Authors: Sandy Sullivan,Deb Julienne,Lilly Christine,RaeAnne Hadley,D'Ann Lindun
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right of reproduction, distribution, or transmitted in whole or part in any form or means, or stored in any electronic, mechanical, database or retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
Copyright 2016 by Sandy Sullivan, Deb Julienne, Lilly Christine, RaeAnne Hadley, and D’Ann Lindun
Cover Design: Cover to Cover: Kari Ayasha
TROUBLE WITH A COWBOY
Other Books By Sandy Sullivan
Love Me Once, Love Me Twice (Montana Cowboys 1)
Before the Night is Over (Montana Cowboys 2)
Two for the Price of One (Montana Cowboys 3)
Difficult Choices (Montana Cowboys 4)
Doctor Me Up (Montana Cowboys 5)
Stakin’ His Claim
Country Minded Cougar
Meet Me in the Barn
Taming the Cougar
Trouble With a Cowboy
Gotta Love a Cowboy
Make Mine a Cowboy (Cowboy Dreamin’ 1)
Healing a Cowboy’s Heart (Cowboy Dreamin’ 2)
For the Love of a Cowboy (Cowboy Dreamin’ 3)
Tempted by the Cowboy (Cowboy Dreamin’ 4)
Forever Kind of Cowboy (Cowboy Dreamin’ 5)
Kiss Me, Cowboy (Cowboy Dreamin’ 6)
A Cowboy and a Country Song (Cowboy Dreamin’ 7)
Falling Hard (Eight Second Ride Book 1)
Loving Hard (Eight Second Ride Book 2)
Trouble with a Cowboy
Copyright © 2016 Sandy Sullivan
All rights reserved.
Trouble with a Cowboy
by Sandy Sullivan
18 wheels had her heart until one hard-up cowboy found her kickin' up her heels and propositions her to take his bull to Vegas. Jacie Hawkins drives big wheelers for a livin'. Something not a lot of women do. Littleton Oklahoma is just a dry stopover for a few hours of rest and relaxation at the nearest bar. Jacie needs to find a hot cowboy to release some of her pent up frustrations on for the night, but wannabe's aren't her style.
Tucker Marshall needs a big-rig driver to haul his prize bull to National Finals Rodeo and he needs one fast. Who would have thought he'd find one shootin' pool at the local bar dressed to kill and takin' numbers?
Can some slashed tires and an ornery bull bring two hard-headed people together for some fun in the sun and a little more?
This book is dedicated to all the cowboy lovers out there. I hope you enjoy Jacie and Tucker’s story.
Bum-fuck nowhere, Oklahoma.
"What'cha drinkin', honey?" The bartender greeted Jacie Hawkins with a flirty smile.
"Beer, please," she said, sliding some money across to the nice looking, broad shouldered guy behind the counter.
"Any particular brand you're partial to?"
"Bud is fine. In a bottle, please."
"No problem." The man popped the cap and set the beer down in front of her. "You ain't from here."
She tipped the longneck to her lips, taking a deep draw, before leaning against the bar. "How'd you guess?"
"I'd have noticed you before, honey."
She narrowed her eyes on the man. Yes, she wanted to find a gorgeous cowboy to sate her lust, but this guy wasn't the one. "Is that supposed to be an offhanded compliment?"
The guy tipped his cowboy hat. His grin got bigger while he chewed the toothpick hanging from the edge of his mouth. "Nothing offhanded about it, beautiful."
"Whatever," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. Men were all the same. They figured a few flowery compliments and any girl would eat out of their palm or from between their legs inside a minute or two. Well not this girl.
Spinning around on the barstool, she looked over the crowd while dangling the bottle of beer between her fingers. The men outnumbered the women two to one. Every imaginable kind of sparkle or rhinestone could be found on either the back pockets of jeans or spelling something out across an overemphasized chest.
Her white spaghetti strap tank top with a shear black top over it, black hip hugging jeans, black pointed toe cowboy boots and her championship gold rodeo buckle, completed her attire. The choice of outfit made her a cut above most of the women in this bar. There were a few in the crowd, who looked authentic, but very few.
Every now and then, Jacie Margaret Hawkins broke down to become the girl beneath the jeans, oversized shirt, baseball cap and tomboy exterior. Tonight would be that night—in a town where she knew no one.
She hated stopping while she hauled her horse, but the animal needed the break. The excursion from Tennessee to Vegas had taken its toll on her mare. She needed to give her baby a day or two to stretch her legs.
Long days of driving were nothing new for her. Truck driving paid the bills. A woman trucker usually caught the attention of others on the road, but no one messed with Jacie. Her don't fuck with me attitude usually kept unwanted advances at bay.
These women don't have a clue. Most men don't give a damn about a wannabe cowgirl, they want the real thing.
Until they figure out they can't handle the real thing
. Her focus dropped to the planks scattered with sawdust.
Lean hips and a bull rider belt buckle blocked her view of the multitude of cowboy boots standing nearby. Her gaze crawled up a flat, chiseled abdomen, across sculpted muscles, over a firm jaw to meet sexy brown eyes.
"What's the frown for, pretty lady?"
She tipped the bottle to her lips to take a long drink, keeping her eyes on the gorgeous man in front of her.
Once she'd swallowed, she said, "Contemplation."
Great. Probably barely made his way through high school.
"I was trying to figure out how many of them," she nodded to the crowd twirling on the dance floor, "are real."
"Real cowboys or just wannabes."
Brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled as he hooked his fingers behind his belt buckle and tilted the shiny metal up. "Mine's real, sweet thing."
"Is it? Where did you win it?"
"National Finals Rodeo last year. Bull ridin'."
"Is that right?" She took another sip of her beer.
"Yeah." The cowboy pulled his shoulders back proudly.
"You know, that's funny. I rode last year. I sure don't remember you. What did you say your name was?"
The man frowned as a trickle of sweat appeared over his lip. "Kyle Fredrick."
"Kyle…" She tipped the bottle to her lips again. "Mmm…nope. I sure don't remember you. You know what else?"
His eyes narrowed as he shifted from foot to foot. "What."
"I have an
belt buckle in barrel racing." She tapped the buckle at her waist with her fingernail, and then pointed toward his. "That's about the worst fake I've ever seen. The real one, honey, is gold with World Champion Bull Rider on the bottom and your name engraved just above that." She stood in front of him so they stood toe-to-toe. "That trinket might work on one of those rhinestone babes out there, but it won't work on me. I know the real thing when I see it."
When the music changed, bathing the bar in silence for a moment, she heard a soft chuckle to her left. Tipping her head, she locked gazes with the guy two stools down. He lifted an eyebrow and tipped his hat as a crooked, half-smile graced his mouth, showing off pearly-white teeth with a dimple in his left cheek. Before she got a good look at the color of his eyes, the cowboy in front of her pulled her attention back to him.
"You're a bitch."
"I've been called that before. You'll have to come up with something more original…Kyle."
With a pissed-off growl, Kyle spun on his heel, disappearing into the crowd farther down the bar. Jacie took her seat again, propping her boot heels on the rung of the chair and tipped the bottle to her lips. Beer slid down her throat in a cool wash of satisfaction.
Moments later, two-stools down cowboy moved one stool closer when the man next to her headed for the door.
Elbows balanced on the bar behind her as the bottle dangled from her fingers, she glanced sideways and her gaze met the prettiest baby blues she'd ever seen. One sweep from the top of his black Stetson and dark hair, over his broad chest and down his yummy torso, told her a lot.
A working man.
Dusty cowboy boots peeked out from the hem of his jeans.
"Hi," he offered.
"Name's Tucker." He held out his hand.
She stared at his palm.
Calluses. Working hands. Short nails. Clean.
Grasping his hand in hers, she wasn't prepared for the zing of electricity pricking her skin where they touched.
"Nice to meet you, Jacie."
"You, too Tucker."
"Sorry about that guy."
"Why? Is he a friend of yours?"
A short snort left his mouth. "Not in this lifetime. I'm only hopin' you don't judge the whole lot by him."
"Nah." She smiled and lifted the bottle to her lips again, draining the remaining beer. "He's nothing new. I'm used to his type."
"What type is that?"
"The lay 'em and leave 'em kind. Once he gets between a woman's thighs, he's gone."