great orgasm.

Not that she minded a really great orgasm. But she preferred the friendship that came with an actual relationship. And when she wasn’t in a relationship like now? She had a vibrator that could deliver without all the awkwardness that followed a brief sexual encounter.

No fumbling for clothing or making promises that would never be kept. A vibrator was simple. Easy. Honest.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea. If you’ll excuse me...” She didn’t wait for a response. She darted away from him and left him staring after her.

His gaze drilled into her, and it was all she could do to keep from running back and begging him to give her the ride of her life.

He could. She knew it. She felt it.

She headed for the rear exit. Out in the parking lot, she climbed behind the wheel of her ancient Bonneville. She gave one last look at the exit door, half expecting, half hoping that he would come after her. He didn’t, and a swell of disappointment went through her, quickly followed by a wave of relief.

The last thing, the very last thing she needed in her life, was to fall into bed with the exact type of man she’d sworn off of years ago.

Her father had been a cowboy. A charming, salt-of-the-earth type, who worked from sunrise to sunset and never complained. But while he had a strong work ethic, his moral code had desperately lacked. He’d had an easy grin and a weakness for loose-looking women. He’d cheated on Arlene Collins regularly, always smooth-talking his way back into the house after a night of carousing with every female in their desperately small town. Arlene had forgiven him, catered to him, loved him, in spite of his good-for-nothing ways. She’d been a minister’s daughter who’d taken her vows very seriously. Therefore, she’d stuck by him through all the bad times, eager to keep her marriage together and make it work. But she’d never really been happy because Dan Collins hadn’t been a forever kind of man. He’d been the play-the-field, charm-you-out-of-your-panties sort. The one-night-stand kind.

Just like Billy Chisholm.

Sabrina wasn’t making the same mistake her mother had. At this point in her life, she was done with just sex. When she invested herself in a man, it would be one who would—could—love her and only her. A man who wouldn’t spend every Saturday night cruising the local honky-tonk, picking up women, propositioning them.

Eventually, that is.

At this point in her life, she was busy with her career, dedicated to making her online-dating service a huge success. She needed a big payoff so that she could pay off her student loans, get herself out of debt and get on with her life. As a serious journalist. The website would give her the financial stability she needed right now. That’s why she was here in Lost Gun—for the money. Not to find a date, much less a one-night stand.

Especially a one-night stand.

Sabrina didn’t do one-nighters. And she most certainly didn’t do cowboys.

Not now. Not ever.

No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

* * *

HER CAR WOULDN’T START. The truth sank in after Sabrina cranked the engine a record ten times, until the loud grumble turned into a faint series of clicks that filled her with a sense of dread.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. The car was over ten years old. A clunker she’d inherited from her grandfather before leaving town all those years ago. While she did her best to keep up the oil changes and take care of her one and only means of transportation, she’d found herself stranded here lately more times than she could count. She needed a new car. Even more, she needed the money to afford a new car. She rested her forehead on the wheel and cursed the pile of junk for several seconds before gathering her resolve and popping the hood. Outside, she lifted the heavy metal, grabbed a rag she kept stashed in the front grill and started checking her battery connections.

Corrosion had built up and she damned herself for not shelling out the hundred bucks to buy a new one before leaving L.A. But she was on a budget. One that barely allowed for the secondhand shoes on her feet and the designer skirt she’d picked up at a thrift store in Hollywood. Clothes that made her feel like a million bucks even though her bank account reflected anything but. Still. If she’d learned anything from marketing guru Livi, it was that success was all about projecting a certain image. About building a brand.

And her brand as a high-powered executive for the next big website did not involve shoving her face under a hood and praying for divine intervention.

She thought about going back inside and hunting down Livi. Her friend, never short on cash thanks to a decent trust fund from her parents, had picked up her own rental car when they’d arrived in town so that they could split up and cover more territory. The rental wasn’t anything extravagant—this was Lost Gun, after all—but it ran. They’d met here at the kick-off dance after Sabrina had spent the day at the fairgrounds while Livi had visited a nearby working ranch rumored to employ the hottest ranch hands in the entire county. Livi would give her a lift back to their motel.

Sabrina weighed her options. Calling or texting were both out because Livi was notorious for ignoring her phone when in the arms of a hot, hunky man. That meant Sabrina would have to go back inside and risk running into Billy Chisholm again.

She ditched the idea and fiddled a few more minutes with the connections. Sliding behind the wheel, she cranked the engine again.

Click. Click. Click.

“It’s flooded,” Billy’s deep voice slid along her nerve endings and put her entire body on instant alert. He leaned down, his handsome face filling up the driver’s window. The scent of clean soap and raw, sexy male teased her nostrils. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

She blew out an exasperated breath and reached for her cell phone. “I guess it’s time to call a tow truck.”

“Good luck.”

She eyed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That there’s only one tow truck in town, sugar, and it belongs to George Kotch,” he murmured as if that explained it all. When she didn’t seem the least bit enlightened, he added, “He’s about a hundred years old and tires out real easy.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already after ten. By now, he’s already eaten his bowl of ice cream, taken out his dentures and called it a night. Hell, he’s probably been asleep a good five hours or so.”

“Lovely,” she muttered.

“On the bright side, he’s up at the crack of dawn. He’ll surely have you out of here and over at the filling station by the time they open. You’ll get first dibs in the garage.”

“Lucky me. What about a cab service?”

He shook his head. “Red’s got a thing for TV. Started with soap operas and progressed to late night TV.”

“Good Samaritan?”

His grin was slow and extremely sexy. “At your service.”

“You want to give me a ride?”

His grin grew wider. “In the worst way.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about more than just driving me somewhere?”

“Because I am.” His expression grew serious and his eyes glittered. “I want you and I’d bet my next buckle that you feel the same even if you don’t seem all that anxious to admit it.” He glanced around at the parking lot full of cars. Yet there wasn’t a soul around. Everyone was back inside, dancing and drinking it up. “Seems like fate if you ask me. You run off in a tiff and bam, the car won’t start. Maybe someone upstairs is trying to tell you that I’m not such a bad guy.”

“No, you’re a cowboy.” Which was worse. Much worse.

At the same time, there did seem something almost inevitable about the way he’d shown up right when she needed a hand. That, and he was right. She did want him. More than she wanted her next breath. Her last relationship had been nearly a year ago and she’d been flying solo ever since. She craved a little physical contact in the worst way. So much so that she found herself thinking about him and the way he smiled and smelled and looked so indescribably good. And all when she should have been thinking about the website and how they were going to make their quota.

Yep, she had a craving, all right. One that wasn’t going to go away unless she satisfied it in a major way.

“I’m staying at the Lost Gun Motel,” she heard herself murmur.

Something dark and dangerous and oh so mesmerizing sparked in his violet eyes. “Well, what do you know? So am I.” He opened the car door. “My pickup’s just right down the row.” His grin faded and a look of pure determination carved his expression. “Let’s go.”

Warning bells clamored in her head, but the only thing she seemed conscious of was the frantic beat of her heart.

The excitement.

The anticipation.

The need.

“Just so we’re clear,” she managed to say despite the heat zipping up and down her spine, “this is just sex. We won’t be exchanging phone numbers or going out on a date or anything like that.”

He nodded. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“I’m not interested in getting to know you as a person. This is just physical.”

He nodded. “Purely physical.”

She squelched an unexpected rush of disappointment at his words and concentrated on the trembling in her hands and the desire coiling in her belly. “Then lead the way.”


4

BILLY CHISHOLM’S HANDS actually trembled as he shoved the key into the lock of the Lost Gun Motel, a clean but ancient establishment just off the main strip of town. It had been a long, long time since he’d been this worked up. This hot. This hard. This...anxious.

The knowledge would have been enough to send him running for the next county if the circumstances had been different—if Sabrina had been any of the dozens of marriage-minded women who’d been in hot pursuit since his oldest brother had found the love of his life and gone off the market.

Now Billy was the resident bad boy, which wasn’t a bad thing on account of he liked being bad. He liked making noise and breaking rules and living life.

He liked the rush from all three.

At one time, so did every available woman in town. The trouble was, where they’d once wanted a good time back in high school, they now wanted a walk down the aisle. Marriage. Kids.

They wanted Billy Chisholm to grow up, man up and settle down, and each and every one thought she’d be the one to make it happen. To rope, tie and tame him before he knew what was happening.

Not this cowboy.

He liked being single. Hell, he loved it. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. To worry about anyone. To hurt anyone.

He was the offspring of the most irresponsible man in the county. Silas Chisholm had been a two-bit criminal who’d pulled off the most impressive heist in the county, before pissing it away because of a case of white lightning and a lit cigarette. And all without a thought for his three young sons. The man had been selfish. Unpredictable. Unreliable.

Bad to the bone.

And out of all three boys, Billy was just as bad.

But while he looked like Silas, and even acted like him on occasion, he also knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone else’s bad decisions, and so he’d made up his mind to never, ever put someone else in that position. The last thing Billy Chisholm would ever do was get himself lassoed by any one woman.

Even one as hot and sexy as this one.

But Sabrina Collins didn’t want to marry him. With her high heels and tasteful clothes and reluctant demeanor, she was as far removed from Lost Gun as a woman could get. She had big city written all over her, even if she did drive a clunker. Even more, she was a stranger. A single stranger. And judging by the way she licked her lips, she wanted the same thing from him that he wanted from her—sex.

He pushed open the door, stepped back and let her precede him inside. He expected more of an exotic fragrance from her, given her big-city appearance and the whiff of cotton candy he’d caught back at the dance courtesy of the flowing martinis. The scent had long since disappeared. Instead, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon filled his nostrils as she eased past him. She smelled like sweet, fresh-from-the-oven apple pie, and his nostrils flared. A warning sounded somewhere in the back of his brain, but it wasn’t loud enough to push past the sudden hammering of his heart. A bolt of need shot through his body and his muscles bunched. He barely resisted the urge to haul her into his arms, back her up against the wall and take her hard and fast right there under the bare porch light, the june bugs bumping overhead.

He fought the crazy urge because Billy Chisholm didn’t do fast and furious. He didn’t lose his head where women were concerned. He stayed firmly in the saddle, calm and controlled.

Laying a woman down on a soft mattress, peeling away the clothes one piece at a time and taking things slow. That was the way to go. The way he always went, because losing his head wasn’t part of the proposition. A man said things he didn’t mean when he lost his head.

He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. A click sounded as she turned on a nearby lamp. A pale yellow glow pushed back the shadows and illuminated the interior. The room was far from fancy, but it was neat and clean. An unfinished pine dresser sat in the far corner, an ancient-looking television rested on top. A king-size bed took up the rest of the space. Calico curtains covered the one window near a window air-conditioning unit. A matching comforter draped across the bed. The slightly scarred hardwood floor gleamed from a recent polishing. He had his own place outside of town—just a small cabin he’d been building over the past year—but during rodeo time he hated to waste his time driving back and forth, and so he’d opted to rent a room here.

“It’s not the Crown Plaza, but it should do.”

“I’ve never stayed at the Plaza.” She licked her lips again and he had the gut feeling that she’d never done this sort of thing before. And then his gaze caught hers and he knew deep down that this was, indeed, a first for her.

Not a one-night stand. No, she seemed to know her way around when it came to that.

The first had more to do with him. She’d never done this with a man like him before.

“You’re not usually into cowboys, are you?”

“Never.” His blood rushed even faster at her admission. A crazy reaction because Billy wasn’t in the habit of being the first anything when it came to women. Be it the first cowboy or the first one-night stand or the first man to actually cause an orgasm. Rather, he steered clear of any situation that might set him apart in a woman’s mind and make him more than just a really good lay.

He stiffened, his fingers tightening on the room key. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“You’re right about that.” The hesitant light in her gaze faded into a wave of bright blue heat as she stepped closer. “It’s not good at all.” Another step and her nipples touched his chest. “You’re so not my type.”

Before he could blink, she shifted things into high speed, pressed herself against him and thrust her tongue into the heated depths of his mouth, kissing him, devouring him, shaking his sanity and his precious control.

Before he could think, his body reacted. His hands went to her tight, round ass, and he pulled her even closer. He rubbed his throbbing erection against the cradle of her pelvis. His fingers bunched material until he reached the hem of the skirt and felt her bare flesh beneath. Her thighs were hot to the touch. Soft. Quivering.

Holy shit.

Urging her backward, he eased her down onto the bed. He captured her mouth in a deep, intense kiss that lasted several heartbeats before he pulled away and stepped back. He drew a much-needed breath, determined to get himself in check and hop back into the driver’s seat. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He unfastened the button on his jeans and pushed the zipper down. The pressure eased and the edges gaped and he could actually breathe for a few seconds.

Until she pushed to a sitting position and leaned forward.

Her fingers touched the dark purple head of his erection where it pushed up above the waistband of his briefs. The air lodged in his throat and he ground his teeth against a burst of white-hot pleasure. Her touch was so damn soft and he was so hard and...

He needed to touch her.

To see her.

He reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it up and over her head. One dark nipple pushed through the lace-patterned cup of her black bra. He leaned over and flicked his tongue over the rock-hard tip. She gasped and he drew the nub deeper into his mouth, sucking her through the flimsy covering.

Her fingers threaded through his hair and held him close. He relished the taste of her flesh for several heart-pounding moments before he pulled away. He gripped the cups of her bra and pulled them down and under the fullness of her breasts. The bra plumped her and her ripe nipples raised in invitation.

When he didn’t lower his head and suckle her again, she reached for him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Easy, darlin’. We’ll get to it.” But not yet. He meant to take his time. He always took his time and now was no different.

She was no different.

Even if she was softer and warmer and sweeter than any woman he’d ever been with.

He unzipped her skirt and peeled it from her body in a slow, tantalizing motion that stirred goose bumps in her soft flesh. Trailing his fingers back up the way they’d come, he hooked his fingers at the thin straps of her panties and followed the same path down her long legs. When he had her naked, with the exception of the bra pulled beneath her luscious breasts, he leaned up and let his gaze sweep the length of her.

She was definitely not from around here, he realized when his attention settled on the barely-there strip of pubic hair that told him she’d been waxed at some big-city salon rather than the local Hair Saloon.

“Did you get this back in L.A.?” He trailed a finger down the barely-there strip of hair and watched her tremble.

“Yes.”

“I like it.” He traced the slit that separated her lush pink lips and a groan trembled from her mouth. Her legs fell open and the soft pink flesh parted for him.

He dipped his fingertip into her steamy heat and watched her pupils dilate. Her mouth opened and she gasped. And then he went deeper, until her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back. He worked her, sliding his finger in and out until her essence coated his flesh and a drop trickled over his knuckle.

Hunger raged inside him and he dipped his head, flicked his tongue over the swollen tissue and lapped up her sweetness.

At the first contact of his mouth, she arched up off the bed and her hands tangled in his hair. He tasted her, savoring the bitter sweetness and relishing the soft, gasping sounds coming from her trembling lips. He swirled his tongue around her clitoris and felt the tip ripen for him. She whimpered as he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and nibbled until she tensed beneath him. Her fingers clutched at his hair in a grip that was just short of painful. The sensation fed his ravenous desire and made his breath quicken. He stroked her once, twice and her breath caught on a ragged gasp.

“Please. Just do it. Do it now.”

He gathered his control and pulled away, determined to make it last for both of them. But then his gaze collided with hers and he saw the fierce glitter in her eyes—a mix of desire and impatience and fear—and he had the strange feeling that there was more than just an orgasm hanging in the balance.

As if she feared the morning after even more than he did.

Good.

At least they were both on the same page.

That meant if one of them lost perspective for whatever reason, the other could push them back on track. It was all about tonight.

This moment.

Nothing more. He snatched up his jeans and retrieved a condom from his pocket. After sliding on the latex, he settled between her legs. Bracing himself, he shoved his penis deep into her wet heat in one swift thrust that stalled the air in his lungs.

He gripped her lush hips, his tanned fingers digging into her pale flesh as he plunged into her again. She closed her eyes, lifted her hips and met each thrust until he couldn’t take it anymore. His cock throbbed and filled and he was right there. He thrust again and the pressure built.

Pleasure fogged his brain and before he could stop himself, he reached down between them and parted her flesh just above the point where he filled her. He caught her swollen clitoris between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed lightly.

She moaned and her body convulsed around him and he knew she’d tumbled over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time and followed. He held her tight and relished the way her inner muscles milked him.

Finally, his hold loosened and he collapsed onto his back. He reached for her, tucking her against his body and losing himself in the frantic pounding of his heart.

Fear hammered at the edges of his brain, but he wasn’t going to let it in. Not just yet.

There would be plenty of time later to beat himself up over the fact that he’d lost control for a few precious seconds and, in the process, violated every promise he’d ever made to himself when it came to women and sex.

Plenty of time.

But right now... Right now he just wanted to close his eyes and hold her close. Just for a little while.

* * *

GET UP. THAT’S what Sabrina told herself the minute she heard the soft snores coming from the man next to her.

Get up.

Get out.

Get moving.

While she didn’t have to worry about alarming Livi if she failed to make it out of Billy’s room before daybreak—she and Livi had opted to get separate rooms since they were splitting up most of the time to work more territory—she’d still promised to meet her first thing in the morning for breakfast.

Even more, she had a column to finish for one of the blogs she regularly wrote for. The name of the column? “Oh, No, She Didn’t.” It was a weekly tell-all on female celebrities and their outlandish behavior that she penned for a tabloid website out of Los Angeles. A far cry from CNN or Fox News, but the site paid a small fee per word and at least she was actually getting paid to write something. Heaven knew she had a stack of journalism pieces she’d written on spec that would never see the light of day. Commentaries on the state of the nation, a story on the outrageous salaries paid by the L.A. County Water Department, and even a twenty-page analysis on the anti-gluten craze. Anything she’d felt might draw some interest, she’d penned and sent in to every newspaper and website she could think of. And the most she’d gotten back was a few comments saying her writing was good, but they needed material that was groundbreaking. A fresh angle. A cutting edge story that would sell copy. And so she’d stuck with her one sure writing gig—the column for the tabloid site. A paycheck, however small, at least made her dream seem legitimate, even if it didn’t pay the bills.

She thought of the bank robbery that had put Lost Gun on the proverbial map. The story had been big news back in the day, but she didn’t know nearly as much as she needed to in order to start thinking about an angle. An easy fix, of course, thanks to Google. A few articles would put her up to speed and maybe spark some ideas for a new look at the story. But first she needed facts.

Who? What? When? Where?

Billy’s arms tightened around her and suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was spend the rest of her night chained to her computer, checking facts or slogging another story about yet another actress who’d ditched rehab and gone on a party spree.

No, what she really wanted was to stay right here and snuggle down into the warmth wrapped around her.

All the more reason to get up.

The last thing she needed was to fall asleep and risk an awkward morning after. While she’d fallen out of practice thanks to her change of heart, she’d still had enough one-night stands to know that she didn’t want to get stuck facing Billy Chisholm the morning after.

She had no doubt he would tell her thanks and hit the road faster than she could blink. He’d made his intentions crystal clear, and so had she. She didn’t want more. At least, not from him.

Now if he’d been any other man...

Maybe a bank executive or a photojournalist or anyone but a Stetson-wearing bull rider. Then she might have thought about getting to know him.

But she already knew more than enough.

Billy Chisholm wasn’t her type.

She knew that, but with him so close, the scent of sexy male filling her head, she had the gut feeling that she wouldn’t be all that happy to see him go.

The thought struck and she gave herself a mental kick. She didn’t have to think about him walking out because she intended to walk out first.

Soon.

At the same time, it had been such a long day and she really was worn out. Exhausted. Might as well take advantage of the warmth and close her eyes for just a few seconds. A cat nap.

Then she was up and out of there.

Guaranteed.


5

“WHERE THE HELL are you?” Livi’s frantic voice carried over the line the minute Sabrina answered her cell phone. “You’re not hurt, are you? Oh, crap, you’re not dead, are you?”

“Yes, and I’m speaking to you from the hereafter.”

“Very funny. Seriously, I all but freaked when I woke up this morning and realized you hadn’t come back to the motel room.”

“Morning?” Sabrina blinked against the blinding light pouring through the open curtains, and panic seeped through her. It was morning.

She’d slept with Billy Chisholm.

Slept slept.

There’d been no creeping out before dawn. No “Thanks, but gotta go.” Or “I really appreciated it, but have a nice life.” No, she’d snuggled right up next to him and closed her eyes and now the sun was up and she was late.

“So?” Livi’s voice pushed past the panic beating at her senses. “How was it?”

“How was what?” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was eight-thirty in the morning. Not only had she fallen asleep, but she’d slept past her usual 7:00 a.m. And all because of a man.

A cowboy.

“Did you get lucky?”

More like unlucky. Of all the available men in town—the reporters and the out-of-town fans—she’d hooked up and fallen asleep with a homegrown, certified, grade A cowboy.

“Well?” Livi prompted.

“I really need to go.”

A thought seemed to strike and her friend’s voice rose an octave. “You’re not still with him, are you?”

Was she?

Her gaze ping-ponged around the room, looking for boots or clothes or something before stalling on the open bathroom door. She strained her ears for some sound, but there was no water running. No footsteps. Just the distant sound of a vacuum cleaner humming from a few rooms down.

“Of course not.” She ignored the disappointment that niggled at her, pushed the blankets to the side and scrambled from the bed. She grabbed her undies, which lay on the floor a few feet away. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes. Where are you?”

“The diner next door to the motel, remember? That’s where we agreed to meet.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Cowboys have to eat, right?” Livi went on. “Plus, they’ve got the best coffee in town and you know how I need my coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“Save a few cups for me. I’ll be there in ten.”

She spent the next few minutes plucking her clothes up off the floor and damning herself for forgetting the all-important fact that she’d agreed to a one-night stand only. The key word being night. She’d had every intention of being the first one to hit the road after the deed had been done, the first one saying goodbye, walking out, calling the shots.

She certainly hadn’t meant to close her eyes. To get too comfortable. To forget for even a split second that cowboy Billy was not the morning-after type and that, even more, neither was she.

Luckily that all-important fact hadn’t slipped his mind.

She spared a quick glance around the room. There was no suitcase. No personal items scattered across the dresser. No clothes hanging in the closet. And definitely no note. He’d taken everything with him as if he meant to never come back.

And the problem is?

No problem. Sure, she preferred being the one out the door first, but at least he’d had the good sense not to linger and make things that much more awkward.

Anxiety pushed her that much faster and she pulled on her clothes quickly. She was getting out of here now, and she wasn’t going to think that maybe, just maybe, it might have been nice if he’d at least said goodbye.

Forget worrying over one measly cowboy. She had one hundred and fifty-two to think about.

Slipping out of the motel room, she ignored the knowing smile on the maid’s face as she rushed down the walkway and rounded the corner toward her own room. A quick shower and change, and she would hit the soda machine next to the ice maker before the diner. She wasn’t facing Livi and a room full of Stetsons until she’d calmed down completely. To do that, she needed sugar. Lots of sugar.

A soda. Maybe a bag of M&Ms.

Forget a fully stocked minibar for the source. The Lost Gun Motel was like any other small-town inn she’d ever known.

That meant vending machines instead of minibars. Homegrown soda fountains and pharmacies instead of McDonald’s or a CVS. A family-owned general store instead of the brand-name, big-box type.

Sure enough, she rounded another corner and spotted an old Coke machine stuffed with glass-bottled sodas. A crate sat next to the rusted-out monster, the slots half filled with empties.

Her gaze snagged on an Orange Crush and she could practically taste the sugary sweetness on her tongue. As if it had been just yesterday that she’d given up her favorite drink, instead of eight years. The day she’d turned eighteen and left town in her granddaddy’s ancient Bonneville.

She’d never looked back since.

She’d never wanted to.

The soda had been just as bad for her as the small-minded hometown where she’d grown up, and so giving it up had been a no-brainer. She’d switched to lattes and bright lights and a great big city full of zillions of people who didn’t know what a big pile of unreliability her father had been. There were no knowing looks when she walked into the corner drugstore. No one gossiping behind her back when she went into the nearest Starbucks. In L.A. she was just one of the masses, and she liked it that way. She liked her privacy.

Which was why she’d stayed away from home all these years.

Since her mother had dropped the bomb that she was getting married—again—to a local wrangler from one of the nearby ranches, despite the fact that she’d walked that road once before. Arlene had obviously learned nothing the first time with Sabrina’s father. He’d been a ranch hand. Worth his salt when it came to horses, but worthless when it came to being a good husband and father. He’d cheated on her for years before finally running off with a barmaid from the local honky-tonk when Sabrina had been thirteen.

Her mother had been devastated. She’d cried for months, then she’d spent the next few years telling herself that he was coming back, that it was just temporary. Eventually, she’d faced the truth. Not that it had done any good. She’d turned around and hooked up with loser number two. Different time. Different man. Same story.

Sabrina hadn’t been in any hurry to watch a repeat of the past. When her eighteenth birthday had rolled around, she’d packed up and left her mother, her mother’s new cowboy and her small-town life in the dust.

Her resentment toward Arlene and her cheating father had faded over the years, but she’d never been able to bring herself to go home. To the same double-wide where she’d listened to her mother cry herself to sleep night after night after Sabrina’s father had walked away. The place had never felt like home.

It never would, so there was no sense rushing back and pretending. Instead, she’d accepted the truth and turned her back on Sugar Creek like a piece of gum that had lost its flavor.

Sure, she’d seen her mother a few times over the years, but always on neutral ground. Arlene had flown out to California once. They’d met in Vegas another time. Colorado for Christmas a few years back.

She’d heard through the grapevine that her father had ended up single again, working on a horse ranch in Montana. Not that she cared. The day he’d walked away from her had been the day that he’d died in her mind, and so she had no desire to see him.

But as much as she hated him, she owed him, as well. He’d at least taught her one important thing—to never, ever fall for the same type of man.

A man who didn’t know the meaning of the word commitment.

Which was why she was chalking last night up to a good time. A temporary good time that was now over and done with.

No matter how much it had felt otherwise.

She slipped inside her motel room and spent the next few minutes getting dressed, before she heard a knock on the door.

“Maid service,” came the voice from the other side a split second before the hinges creaked and the knob twisted. A woman with bleached-blond hair and too much red lipstick came up short in the doorway. “It’s nearly noon,” the woman said as she noted the towel wrapped around Sabrina. “Folks are usually up and about by now.”

Folks, as in the locals. But Sabrina wasn’t a local, which meant she fell into the same class as a communist/sociopath/deviant puppy kicker. Small towns like Sugar Creek and Lost Gun were close-knit. Folks didn’t take too kindly to outsiders, and they certainly didn’t trust them. Which was why Sabrina made a point to give Olive—according to the name tag—a big smile before retreating to the bathroom to get dressed, and an even bigger tip when she grabbed her purse to leave fifteen minutes later. Not that it made her any less of a communist/sociopath/deviant puppy kicker. It just meant that she wouldn’t have to beg for an extra set of towels. And maybe, just maybe, she might get an additional name or two to pursue for her database.

“So he’s the hottest single male in town?” she asked Olive a few minutes later, after complimenting her lipstick and matching nail polish, and slipping her another five.

The woman shrugged as she smoothed Sabrina’s sheets. “I don’t know about hot, honey, but Martin Trawick is surely single, now that his fifth divorce is final, that is.”

“He’s been married five times?” Unease rolled through her.

“Six, actually, but we don’t count the first one on account of it was old man Talley who officiated and he ain’t an actual clergyman. Just tells folks that so’s he can get the clergyman’s discount special at the diner. It’s an olive-loaf sandwich with fresh pickle chips. Anyhow, Martin is always looking for his next wife. He’d probably be tickled to sign up for your service.”

Okay, he wasn’t prime grade A marriage material. At the same time, they weren’t promoting an actual marriage service. She and her roommates had invested a lot of time in their mission statement, which outlined their venture—namely, an interactive website where women could go to meet, not marry, cowboys. Which meant the only criteria she had to establish was that any prospective candidate was a Wrangler-wearing, cowboy-hat-tipping, boot-stomping country boy.

“What does Martin actually do for a living?”

“Owns a pecan farm outside town. Actually, he owns a sixth of the pecan farm on account of he had to split it with each of his exes, but he’s still got a good hundred acres of his own.”

Okay, he wasn’t a pro bull rider, but he was country. Check.

“Does he wear boots?”

“You’re in Lost Gun, sugar. Who doesn’t wear boots?”

Check.

“How about a cowboy hat?”

“I reckon when he’s out tending pecans and it’s hot.”

Check.

Sabrina smiled. “Where can I find him?”


6

“NOW, THAT’S WHAT I’m talking about!”

Eli let loose a loud whoop as Billy climbed to his feet and dusted off his backside. Meanwhile, several wranglers chased the bull he’d just ridden for eight seconds toward the gate leading to the holding pen.

“If you ride like that in the semifinals on Saturday, you’re sure to zip straight through to the finals.”

If.

The word hung in the air because as much as Billy’s pride told him he was a shoo-in, he knew better. While he knew he had the talent, other factors came into play when it came to a successful ride. With all the publicity from the Famous Texas Outlaws episode, Billy had been tense. Sleep deprived. Anxious. Even if he was damn good at hiding it.





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