Her Cowboy's Caress (Taken by Cowboys: Part 1) A Billionaire Western Romance

By A.L. Loire

Copyright 2014 Enamored Ink

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The wind whipped the hair around her
shoulders, bringing tears to her eyes. She was standing on a
wide-open plain with a swirling sky above her, a sky that felt
overwhelmingly vast. It felt like a storm was picking up. She
shielded her eyes in an effort to make out the figure standing a
few feet in front of her.

The person was a man—a heart-stoppingly
handsome man. He was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a cowboy
hat, with sandy blond hair falling across his tanned face in the
wind. “Jess,” he said in a lazy Western lilt that sent a warm
ripple of want straight through her. A smile played on his full
lips. “Just the person I’ve been waiting for.”

She wanted to respond but couldn’t get out a
word—her desire had rendered her mute. Her legs trembled so badly
she thought she might fall over. Before that could happen, though,
he was right in front of her. He wrapped his strong arms around her
and pulled her close to him. She gasped and melted into his heat,
the length of his muscled body sending sharp needles of need all
through her own. She wrapped her arms around his broad back to pull
him to her even harder. The whipping wind seemed to have simply
disappeared, so that all that existed was the two of them. He raked
a hand through her long hair and tilted her chin up, his lips just
inches away from hers. She closed her eyes and…

“Jess!” someone cried. This time the voice
that spoke her name was not warm and sweet as caramel. It was
sharp, shrill and female.

“
Jess!
” the haranguing voice
repeated, this time with more irritation.

The fantasy Jess had been enjoying was
abruptly broken.
Always at the good part
, she thought,
annoyed, as her eyes fluttered open. Then her annoyance gave way to
a sheepish realization as images of a windy plane and a hot cowboy
were replaced by stark white walls and Mac monitors. She had fallen
asleep at work—again.

“Yes, Lauren?” she asked with as much
cheerful sincerity as she could muster. It came out garbled and
sleep-choked, as if she had just swallowed a frog.

Lauren, Jess’s boss, shot her a withering
look. Tall, blonde, and rail skinny, she was the embodiment of the
fashion PR industry, and everything Jess was not. Lauren was always
dressed in layers of fabric, all of it expensive and all of it
black. Today she was wearing skinny black jeans tucked into black
ankle boots, a black chiffon blouse with silver studs, and a black
leather jacket, her hair pulled into a swishy high ponytail. The
combination made her pale skin and pretty though rather angular
features even more pronounced. She was like a model in a skincare
ad—flawless, impeccable, but not quite flesh and blood.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” she said,
picking up her black Balenciaga handbag and slinging it over her
shoulder. “I expect the Christophe account—which, by the way, I
gave you
three hours ago
—to be done by the time I get
back.”

Reluctantly Jess swiveled the mouse on her
desk, bringing the computer monitor back to life. She cast a dark
glare at Lauren’s back as her boss slinked away. Dragging the
Christophe account back onto the screen, she was overwhelmed by a
feeling of boredom that bordered on nausea. She was sick of this
office, with its all-white walls and furniture.
What was with PR
people and monochrome?
she wondered as she listlessly scrolled
through the account. Lauren and her all-black, the office and its
all-white. The only real color was the vase of flowers in the
reception area, which was brought in every week by a high-end
flower company. The beautiful bouquet of lush lilies and white
roses, exotic and fragrant, had so impressed her when she’d walked
into the office for her interview. After she’d gotten the job, she
had even secretly saved a tiger lily when she saw the bouquet
getting pitched into the garbage after its one week of glory was
over. Now she hated those flowers. They were like the whole PR
business—pretentious, gaudy and overpriced.

If only she could get away from the city,
she thought as she scrolled. She’d been up late watching Westerns
on TV again, which is why she was nodding off at work again today.
She just couldn’t help it. Whenever she got home after a long day
at work to her cozy little one-bedroom on the Upper East Side, all
she wanted to do was curl up with Scampers, her cat, pour herself a
glass of pinot grigio and escape to a place where cowboys rode
bucking broncos and saved damsels in distress—if only on the
twenty-inch screen of her hand-me-down TV.

Save
me, she thought.

It was hard to believe how excited she’d
been about the PR job when she’d first started a year and a half
before. An acquaintance from college had helped her get it after
she’d spent three months fruitlessly searching for work and staying
on her best friend Dani’s couch. “You have to work your
connections,” Dani told her each morning before leaving for her own
job as an editorial assistant at a major publishing house, as Jess
sat at her kitchen table trawling online job listings and pounding
out cover letters. Finally she’d swallowed her pride and called
every single person she knew in the city to ask if anyone knew of
an opening she’d be qualified for, with her double major in
sociology and English (which, she soon realized, just made her look
doubly useless). When Sarah got her an interview at the PR firm,
she’d been dazzled by the glamour of it—parties! Celebrities!
Fashion shows!—a glamour that had quickly dissolved into
twelve-hour days and the biting snark of her co-workers. But that
was New York City, she realized. You were overworked and underpaid,
and you were expected to be grateful for it.

Of course, she was the one who had chosen
this path, as her mother never failed to remind her when she
complained about work. The job wasn’t the only reason she’d stayed
in the city, though. There was also
him
. A dark cloud of
gloom and dread passed over her.

She shook it off. No time to let
him
creep into her head—she had things to do. She glanced at the clock.
Usually Lauren’s cigarette turned into two or three, and then she’d
probably get yet another coffee on her way in. Nicotine and
caffeine seemed to be that woman’s only sustenance. One day Jess
would like to hide her pack of Marlboros, just to watch her freak
out. She smirked at the thought.

Okay, now she had to kick it into gear.
Christophe was a new fashion line designed by the young protégé of
a big-name designer that would be celebrating its launch the
following weekend. It was going to be a huge bash—one that, as
usual, Jess wouldn’t be invited to. Not that she cared, anyway.
After attending a few events here and there, she’d realized that
the parties were nothing more than extensions of the workday, with
Lauren berating her for every little thing she wasn’t doing
right.

She needed to follow up with the flower
people, confirm the caterer, make sure all the gift bag items were
in place, and finalize their order with Moët & Chandon, a
Christophe sponsor that would be giving out free champagne. She
picked up the phone receiver and set to work. If there was one
thing Jess knew how to do, it was hustle.

She was just hanging up with the Moët
representative when Lauren walked in. “Everything’s set,” Jess
said, smiling sweetly. “Flowers, caterer, champagne, and gift
bags.”

She could tell Lauren was surprised, though
she tried not to show it. “At the eleventh hour, as usual,” she
said, striding past Jess’s desk.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the week before the
eleventh hour
,” Jess muttered, but not so loud that Lauren
could hear her. She sighed. It just wasn’t worth it.

“By the way, girls, we got some samples from
Christophe,” Lauren trilled from her desk, addressing the room full
of women busily typing away and making phone calls. A buzz of
excitement rose from the desks, punctuated by a few high-pitched
squeals. Free clothes seemed to be the only thing that excited
these women. “They’re all hanging on the usual rack. Be nice and
don’t fight,” Lauren said. She was about to sit down again when she
added, “And try not to bust any seams.” She was staring pointedly
at Jess.

Jess sharply drew in a breath, her face
burning. She turned back to her computer screen and clicked around,
trying to look absorbed as Lauren’s barb settled in on her. She had
definitely been staring straight at her—there was no question about
that. She was surprised to feel tears stinging her eyes.
No
,
she told herself sharply.
Stop that at once.

It wasn’t the first time Lauren, or any of
the other girls at the office, had made comments about her weight.
It was true—Jess was no stick figure. She was a healthy size 10,
and she always liked to think of herself as
curvaceous
.
Where the other girls had straight lines, she was all curves:
chest, butt, hips, thighs. And yes, she admitted, a little extra
around the middle. So what?

The thing was, before she’d begun working in
fashion PR, Jess had hardly noticed her weight. She’d gone to
school in Ohio, where the girls came in all shapes and sizes and
hardly cared about what they wore. Here in New York, though, things
were different. It was even worse in PR, where everyone was
expected to be a size 2 and treated you like there must be
something wrong with you if you weren’t. She had lost a lot of
confidence in the course of the last year and a half, she realized.
Lauren’s comments didn’t help.

Jess let herself into the lobby of the old
five-story apartment complex on Seventy-fourth and York and let out
the sigh she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Finally, she was
home. She liked her building a few avenues away from Lexington—the
farther east you got, the cheaper the rents were, so she would take
a few more minutes of walking to catch the subway. The place had
its problems—during a big rainstorm that past fall, water had
literally come gushing through her ceiling—but in general it was
quiet and comfortable. When she was here, she felt safe.

Her shoulders were aching from hunching over
her keyboard. The afternoon had dragged on, with Lauren piling
three new accounts on her at the last minute, all of them “super
urgent.” What was so urgent about a couple of fashion shows and a
partnership with another overly hyped cupcake bakery, Jess didn’t
know. But then, that was the world of being a junior publicist.

She stopped by her mailbox and fished out
her key. It was stuffed with the regular mishmash of bills, credit
card applications, and Chinese food menus. As she was shuffling
through the envelopes, a brightly colored piece of paper fell out
and fluttered to the tile floor.

She stooped to pick it up. It was a
brochure. The picture on the front panel immediately set her nerves
on end—it was a wide-open plain, edged by mountainous peaks and
topped with a vast sky, just like the one in her afternoon
reverie.

She set the other mail on top of the
mailboxes. “Getaway Guest Ranch,” the brochure read, and below, “A
Western escape for even the most stubborn city slicker.”

She felt herself smile as she opened the
brochure with shaking fingers. Why did she suddenly feel so
nervous?

The inside was decorated with stunning
photographs of clear creeks, mountain vistas, crackling campfires
and a simple but elegant dining room with tables piled high with
food. “Come to Getaway Guest Ranch in Big Horn, Wyoming, and stay a
spell,” the text read. “Take a break from the busy life and live in
tune with nature. Get your blood pumping with hiking, horseback
riding, fly-fishing, and even a hot air balloon ride.”

Whoa
, Jess thought. Her head was
spinning as images of herself riding Black Beauty leapt into her
mind. Never mind that she’d never in her life set her rump on a
saddle. She kept reading. “Then, slow the pace down with a swim in
our clear mountain lake, a night around the campfire, and a
first-class massage at our spa.”

What?
It sounded too good to be true.
Could such a paradise really exist? The brochure went on to
describe the various amenities offered at Getaway, from guided
mountain hikes to a full-service salon and spa. It was just rustic
enough, she realized, to be authentic while still offering the
creature comforts that “city slickers” like herself were used to.
Clever.

Still, there had to be a catch. She flipped
to the back. “Prices,” the bottom square read.
Ah-ha!
She
waited to have the wind knocked out of her, but in fact, the prices
were surprisingly reasonable—far less than at a top-tier New York
hotel. They also offered deals for week- or month-long stays. The
guest ranch’s contact information was listed below.