Cowboy Redeemed
Authors: Parker Kincade
Cowboy Redeemed: A Shadow Maverick Ranch Novella
by
Parker Kincade
Copyright © 2014 by Parker Kincade
ISBN: 978-0-9894407-5-2
No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Parker Kincade. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy.
Editor
Lacey Thacker
Cover Artist
Hot Damn Designs
Formatted by
JTLW Design
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, brands, and dialogues in this book are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. This book contains content that is not suitable for readers who are 17 and under.
Table of Contents
Dedication
For Mandy Harbin, for ALL the reasons.
And for Clayton.
Who stole my heart when I wasn’t looking.
Chapter One
“I’m sorry, Ms. Russell. You are out of options.”
Ainsley slid to the back of the worn leather guest chair and crossed her jean-clad legs.
He didn’t sound sorry. Relieved, maybe. Annoyed. Definitely not sorry.
She flexed her fingers, willing them to relax. No need to go all white-knuckled on the armrest and give away her vast irritation with the man. Her expression was sure to do the job without resulting in a cramp.
She stared hard at Mr. Wayne Sutherland, Attorney-at-Law. With his silver hair, dark eyes, and well-groomed beard, he could pass for Santa Clause. If Santa had an evil twin in a navy-blue suit so shiny it could’ve been stitched together with diamond dust.
“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked.
“That means it’s time to take a serious look at the offers you’ve been given. A girl like you has no business trying to run a ranch in the first place.”
Every fucking time. “Good thing it’s not your decision to make then isn’t it? I didn’t choose this, Mr. Sutherland. That doesn’t mean I’m going to throw away something that belongs to me just because times are tough.”
The little reminder of who held the deed, in theory anyway, hit its mark.
“You’ve got several legitimate offers here. Gavin Mathis, for one, has been more than generous in—”
“Not interested.”
She’d met with Gavin several times. He was charming, far too good-looking for his own good, and had an irritating habit of not taking
no
for an answer. Not in the personal sense—he’d been strictly business with her. Gavin had a pretty fiancée Ainsley had met a time or two. His adoration for the woman was obvious.
What didn’t seem to be obvious was Ainsley’s desire for a solution that didn’t require her to sell.
“Ms. Russell, aside from the bank loan coming through—”
“Ah. So I’m not entirely out of options then,” she remarked sweetly.
His face crinkled into a scowl. “May I be frank?”
Ainsley wondered for the umpteenth time what she’d done to garner this man’s hostility. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for just a moment, trying to ward off the headache that always accompanied these little visits. “By all means.”
Mr. Sutherland cleared his throat, as though the mere sound of her voice was distasteful. He slapped open a file and stabbed a chubby finger on the contents he hadn’t seen fit to share. “You’ve got two months, three tops, before you’re out of money. As I mentioned before, selling off a substantial portion of the herd wasn’t the wisest choice.”
No, she supposed it wasn’t. “I did what needed to be done to pay off my uncle’s debt. Debt, I might remind you, I didn’t create, but inherited.”
“Selling the ranch would have been the best course of action. You could’ve paid off the debt and had a little traveling money in your pocket. Now, you’ll be lucky to get what you need out of the place.”
“If you have a point, please make it. While I live for our monthly Saturday afternoon visits, I have work to do.”
His cheeks turned bright red. Ainsley feared the man was about to blow an artery.
“You’re a single, twenty-four year old woman.” His voice shook in obvious anger. “Your residence history has been sporadic, making your work history the same. Although you’ve always managed to stay employed, you’ve never spent more than a year in the same place. You’re a drifter, Ms. Russell. A gypsy. Banks don’t loan the kind of money you’ll require to gypsies.”
She’d stayed in her last apartment, last job, for over two years. She’d be there now if her uncle hadn’t died, but arguing with Mr. Sutherland was pointless.
Self-centered, judgmental bastard with his college degree and turned up nose. She’d made the most of the cards she’d been dealt. Fuck this asshole if he thought calling her a gypsy would degrade her. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
And the bank hadn’t said no yet. There was still a chance she could make it work. In the meantime, there was one thing she could do to save on expenses. Something she should have done months ago.
She stood. “Thank you for another enlightening meeting. I’m sure my uncle would appreciate everything you’ve done to help get things in order, Mr. Sutherland, but I’ll take it from here. Your services are no longer required.”
His cheeks puffed. “You’ll need me to work the sale, the finances.”
“I don’t need you for anything, Mr. Sutherland.” She didn’t
need
anyone. The trial-by-fire story of her life. “We are done here. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
She quietly closed the door behind her and made her way to her car. She’d learned long ago not to waste time questioning what life threw at her. Six months ago she’d been four states away, renting a decent apartment and working as a bartender at a local hot spot. She’d made a living. But here … here she had an opportunity to make a life for herself. Discover what it meant to have roots.
Ainsley unlocked the door of her well-used sedan and slid into the seat. She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel and took a steadying breath.
What was the saying? Something about the best things in life don’t come easily? Ainsley had some seriously awesome stuff coming her way, if the mantra was true. She wouldn’t know easy if it gut punched her.
She rolled her shoulders, tense and aching from her meeting. Only two things she could think of would relieve the kind of stress riding her. A stiff drink and a willing partner for an hour, two if she was lucky.
With those things in mind, Ainsley decided to do something she hadn’t done since moving to this town. She backed out of her parking spot and headed down Main Street. Instead of turning left at the stoplight to head home, she turned right.
And headed straight for the bar.
Chapter Two
Clayton Mathis knew when he was being watched.
Call it a sixth sense, a prickling at the back of his neck, or just call it being damned observant.
Sidelong glances, nonchalant scans of the crowd that started and ended on him, casual peeks from lowered lids. Oh yeah, she’d been eyeing him all night.
Clay didn’t know her. Not her name, if she lived around here, or what she did for a living.
He took stock of what he did know: Never seen her before. No ring on the important finger. Not even a shadow of a ring once worn. She drank her whiskey straight up. Followed each with a light beer, yet she showed no signs of intoxication. The woman could handle her liquor.
With her back to him, she prepared to take her shot. Clay tilted his head.
Christ. She wore a pair of jeans like nobody’s business, and she played a mean game of pool.
He added those to his mental tally.
“Yo, dude.”
A smattering of peanut hulls hit him in the chest at the same time a boot connected with his shin. Clay forced his gaze from the intriguing woman and leveled a stare at his best friends, first one, then the other.
“What?” Clay brushed the shells from where they’d accumulated in his lap. He’d known Colton Lancaster and Dakota Blackstone since they were kids. He prayed for once they’d mind their own business.
No such luck.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Colt asked and turned his head to look toward the pool tables. “Or should I say
who
?”
Dakota shifted in his seat, neck stretched to see around Colt’s shoulders. “Yeah, man. What gives?”
Clay’s gaze drifted back to her. She widened her stance and leaned over to take her shot, giving him a spectacular view of her heart-shaped ass. His mental list continued.
Clay wasn’t surprised the guys hadn’t noticed her. With a bar full of women dressed to fuck, the little pool shark didn’t really stand out.
She stood an average height. He’d guess around five-six, five-seven at the most. Blonde hair, pulled up in a messy ponytail that teased between her shoulder blades whenever she moved. Strands fell around her face, as though they refused to be bound even when she’d repeatedly tucked them behind her ear. No heavily applied makeup to detract from her natural beauty. Jeans and flip-flops. Her tight pink T-shirt showed off small, pert breasts and a trim waist. She looked more like the unassuming girl-next-door than someone looking for hard-core mattress action on a Saturday night.
From the looks of it, her kind of action included relieving every pool-playing cowboy in the joint of his cash.
The girl was good, he’d give her that. She’d taken the last three cowboys who’d challenged her and was toying with her fourth. Dumbasses hadn’t even known what hit ’em. They just lined up, scrambling over each other for the chance to be the first to beat her.
“Nothin’ gives,” Clay mumbled and relaxed back in his chair. He gave his boys his full attention. “Just watching a game of pool.”
“Since when are you interested in pool?” Colt’s eyes slanted in suspicion.
Her movements were graceful and elegant. She checked the angles, made a show of deciding which ball to target. She ran her fingertips up and down the cue as she moved, easily slipping it into position as she picked her shot. Her head lifted and she caught him staring. The corner of her mouth twitched up, as if she knew a dark, sensual secret meant only for him.
Jesus Christ, his dick hardened fast enough to force the breath from his lungs. He sat forward, leaned his elbows against the table in an effort to look bored as he took a second to cool his shit before he embarrassed himself.
He downed the rest of his beer and signaled the waitress for another. “How’s the PT going?” Clay asked, successfully diverting the attention back to the table and away from the pool game.
Dakota grimaced and rubbed his thigh. “It’s going. Hurts like a motherfucker some days, but nothing like having it shattered to begin with. They’ve assigned me a new therapist. Pretty little thing, but damn is she bossy.”
Clay laughed. “Won’t let you flirt your way out of the hard stuff?”
“Tried once,” Dakota said. “She made me do extra reps, so I figured I’d best keep my charm to myself.”
“Doc say you’re done?” Colt asked, a hint of sympathy in his voice.
Dakota’s expression hardened. “That’s what he
recommends
.”
Clay reached over and squeezed Dakota’s shoulder in a show of support. “We know it’ll take more than a broken leg to keep you from getting back out there.” Broken leg, three broken ribs, and a gash across his torso that had been mere inches from spilling Dakota’s organs all over the arena.
“You got that right,” Dakota agreed. “I might be down, but I’ll be damned if I’m out. I’ll do the exercises and whatever the hell else they want me to do, but they can’t make me quit. I’ll be ready to roll in the spring.”
Dakota’s resolve was clear. Clay didn’t doubt him for a second. As a professional bull rider, Dakota had been hurt before. More times than Clay could count. And he’d always come back, stronger than ever. He’d do it this time, too.
Colt didn’t agree. “Don’t look at it as quitting. You’ve suffered serious injuries that could affect your ability to ride … and ride well. This wasn’t like the time you dislocated your shoulder, or when you broke your wrist. Next time could mean your life.”
“So could driving home tonight. Hell, I could have a fucking heart attack right here in this chair. I appreciate the concern, Doc, but last I looked, your patients were more of the four-legged variety. You stick to doctorin’ livestock and don’t worry yourself over me.”
Colt’s jaw hardened. “Fuck you, Dak. I’m not worried about your stupid ass. My concern is where yours should be. For your mom and sisters. You ever think about what will happen to them if you get yourself killed?”
Dakota’s nostrils flared. “My family isn’t any of your business, Colt. Back the fuck off.”
As the oldest of the three of them, Colt had always been the logical one, the voice of reason, even when his opinions weren’t appreciated. As Clay watched a silent exchange pass between his two friends, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d missed something.
Colt’s chair scraped the hardwood floor as he stood. “I need some air.”
Dakota leaned his head back and yelled after Colt. “Bring three shots of the good stuff when you’re done pouting.”
Colt flashed his middle finger over his shoulder.
There was more going on than Dakota’s return to the circuit, but Clay didn’t press. Slick D’s on a Saturday night wasn’t exactly the greatest place to have a heart to heart. It wasn’t his problem anyway. Colt and Dakota could work their own shit out.
Clay had other things on his mind.
His gaze wandered back to the pool tables to catch his pretty lady chalking her cue with a suggestive grin directed his way.
Oh, yeah. She’d be his tonight.
Done pretending to be covert, he tacked on his most charming I’d-like-to-see-you-naked grin and tossed her a wink.
Dakota caught the gesture and turned to see who’d received it. “You know her?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, now’s your chance.” Dakota rose from his seat. “There’s a brunette at the bar who looks like she wants to dance. Gotta keep the leg mobile, right?”
“Absolutely. Enjoy.” Clay was barely aware of his friends’ absence from the table. Instead of feeling deserted, he welcomed the chance to openly watch the game that appeared to be nearing its end.
Sure enough, she cleared the table with two more strikes. She laid her cue on the table, a sure-fire signal she was done for the night.
Collecting her winnings, she offered the men around her an apologetic smile, and her palm came up, not to offer high-fives, but to ward off the apparent whining at her departure.
Clay relaxed, content to wait for her next move.
He didn’t have to wait long. She headed straight for him.
“Hi.” The simplicity of her greeting belied the hungry way she took in the length of him, from the top of his hat to the tips of his boots.
She had the prettiest eyes. Pale, almost translucent green, as though they’d wanted to be blue, but hadn’t quite made it.
“Hi.” He stood and pulled out the chair Dakota had vacated. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She brushed against him as she slid into the seat. Damn, she smelled good too. Not the flowery scent of overpriced perfume that always made his nose itch. She smelled of summer—warm with a hint of citrus.
“I’ve had plenty, thank you.”
Clay took his seat and readjusted to face her. Is that why she’d singled him out? She didn’t appear drunk, but what did he know? Maybe she’d scoped him out as a potential designated driver because of his minimal alcohol consumption. “You need a ride somewhere?”
“Depends on the kind of ride you’re offering.”
Her bold statement traveled over him and landed in his lap. He crossed his leg, dropping an ankle on the opposite knee in hopes of slowing the blood supply rushing to his dick.
The tip of her pink tongue touched the corner of her bottom lip, then disappeared behind the teeth that tugged the plump flesh inward. “Look, it’s been a long night. You want to get out of here?” Her cheeks bloomed red, and she looked away as though embarrassed by her own words.
He grinned, fascinated by the contradiction she presented. Oh, she talked a good game, but Clay suspected she didn’t make a habit of propositioning men in bars. The thought was strangely comforting, and all the more intriguing.
Yes, he’d very much like to take her out of there. He’d like to explore that pretty mouth of hers, learn if her lips tasted as ripe and delicious as they looked. Wrap her sand-colored ponytail in his fist and trail his mouth lower, down the slender column of her neck to where her pulse beat at her throat. He’d like to test the boundaries of her adventurous spirit. And he’d only be getting started. For some inexplicable reason, Clay wanted to take his time with this woman. Oh yeah. Slow and easy sounded just about right.
She aroused his curiosity. Something he hadn’t felt where a woman was concerned in … well … ever.
“What’s the hurry?”
She glanced to where Dakota and Colt stood together at the bar. “You come with your friends or something?”
“No.” He saw Dakota scowl at something Colt said. “I’m free to leave whenever I want.”
Shit. The sooner the better it seemed. Before he had to break up a fight and ruin what was left of his night. So much for wanting to take it slow.
“So?” Her tone dripped with expectation.
He laughed at her impatience. “What do you have in mind?”
“If I’ve got to spell it out, cowboy, maybe we should part ways now while there’s still time to find other company.”
Clay’s reaction was immediate. Visceral. His blood heated, heart pumped, muscles tightened in preparation to challenge any man who thought to touch what belonged to him.
She
didn’t belong to him, of course. The idea was utterly ridiculous. He didn’t even know her name. But he hadn’t not-so-covertly checked her out all night—enjoyed the smooth escalation of arousal she provoked—only to give some other asshole the satisfaction of making her come.
Fuck no
.
She’d chosen him. And he sure as hell wanted her. Wanted her taste on his tongue. Wanted to sink into her. Wanted to hear her moan his name. Repeatedly.
She wasn’t his, but her
pleasure
belonged to him. Hell yeah it did.
He stood. “My truck’s right outside.” He towered over her, and because he had to, his fingertips skimmed her cheek on their way to cup the back of her neck. Her skin was so warm and soft he almost groaned.
There was no denying the shiver that went through her as he bent and put his mouth to her ear. Clay’s ego hoped his touch was the cause, but just in case, he reassured her. “You’re safe with me, sweetheart. Whatever you want. It’s your show.”
He nuzzled her hair. God
damn
. He’d just developed a new love for oranges.
Her voice wavered. “If you don’t want—”
“Oh, I want.” Clay tugged her to her feet and didn’t stop until she was flattened against his chest. His arms draped around her. He added a little pressure against her lower back. “You feel that? Does that feel like I don’t want you?”
Clay saw her confidence return. Her eyes darkened and her voice turned sultry smooth. Her nails bit into his chest.
“Whatever I want, huh?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve anyone but us, or end with my naked ass in a jail cell, I’m game.”
“Nothing like that. Just a no-strings, one-time-only deal.”
Her blushes were damn near killing him. “Just once, huh? You don’t strike me as a one-time-only kind of girl.”
Her stubborn chin rose as she met his gaze head on. “You don’t know me.”
He suddenly wanted to. Very much. “You do this a lot then?” he goaded. “Pick up strange men in bars?”
Tiny lines appeared between her delicate brows as her lips thinned into a flat line. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”
The subtle display of feminine temper had him wondering what she’d be like if she really cut loose. There was a wildcat hidden in there, he just knew it.
“Why, then?” he heard himself ask.
What the hell was wrong with him? He loved sex. What guy didn’t? He’d never needed a reason to fuck before. He shouldn’t need one now.
Maybe it was her sweet smile, or the vulnerability he sensed lurking just below the surface. Maybe it was the longing in her eyes. Whatever the hell it was, she had his protective instincts working overtime.
“First time for everything, right?”
Never one for games, Clay held his ground. “Try again.”
“Look, cowboy. If you’d been the one to come to me, you wouldn’t ask me
why
I’d have sex with you. You’d simply ask me to get naked. You think because I’m a woman I shouldn’t ask for what I want? I’m unattached and looking to relieve a little stress. Figured you might be interested. Was I wrong?”
Jesus, he liked this woman. And he’d really like to stop thinking of her as
this woman.
“You got a name, sweetheart?”
