Hard-Riding Cowboy (Kinky Spurs #3) Read online

  He wasn’t looking at her. Oh, hell no, he stared at her hand on his chest. She quickly drew herself away, fully aware of the electricity between them. She swallowed deep when he looked at her again. The heat flaring in his expression, matched with his low voice, made her so damn weak she nearly tugged him into her office.

  At that, his grin turned devilish. “Not that long ago, you liked when I got this close.”

  Her breath hitched and goose bumps tickled over her flesh. Her mind traveled to places she’d sworn her thoughts would never go again. God, she vividly remembered those lips sliding across her skin. How the playfulness in his gaze morphed into intensity that had been the sexiest thing she had ever seen. Even now, she drew in his scent and he smelled so damn good. Like the fresh, open Colorado country air after being in the city. “That was two months ago,” she reminded him weakly, “and I really wish you would stop talking about that . . . mistake.”

  “We weren’t a mistake,” he said smoothly.

  “Okay, lapse in judgment, then.”

  He chuckled so easily, like nothing ever got to him. “Not that either, Freckles.”

  “Oh, yeah, then what was it?”

  No matter how many people watched this conversation, he said dead serious, “The best night of both our lives.”

  She parted her lips to say something brilliant. Something that would smack him back down to where he belonged. Again, her mind failed to react. Instead, emotion rose up, tightening her throat until she could barely breathe.

  Nash’s head cocked, brows drawing together tight. “Now that’s a look I’ve never seen on your face.” She shut her eyes, trying to get herself together. For weeks, she’d been an emotional basket case, even crying at commercials. Before two months ago, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. Now, she wept for no reason at all.

  “Megan,” Nash said softly, dragging his knuckles across her cheek. “Talk to me.”

  Oh, how she wanted to step closer. To slide into his strong, warm embrace. “I can’t do this,” she managed to choke out, stepping away. “Not here. Not now.”

  “You can’t keep ignoring me,” he called after her. “We need to talk.”

  She swallowed against the surge of wild emotions rushing through her. His use of her full name was a warning. Doing her best to forget the man behind her, she jumped onto the stage, and the band behind her wrapped up their song.

  Every night from Thursday to Saturday, Kinky Spurs held a game between the customers, one Megan had named Rope ’Em Up. Sure, it had been a marketing ploy to bring in the younger crowd instead of all the locals who drank at the Spurs when Gerald Kinky owned the bar. The marketing idea had worked, and Kinky Spurs had never been more successful than it had in this last year. Megan was making real money now, and even had the means to hire more staff. Visitors and the college crowd liked being roped by a real cowboy, especially by some of the homegrown River Rock cowboys.

  She cleared her mind, and after a nod from Dalton, the lead singer in the Kinky Spurs band, she turned on the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen: Let’s get to why you’re all here. Can I get three cowboys to join me on stage for Rope ’Em Up?”

  The crowd went wild as two locals, Beckett and Hayes, both cowboys who worked at the Blackshaw Cattle Ranch, jumped onto the stage. Before she could even take in what was happening, Nash joined them and plucked the microphone out of her hand. “Don’t y’all wanna see me rope our Megan here?” he asked the crowd.

  Thunderous applause followed. Especially from the ladies, though some of them looked disappointed that Nash wouldn’t be roping them. Of course they would. In River Rock, Nash was a local celebrity. Not only was the Blackshaw family well known for their meat shop only blocks away from the Spurs, their cattle farm, and now the newest Blackshaw venture, a working cattle guest ranch, but Nash was a professional bull-riding champion.

  She snatched the microphone back and cupped it, putting on a smile for the crowd. “I hate you,” she said to Nash.

  “No, you don’t, Freckles.” He waved out at the crowd, owning them like he always could before he slid his gaze to her. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  Damn Nash and his confidence. She slowly narrowed her eyes as her response, then gestured at the newest Kinky Spurs bartender, Bethany, standing behind the bar. She was a young, pretty blonde, and most times made Megan realize how much thirty was creeping up on her.

  When Bethany joined her on the stage, accepting the microphone from her hand, Megan turned to Nash and promised, “You’re going to lose.”

  “We’ll see about that.” There was that damn grin again.

  Regardless that she wanted to tape his mouth shut to avoid that smile, heat pooled directly between her thighs as if he had some miraculous on switch. She took a few steps back, while Nash grabbed the bundle of rope from the ground. Bethany was calling out to the crowd, getting two more women up there for the game. Megan couldn’t look away from Nash’s grin as he began working the rope into a lasso. His playful nature was one of the sexiest things about him. And as much as she hated that nothing ever seemed to get to him, she liked it too.

  Relationships were weird.

  She had to constantly remind herself how he took nothing seriously. All of this was a game to him. She was a game.

  Megan needed—no, deserved—to be more.

  She told herself that again and again, while Nash settled next to the other cowboys, those gorgeous blue eyes studying her intently.

  Off to the side of the men, Bethany lifted one arm high in the air. “Get ready to rope your ladies, cowboys.” A pause. Then she dropped her arm, yelling, “Go.”

  Everything happened so fast, it was entirely impossible to take it all in. All Megan knew was one second she stood there, Nash highly amused, as always. The next, the rope came flying in her direction, and Megan took a full step sideways to ensure he lost. Because somehow, she knew if he won this game, he would win her too.

  Though the moment her cowboy boot returned to the floor, the rope slid easily over her arms. “Fuck,” she breathed, right as Nash yanked the rope tight. In the blink of an eye, she was pressed against him while he bound her wrists in front of her.

  Heady amusement glistened in his eyes when he threw up his hands, declaring himself the winner.

  She frowned. “There is no goddamn way you could have anticipated that I would move.”

  The heat of his body pressed against her tight. “There is something you keep forgetting, Freckles.”

  “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

  His fingers tightened around the bindings on her wrists, a statement all on its own. Slowly, gingerly, he dropped his head into her neck and planted a soft kiss there. “I know you.”

  The world up and vanished.

  Her eyes shut, and just like that, the bar faded away. It was him and her, and how right this felt between them. She couldn’t ignore the magic they shared, and she shivered wanting things he could deliver on.

  She stepped closer . . . needing him . . . wanting him.

  He chuckled, his lips brushing against her pulse. “You were wrong.”

  She blinked, breaking the spell he put her under. “What?” she breathed.

  With the crowd roaring around her, he grinned. “I won a whole lot tonight.”

  Chapter 2

  Early the following morning, Nash exited the red barn set next to the modest stone farmhouse he’d grown up in. Blackshaw Cattle Company had once been a multimillion-dollar cattle ranch. It would never be that again. Now, the cattle company was a working guest ranch, developed by his eldest brother, Shep, and his girlfriend, Emma. And built by the very hands of Nash’s middle brother, Chase. But this new venture kept the cattle ranch afloat, kept their mother’s personal money safe, and kept all of the Blackshaw employees on staff. It had been necessary since the cattle company had been on the verge of bankruptcy after their father’s passing.

  The sky was cloudy with some blue peeking through near the
mountains, giving hope for a fine day. Nash ran a hand through his hair before placing his tan-colored Stetson cowboy hat back onto his head. The chestnut horse, Bentley, followed behind him, with his disobedient yellow Labrador, Gus, getting a belly scratch from one of the guests.

  Three months ago, Nash wouldn’t have trusted the horse he led by the reins around people. Bentley had been abused, and by the fear and distrust that had been displayed, he’d endured a great deal of it.

  It took a good solid few weeks of a fight, including Nash eating dirt many times, before Bentley finally caved, realizing he had a pretty sweet life now. Luckily, Nash’s professional bull-riding life had taught him how to fall to avoid injury. Though Nash wasn’t training Bentley for himself. Bentley belonged to Shep’s girl, Emma, who took in abused animals, giving them a safe place to spend their remaining days. Emma wanted to ride Bentley, and Nash had been determined to tame the wild horse as a thank-you for coming up with the guest ranch idea.

  Even if he’d tamed Bentley, these rides with the guests gave Bentley the exposure to the world that he desperately needed. Bentley was gaining trust, and Nash needed to trust him before he let Emma on his back.

  They owed Emma everything. All her ideas, plus Chase’s building input, filled this guest ranch vision. The comfort station that housed the toilets and showers was across the driveway. Set next to that were the twelve log cabins complete with a firepit and Adirondack chairs. To the right was the recently built corral where the guests tacked up their horses. This group was into their second day of their week at the guest ranch.

  All city folk looked awkward, but most of that uneasiness fled by day five.

  When Nash reached a couple of women who’d already tacked up, obviously comfortable with horses, he laid on as thick of an old wild west accent as possible and called to them, “Come on, cowgirls, let’s get wrangling up the cattle.”

  The two women giggled and made eyes at him. He’d bet money they weren’t there for an adventure. They were there for him. Something he had become used to as a bull rider. The sport had once been his entire world. He’d trained. Hard. He’d risen to the top of the standings by the age of twenty. Sure, over the years, he dipped down in the rankings, but then he trained harder, got stronger, and rose in the standings again. In fact, he was at top of his game at the age of twenty-seven when Bruiser, a nasty bull, changed Nash’s life. In less than five seconds, his dream was over. His spine injury took a year of physiotherapy to recover from, and then the sponsors no longer wanted him.

  A world he knew and loved had forgotten him.

  Now, he spent his days leading the guests on cattle runs in the morning and entertaining them with cowboy lessons after dinner. But working the guest ranch was not his endgame. He was putting in his dues to make this new venture a success, then he’d move on to something else with a hell of a lot more excitement.

  He missed the roar of the crowd. The silence of his days was the hardest.

  “Be safe out there.”

  Nash pulled himself away from the memories he’d just as soon forget and turned toward the sweet, soft voice.

  Jenny Blackshaw, his mother, stood on her porch, waving at the guests beginning to mount their horses. She often became close with the guests. Especially considering they ate at her dinner table when meals were served at the ranch.

  Nash approached, holding the reins lightly in one hand. At one point, there had been discussions about building a dining hall, but the personal invite into the house had been something the guests enjoyed. Maybe it gave the place a more authentic feel. A true Colorado cowboy adventure. That ended the talk of the dining hall, and the chefs hired to cook settled right into Mom’s kitchen, staying out of her way as much as possible.

  After losing Dad, she appeared to like the company.

  Ma’s tender blue eyes were on Nash when he settled in front of her. She was quite a bit shorter than his six-foot-two stature. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was always pulled back into a neat bun. “Got any plans today?” he asked.

  “Fussing around town is all.” She kissed his cheek. “You be safe too. Don’t be brave. If Bentley tries to kill you, run.”

  Nash laughed. “He’s already done his best to kill me, and I’m not dead yet.” He slid the reins over Bentley’s head then mounted him. Bentley walked forward a few steps before Nash settled into place, pulling him to a stop.

  A quick study of the group showed the guests were all on their mounts, eager and ready to go. Nash noted the few other Blackshaw Cattle cowboys waiting quietly off to the side. “Is everyone ready?” Nash asked the guests.

  “Ready,” they said in unison.

  “I think we can do better than that. Are you ready?” he asked, louder this time.

  Again, in unison, they yelled, “Ready.”

  He nodded. “Better.” He whistled once, then Gus made a beeline toward them, leading the way past the house. Of course, not before barking at Bentley, causing the horse to spook. “Go on, Gus,” Nash yelled.

  The dog shot forward down the thin path.

  Maybe it was kismet, but Nash had found a dog that mirrored his personality. Gus was reckless, hated rules, and listened to no one. Neither did Nash.

  Gus led the group along the trail, and Nash slowly began to wake up. It wasn’t always this way. It had taken time getting used to waking up before eleven o’clock every day, but early mornings seemed normal now. Christ, every day seemed normal. Routine. This was the twelfth group of guests that had come through the guest ranch, and things worked like clockwork now.

  They had passed the creek that ran through Blackshaw land and were making their way west where the cattle were located when a sultry voice said, “You’re Nash Blackshaw, right?”

  The blond woman from earlier trotted up next to him. She had a tiny tank top that left little to the imagination and skintight jeans beneath her pink cowboy boots. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “The guy from the PBR, right?” a voice asked from his other side.

  Nash slid his glance sideways, finding the brunette. She was wearing a T-shirt covering more but it was as tight, revealing every curve of her body. “I used to be.” First, he was Nash, the PBR champion. Then, he was Nash, the guy with the spine injury. Now, he didn’t know who the hell he was anymore. He supposed he was still finding his footing in a world that looked nothing like his old life. One that certainly lacked excitement.

  “So, Nash,” the blonde said, with a grin that said do me. “What’s there to do around here that’s fun?”

  “Like real fun,” the brunette purred.

  The old Nash would have taken both these women back to his bed. At the same time.

  Before he could even come to terms with his hesitation, the blonde pushed out her breasts. “Would you be up for some fun later?”

  The brunette licked her lips. “We’d sure love for you to show us the nightlife in River Rock.”

  Because his mouth couldn’t form a yes, he said, “Ladies, I’m afraid I’m not available tonight. But check out Kinky Spurs. Believe me, the crowd there is exactly what you’re looking for.”

  Disappointment crossed their faces. Before he could deal with that, Beckett called, “Nash, you better get over here.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Nash tipped his hat at the women then squeezed his legs and Bentley shot forward into a canter. It took less than three seconds to realize the problem. “Whoa.” He pulled on the reins, stopping next to Beckett and looking at the vast emptiness of the beautiful Colorado countryside. “Fuck.”

  Beckett, a cowboy, bred and born right here in River Rock, had been a friend of Nash’s all throughout high school. The long strands of his sandy-brown hair hung out from beneath his cowboy hat. His gray eyes were sharp and focused. “Yup, that about sums it up.”

  This morning, they had come to herd the cattle from west to east because the forecast called for rain. The cattle could get in some good grazing in the meadows. Nash glanced back at the guests approaching on hor
seback. Goddamn it. The cattle run had been one of the top selling points at the guest ranch. And right now, there was not a single cow where they had been left after the last cattle run.

  Nash sighed. “Keep the guests here.” He clicked his tongue, and Bentley shot forward again, cantering toward the broken fence.

  A fence that had been there since Megan’s father erected it, proving what land belonged to him. The fence had been an eyesore then. It was still an eyesore. Nash slowed Bentley, then dismounted, moving closer.

  Each step Nash took tightened his muscles. By the time he reached the fence, he was frowning. He grabbed the barbed wire, spotting where the fence had been deliberately cut.

  “Fucking bastard,” Nash ground out. He remounted Bentley and hurried back to the group. When he slowed to a stop, he looked at the cowboy at the back of the crowd, Hayes. A man Chase had gone to school with. “Take the guests down to the river. Let the horses swim.” Over the past three months of the guest ranch operation, the guests loved swimming with the horses too.

  “Are we not doing the run today?” one of the guests called.

  Nash put on his get-shit-done smile. The smile that made women lose their inhibitions. The smile that charmed the media. The smile that had landed him sponsors in the PBR. “I’m afraid it looks like our cattle have shifted their position through the night.” Bentley bounced from foot to foot, obviously sensing the rage seething in Nash’s blood. “Not to worry. We’ll find them and send them back your way at the river.”

  Great. More disappointment on guests’ faces.

  “Don’t you worry, this is a treat,” said Hayes, turning his dabbled gray horse and heading in the opposite direction toward the lake. “The horses love water as much as they love apples.”

  When Hayes began to lead them away, Beckett asked, “What’s the plan?”

  Nash let his irritation show on his expression. “We need to find the cattle.” Shep and Chase had done their part in handling the obstacles they faced holding up their end of the deal to make the guest ranch a success. Nash needed to do the same. He tightened his hands on the reins, and Bentley reacted, tossing up his head and stomping a foot. “But first we need to go somewhere.”