Hard-Riding Cowboy Page 3

  Beckett arched an eyebrow.

  “To deal with the bastard who cut our fence.”

  * * *

  If there was one place that could make things right for Megan when life got messy, that was her parents’ cattle ranch. And right now, life wasn’t only messy, it was confusing as hell. She’d been sitting on the porch of the bungalow, sipping her lemonade, for ten minutes trying to figure out what to do about Nash. If she shut her eyes, she could hear that deadly sexy low chuckle, see that cocky grin, and want all of him for herself.

  That was a fact.

  But so was the long-standing hatred between their families.

  The feud between the Blackshaws and the Harrisons went back to when her father, Clint, and Nash’s father, Rick, both began cattle companies. For a long time, Rick topped the market. But in the last couple years, Clint had taken some of Blackshaws’ biggest clients. Now, her dad dominated the cattle industry in Colorado.

  Megan opened her eyes and took another long sip of her lemonade, the condensation rolling down the glass. She stared at the weathered log gate with the wrought-iron IRISH CREEK RANCH sign hanging from the top log. Horses grazed the field next to the natural wood–stained barn with a black roof. Set off to the right, the herd of cattle were in the distance near the mountains. Her parents’ large house was extravagant in size and a mix of wooden beams, limestone, and dark red brick. She’d spent the last hour watching the busy cattle ranch with the cowboys coming and going on horseback, tending to the farm her father had built from nothing into the multimillion-dollar company it was today.

  Right as she lifted her glass to her mouth again, a gravelly voice said, “Megan.”

  She turned toward the comforting voice and smiled. “Hi, Dad.” In his early fifties, Dad had sharp dark eyes, a white beard, and a round belly. He looked the part of a Colorado rancher with his worn cowboy boots and tan-colored Stetson.

  When he joined her on the porch, he dropped a kiss on her head. “How are you, sweet girl?”

  “Good. I came to see Mom. Know where she’s off to?”

  “Groceries.” Dad looked at his watch then stretched out his long legs in front of him. “She won’t be much longer.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper—mostly salt—hair. “How’s things going at the bar?”

  “Things are looking bright,” she said, setting her drink down next to her. “I was actually considering hiring a couple more bartenders and slimming my hours a down a bit.” Twelve-hour nights were long, and over the last month, they felt even longer.

  Dad nodded. “You’ve done good, kiddo. Be proud of yourself. Most businesses take five years to get moving along. You’ve done that in two.”

  “Thanks. I am proud. Very proud, actually.”

  He gave another hard nod then looked away toward the farm where the cowboys were walking the grounds. “Keep aiming at the goal of lessening your workload.” He turned to her again. “You want others to do the legwork.”

  That’s where they differed. Megan loved working and getting her hands dirty. She liked being right in there with her team. Dad was more of a reap-the-rewards type of guy.

  She kept silent on that. Dad was he who he was. Which was precisely why she never worked for him.

  Dad finally replaced his hat then looked at Megan. For a long time. “What?” She laughed.

  He cocked his head, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Everything okay? You look”—he studied her intently—“different. Can’t quite put a finger on it.”

  She forced herself to sit still, not squirm under his careful regard. Oh, yeah, she was different. But she couldn’t tell him about it. “Different how?”

  Dad crossed his arms. “New hair?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Same hair.”

  “New clothes?”

  “Not that either.” She smiled softly.

  He stared a moment longer then shrugged. “Then I don’t know what it is.” He rose from his chair and pressed another kiss to her head. “But I sure am glad you’re home for a visit.”

  Her heart warmed, giving her the peace she’d hoped to find by coming to the farm this morning. Sometimes home was the best place to be.

  As she parted her lips to respond, a sudden furious voice cut through the silence. “You goddamn prick.”

  Her stomach rolled a little with mixed emotions, nervousness and worry, when she turned to find Nash dismounting his horse. Next to him was Beckett, a guy from high school who ran in the same circle of friends she and Nash had while growing up.

  “Excuse me?” Dad glared.

  “Don’t even try to play coy.” Nash closed the distance and pointed at her father. “You sonuvabitch.”

  Megan sighed and rose, trotting down the steps, getting between them. “What’s wrong?” she asked Nash calmly.

  Nash’s gaze flicked to Dad. “You going to tell her?”

  Dad squared his shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re going on about, boy.”

  Megan glanced over her shoulder and sighed. Again. Dad might as well have given Nash the finger every time he said boy. The tone of his voice was so condescending, even she cringed.

  Something Nash noticed too. The careful control he had slipped for a moment, and intense rage seeped into his gaze. “Are you honestly going to tell me you’re not behind cutting our fence and releasing our cattle onto your property, so the guests would miss the run this morning?”

  Dad snorted. “That is ridiculous.”

  “You will not get our land, Harrison,” Nash growled, the veins on the sides of his neck looking about a second from bursting. “Not one fucking piece of it.”

  Megan considered getting on a jet and going somewhere tropical and never coming back.

  While she hoped her father had nothing to do with this, she also studied him, looking for any signs he was lying. Truth be told, he probably would do something as dirty as make the guest ranch fail to put the Blackshaws in the position of having to sell their land to him. That was without question. To everyone in River Rock, Clint Harrison was a cutthroat businessman. She had seen that side to him growing up. The thing was, he was also her daddy, and she loved him. The hard, terrible side of him was not the side he showed her. Ever.

  The long, loaded silence was finally broken with Dad’s scoff. “I don’t need your land.”

  “Bullshit,” Nash practically spat, taking a step forward, his gaze throwing daggers at Clint’s head. “It’s never enough for you, is it? First, you steal our clients. Now this.” Nash leaned in and gave a look promising death. “Blackshaw land stays with us. Always. You won’t get any of it. No matter how much you try and sink us.”

  Sure, the implications of what Nash said rippled across her, but Megan remained stuck on the hatred shining in Nash’s eyes. Hatred that had been born when he was a child and had only worsened over the years. Hatred that was the very thing that stood in the way of allowing her heart to have what it so desperately wanted.

  Nash.

  She had no doubt he would never overlook the longtime fight between the families. Nash was too proud and too angry. Megan had yet to figure out if he was most pissed about Blackshaw Cattle losing its prestigious position as the top cattle ranch in River Rock. Or if he was angry about the spine injury that had cost him his career as a professional bull rider. But in the end, the family animosity couldn’t be overlooked. How could she choose between her father and the man who held her heart?

  “I will not repeat myself,” Dad said slowly, with a hard warning. “Get off my property. Come here again and sputter these insults at me, and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Movement on her left caught Megan’s attention. The Irish Creek cowboys were moving in their direction. Great. No one liked the Blackshaws around here. Least of all Nash, the Blackshaw with the loudest mouth.

  Like a blessing in disguise, her mom, Loretta, drove up the driveway, hitting the gas when she saw Nash. She was out of the car quickly, holding her typical
calm look as she approached. “Good morning, Nash. It’s so wonderful to see you,” she said, a brown grocery store bag in her arms. “Is everything okay?”

  Yes, Megan realized. Everything tense and wrong suddenly became right with her mom there. Loretta Harrison was five-foot-three with soft blue eyes and short dyed-brown hair with auburn highlights. Her physique was round. Her smile, quick and warm. And she exuded love like sunshine on a beautiful day.

  Before the yelling could start, Megan explained, “The Blackshaws’ fence got cut, and the cattle escaped onto our property.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Mom said, her eyes wide with honest surprise. “Do you need our help locating the cattle?” she asked Nash.

  Dad made a choking sound. “Over my dead—”

  Mom handed him the grocery bag. “We’ll send a few of the boys out to the east. Are you good with taking the west?”

  Nash nodded, only softness in his eyes for her. “That works, ma’am.”

  Mom turned back to the cowboys who obviously were looking to protect Irish Creek against Nash. “Get on those horses and find the Blackshaws’ cattle. I want no trouble today, you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they called in unison before heading back into the barn.

  She turned to Nash again and gave her warm smile. “Let us know if you need our help wrangling the cattle up once you’ve found them. You’ve got our number?”

  He nodded. But to her father, he glared a silent fuck you before he mounted his horse again.

  Megan stood waiting and hoping Nash would notice her there. That for one second, he would stop and give her a smile, a look . . . anything. She needed—no, wanted—to be more important than this bitterness he had toward her father. She wanted to matter. Especially to him.

  But that’s not what happened.

  He turned and galloped away.

  Chapter 3

  Long after his day ended and the evening staff at the guest ranch took over entertaining the guests—including a campfire and roasting marshmallows—Nash entered Kinky Spurs, ready to make amends with Megan for earlier. He hadn’t known she would be at Harrison’s, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get caught up in all this.

  The bar was busy tonight, and Nash’s nose tickled from the excessive amount of perfume the women he passed wore. That’s what he liked about Megan—she never overdid anything. The country band, which included his friend Dalton who was strumming his guitar and singing a Blake Shelton classic, entertained the crowd on the dance floor. The space was full of half-drunk twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings. Tables were full of customers eating Kinky Spurs’ famous chicken wings that went from mild to so damn hot it would bring spicy food lovers to their knees. Nash had once been among them, always looking for a good challenge.

  The noise began to fade as he wove his way through the full tables and spotted Megan behind the bar. Truly, he did not know how such a beautiful and good woman came from Clint Harrison. Sure, Megan had a lot of her mother in her, but the man had helped raise her. And no matter what, the fence cutting stank like Clint and his cold, dead heart. Not long ago, Clint had almost had his greedy hands on Blackshaw land until Emma thought up the idea of the guest ranch to keep the business afloat. Still, Clint’s desire to stay on top would never fade.

  Nash knew this about Clint because he understood that type of hunger. Nash had that same intensity for the woman who placed a Foxy Diva, a beer from the local Three Chicks Brewery, in front of him without a hitch to her step. The woman with the sandy-brown hair and the unique eyes. One blue. One brown. And a dusting of cute freckles across her nose. “Not talking to me?” he called out.

  She turned, giving him a great view of her magnificent ass in her tight jean shorts that seemed even tighter lately. He liked those shorts. A lot. “What can I get ya?” she said, addressing the customer next to him.

  Nash chuckled and took a long sip of the crisp cold beer. This was their game, for more years than he dared to count. A game he liked. And one he had gotten very good at because he knew this woman. He knew her more than he knew anyone. And that came from years of wanting her and watching her every move.

  Still, her lack of eye contact bothered him. The one thing he hated more than Clint was that her bastard father came between him and Megan. Certain things he would allow, considering he enjoyed the push and pull between them. But hurting or upsetting her was not something he ever set out to do.

  When he lowered the beer, he noticed the tension on her face. Damn, she was pissed. Intent to fix that, when she ducked under the bar’s gate and headed into the back, he took a long sip of his beer then followed her.

  No one stopped him as he journeyed into the kitchen. In typical style for a night at Kinky Spurs, the kitchen staff were busy and focused on pleasing Antonio, a chef with a sharp tongue and a bad attitude. Nash held only one focus—making things right with Megan. He moved swiftly, looking for her, and eventually found her bent over in the stockroom.

  He leaned against the doorframe. “Is this an invitation?”

  Some women would gasp in surprise. Some women might blush. Not Megan. She didn’t miss a beat and said, “Touch my ass and kiss your hand goodbye.”

  He chuckled at her weak statement. One touch and she would be putty in his hands. Because as much as he loved this game, so did she. The only thing was, she was better at it than he was. He wanted her. All the time. She was there, in his head, every damn minute of the day.

  When she grabbed a beer case and turned, she held his gaze. “Can I help you with something?”

  The flush of her cheeks gave her away. She still wanted him. He knew that with total certainty. And it kept sucking him in. Because they were so damn good together . . . if only she would allow them to happen. His feelings for her had never been a question in his mind. “I want to apologize that you got caught up in that today. I wish you hadn’t been there. My problem is with your father, not with you.”

  Those fiery eyes held his, lips pressing firmly shut.

  At that, he lifted his brows. “Ah, total silence. This is the game, now, is it?” He took the beer case from her hands, and she let him, and he settled the box onto the shelf next to him. Intent to make her soft and warm, he placed his hands on either side of her head. Her eyes heated as his other hand came down on her hip, and he gently guided her back until she was pinned between the wall and him. “Tell me to go and I’ll go.”

  She looked down and paused for a loaded moment, then finally said, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m choosing not to talk to you. Those are two very different things.” Those fiery eyes finally lifted to his. The fire was tempered with a different emotion now. Hunger. His cock swelled painfully in his Levi’s. He stepped closer, showing her exactly what she did to him. She licked her lips, her pouty mouth begging for his kiss.

  “Are you mad about today?” he asked, staring into her beautifully unique eyes.

  “No, I’m not mad,” she said.

  But she felt something about today. He could see that written all over her face. He’d been trying to get a handle on Megan for the past month. Something had changed in her, though he couldn’t quite figure out exactly what it was. He assumed he’d done something to piss her off. He was good at that. “So, you’re not mad, but you don’t want to talk to me, is that it?” He slid his fingers along the top of her T-shirt, pulling it down a little to press his lips against the sweet spot on her shoulder that made her shiver once. “I’d wager a bet that you might not want to talk, but there is something else you want to do with me, Freckles.” He pressed another kiss on her neck then dragged his mouth up to ear. “You already know I’m all in for exactly what you want.” And Christ, he did want her. Again and again.

  And then more.

  He trailed his lips from her neck to shoulder, sensing her quivering beneath his mouth. She angled her head and moaned, her hands sliding up his arms as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He couldn’t get enough of her either. He placed his leg between
hers and loosened his fingers on her hip when she ground herself against him. All the tension that had built in his chest was suddenly easing and melting away in her presence. He liked that about her. She was strong and fiery. Until he kissed her. Then she was melted butter in his hands.

  Needing to remind her how incredible they were together, he slid his hand across her neck until he threaded his fingers into her hair then dropped his mouth on hers. He had one shot. And he wouldn’t waste it. He kissed her roughly, passionately, giving everything he had into that single kiss.

  And she kissed him back.

  Her moan brushed over him, righting everything in his world. She felt good and warm and he wanted her closer. He sensed her slowly giving him all things he wanted and more . . . until suddenly she broke off the kiss with a loud gasp.

  Breathless, she stared at him.

  He went still.

  In her eyes, he found something new . . . something unsteady. For so many years, they had this game going on. She’d run. He chased her. Even now, he thought that’s all she wanted. The fun of the hunt. But in the dark depths of her eyes, something was wrong. And he knew this had nothing to do with her father earlier.

  He took a step back and slid his thumb under her chin, capturing her gaze. “Did you not want me to kiss you?”

  She paused. Then, “I wanted that kiss.”

  Her voice was soft and tender, and all the things he had never heard from her. He stared into her eyes, trying to understand, a cold wave of concern washing over him. He cupped her face and felt a tug to get even closer. He saw things in her expression. Things that concerned him. “Is this about your dad?’

  “Yes. No.” She shook her head. “Sort of.”

  Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, and he moved even closer, leaving no room between them. Because suddenly this wasn’t fun and games anymore. And seeing those tears goddamn broke him. “What did your father do to you?” Nash would kill him.

  She inhaled sharply, but her tears never fell. There was a lot showing in her expression, leaving Nash spinning. Insecurity, fear, and something gentle that Nash didn’t want anyone getting close to but him.