Forbidden Cowboy (Rocky Ridge Creek #1)

Broken Cowboy Chapter Two

LENA

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“AAAAAND, HE’S GONE.” My sister, Ellie lowers herself from the peephole with a sigh of disappointment. “I can’t believe you landed a cowboy, and I came back to my room alone.”

The bed bounces when she hops on the mattress next to me. My head is spinning. I’m overheating and pouring sweat in an unhealthy way. And what is this taste in my mouth?

I roll away from my sister and draw the quilt over my head. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“I’m not your babysitter.” She smacks my shoulder, taking the blanket off my face in the process. “Sit up”

I roll back over, squinting at the sunlight. I refuse to sit up. She hands me a couple pills and a glass of water, just like I’ve done with her more times than I can count. She’s seven years younger than me and when our mom was, well, what she called working, I took care of Ellie.

The sight of the pills makes me want to hurl.

“I was your designated wing woman last night. Besides, you didn’t drink that much. You’re a lush. Too many nights in for you, and not enough nights out. We should change that for the remainder of this trip. Every night we’ll spend out on the town.”

I don’t mention the limited options Rocky Ridge Creek has to offer. I’m sure there aren’t any underground night clubs like my sister is used to. And I can’t even imagine waking up feeling like this ever again.

“You should’ve stopped me from bringing the cowboy to my room.” I should’ve stopped myself. Where did I leave my self-control? At the bar with my sobriety and dignity.

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To write a cowboy romance? What better way to experience a cowboy than to sleep with a real cowboy?”

“I write fiction. I don’t need a cowboy to go down on me to know how to write it. Just like I don’t need a tour of some ranch to know how to describe a ranch. That’s what the internet is for. Research. Research. Research.” I love researching from the comfort of my laptop, not mucking around in barns and fields. “Coming here was a bad idea. Why did I let you talk me into it?”

“You needed to get away from the city. And since I just happen to know the Wilde rodeo twins, really, really well, this just worked out perfect.” I get the feeling my sister was involved in a sexual love triangle or threesome. Could’ve very well been a threesome.

“A month here is exactly the inspiration you need to find the love story hiding somewhere inside you.”

How does she expect me to write a love story when I’ve lost all faith in love?

Ellie pounces flush against me. Her hair spills over my pillow. Her legs tangle with mine. She pets my hair like I’m a child who doesn’t smell like booze and sex.

“ Sooo , he went down on you, huh?”

“I’m not—we’re not having this conversation.”

“Dayum, a cowboy who pleasures the woman first. Brings her to the edge of her orgasm before spiraling himself.” Sometimes I wonder who writes the romance books. “I’m impressed. Maybe all those western romances you’ve been binge reading are true. These men got heart and soul and manners, but they bang like wild animals.” Is she talking from experience? Possibly a Wilde Ménage à Trois.

“I said none of that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

I pop the pills in my mouth. The water quenches my parched throat. Then last night’s supper threatens to come back up.

Nope. Wait a second. It’s coming up.

I scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom fast enough to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I stretch out my arm on the plush pink seat cover and lay my head on my clammy skin. I feel like a bag of dirt.

Ellie smoothes my hair behind my ears. “Sleeping with the cowboy is the best decision you’ve made since Robbie.”

I wince. “Don’t say his name.”

She twists on the shower nozzles. The pipes creak and gurgle. She sticks her fingers under the water and adjusts the temperature.

“Dipshit it is.”

I don’t disagree with her. I could think of worse names. “I’m not sure randomly sleeping with a stranger is a good decision. Let alone, a best decision.”

“It is when he’s a cowboy. What’s that saying—” She snaps her fingers until it comes to her “—save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

“It’s a song.”

Ellie squints her nose. “No, it’s not.”

“It is. I looked it up. Big and Rich. Released 2004. Reached number eleven on the U.S billboard US country chart.”

Ellie waggles a finger at me. “Your research and temporary knowledge of things one shouldn’t be knowledgeable about creeps me out. Did you use protection?”

“Of course.”

“Best. Decision. Since. Dipshit.” She plants her hands on her high-waist shorts which overlap with the pink plaid shirt knotted at the waist. Gone are her wide-leg pants, silk camisole, and kimono.

“Why are you dressed like that? And why do you smell so good? Like a field of flowers? You’re not even a morning person?”

She stares down at me. “Lena, it’s almost lunch.”

“Lunch? Shit. Our appointment is after lunch.”

“Do you need me to undress you and help you in the shower?”

“No. I got it. Thanks.”

Ellie twirls a braided pigtail in her fingers. “I’m pretty good at this whole mommy thing, don’t you think?

I close my eyes. “Mm-hmm.”

“I mean, I’ve never been able to practice considering I was the youngest. And you’ve always been my mom. Mom was not a mom. But I definitely think I took after you in that department. Not her. Don’t you think?”

I squint at her. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please. Maybe you’ll knock boots with our ranch tour guide cowboy.”

My eyes pop open. “No! No more knocking boots with cowboys.” I push off the toilet to my feet. “Get out.” I shove her out the door.

“Don’t count me out. I haven’t knocked boots with a cowboy yet. I wonder if our ranch guide is single.” I shut the door in her face. “I’m going downstairs for some coffee. I’ll get some answers on our cowboy status from our hostesses.”

“I’d prefer you don’t.”

“I read small town gossip is a thing. I’ll go find out if that’s true.”

I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t think it would hurt. “You do that.”

The shower’s cold water pelts my body and leaves me feeling somewhat refreshed. Not refreshed enough to run to my laptop and write down my once in a lifetime evening. I’d never admit it to my sister, but sex with the cowboy had been wild and hot and nothing like I’ve ever experienced. And yet, not compelling enough to make a note. I remember the days when I’d take the smallest encounter with people much like our quirky hostesses, Wilma and Faye Quylt, and jot down every small detail. Since my husband’s death, the words don’t flow the way they once did. And I wish it had something to do with his passing and not the legacy he left behind.

I unwrap one of the complimentary toothbrushes and scrub away any reminder of Buffalo wings. I wrap the starched white towel around me and skip across the hall to my room. I twist the handle to find it locked.

“Shit,” I hiss.

I stomp back to my sister’s room only to find her door locked too.

“Double shit.”

I have no keys. No cell phone. My sister has disappeared to God only knows where, and I’m dashing through the hallway in only a short towel.

Has my entire life turned into a rom-com?

During one of my research binges, I read an article that claimed you attract what you put out into the world. Up until last year, I put rom-com after rom-com into the world.

Now I’m living it.

I slink to the end of the hallway, praying no one pops out of a room and catches me. I peek around the spindle railing. “Mrs. Quylt?” No reply. “Other Mrs. Quylt.” Silence.

Sugar blossom!

The old wooden stairs beneath the carpet creak under my feet. The frosted double doors at the entrance taunt the possibility of someone waltzing through. The last thing I need is another scandal to cover up. The last one cost me a pretty penny.

At least the sexy cowboy left. Of course, if this was one of my books, I would’ve written him in to stay for a coffee or lunch. Totally swayed by the quirky hostesses and then I would smash the hero and heroine together in a crash meeting.

Lucky for me, this is reality. And reality doesn’t have happily ever after. Reality is preserved for betrayal and hurt.

“Mrs. Quylt?” At the base of the stairs, I peer down the hallway. “Ellie?”

I follow a noise through the white archway into the living room. I find one of the hostess’s dogs getting a little too personal and humping a frilly pillow.

“No, bad dog.” I pull the cushion away. The tiny blonde-haired Chihuahua digs his nails in the material. The dog’s guttural growl accompanies his tiny sharp teeth baring at me.

I let go. “Fine, you horny little dog. You win. Hump the poor pillow.”

He jumps at me.

I scream.

His teeth latch onto my towel and his body bounces off my leg. I clutch the material as it slides halfway down my breasts. I use my other hand in an attempt to close the slit hanging wide open for the world to see my girly bits below. He doesn’t let go of the towel and hangs suspended two feet in the air.

I yelp when the dog’s nails bite my flesh. “Let go!” I’ve lost all control of the level of my voice. “Bad dog! Very very bad dog!” I hear the pitter-patter of a second set of paws. Growls pit low in the approaching Chihuahua and I point at the black-haired dog. “Don’t you dare.”

The Chihuahua leaps at me. Damn little ankle biters!

A second scream escapes me, and I stumble. My foot lands on a squeaker toy. The high-pitch squeal pierces my ears and further excites the dogs. They yank and scratch and pull on both sides of me.

The towel slips through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to catch it. The blonde-haired dog flops on the floor with a mouthful of towel that wraps around him like a burrito. He bounces on all four paws quickly and drags the towel with him.

I reach for my towel when the other dog bites my foot.

“Ouch!” I spin around and run smack dab into a solid wall of muscle. I bounce off the chest. The man’s arm snakes around my back and securely holds me flat against his front. My hands are trapped between us. Through the honey and lavender smell of the same body-wash I used upstairs, I recognize this man’s smell. I know exactly whose chest the side of my face is smushed against. I’m standing buck naked against the cowboy from last night.

“What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

Women’s gasps follow. My sister’s giggle turns into a half snort. I don’t even have to look up to imagine our audiences’ expressions. My writing word bank pops into my head: gaping mouths, wide-eyes, shocked but partial smiles.

I open my eyes and catch the cowboy lowering his hat to cover my buttocks. “Nothing to see here ladies.” His gruff voice tickles my insides.

There’s so much to see. That hat certainly is not covering my whole rear end. I’ll bet not a single butt cheek fits behind it.

“This isn’t ideal introductions, but Wheeler Wilde meet the famous romance author, Dianna Jenkins.” I recognize Faye’s sweet and chipper voice. She’s the sister who dresses like she’s the queen of England. “Dianna—”

“Lena.” I don’t know why I correct her.

“Oh right, I forget you write under a pen name. Lena Thorpe, this is your ranch tour guide.”

My heart stops beating. My body stiffens, even more than it already is. I let the older lady’s words sink into my head. I slept with my ranch guide.

I meet his lowered gaze. Is there a hint of irritation in his eyes? “I guess we’ll be seeing quite a bit more of each other,” he says.

Exactly what I don’t need. “You know what would be great right now?”

His brown eyes dance with desire and hints of naughty things he wants to do to me. My mind temporarily forgets where it was headed.

“A quilt off any of the many surfaces in this room.”

His smile drops. “Right.”

“Right.”

Using his free hand, he reaches for a quilt.

“Not that one!” One of the sisters shouts.

He reaches for another.

“No! We can’t cut that quilt.”

“Seriously ladies, just give him a damn quilt!”

I hear my sister giggle. Of course she finds this funny. Hysterical even.

As if this moment couldn’t get worse, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it. Here, take this.” Wilma’s heavy footsteps clonk out of the living room. Faye’s tapping heels clink after her.

Finally, I feel a blanket drape over my shoulders.

“I’ll just leave you two alone. Maybe you need to catch up or get better acquainted. Not my place to judge.” My sister is rambling. “Really nice meeting you. Wheeler, is it? It doesn’t matter, I’m sure I’ll hear lots more about you later, cowboy.”

“No, Ellie! Ellie, I need your room key.” I tighten the quilt at my front and spin toward my sister.

She’s gone.

The Quylt sisters are at the front hall inviting people inside. My name is the center of their conversation and I’m standing here wrapped in a plaid quilt beside my one-night stand. Scandal is written all over this.

I feel panic rising up my chest. My breathing stops. The voices muffle. The room is closing in on me. I’m right back there. Standing at my husband’s funeral across from his pregnant mistress holding the hand of my husband’s four-year-old son.

“Hey? Lena?” The cowboy—Wheeler—lightly shakes my shoulders. “You okay?”

“They’re going to invite everyone in here.”

“It sounds like the quilting group.”

Of course, it does. “I don’t care who it is, I am naked.”