Once Upon a Cowboy
Read Once Upon a Cowboy Online
Authors: Maggie McGinnis
Once Upon a Cowboy
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2015 by Maggie McGinnis
Excerpt from
Last of the Red-Hot Riders
by Tina Leonard copyright © 2015 by Tina Leonard
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
L
OVESWEPT
is a registered trademark and the
L
OVESWEPT
colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Last of the Red-Hot Riders
by Tina Leonard. This excerpt has been set for this edition
only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
eBook ISBN 9781101884966
Cover design: Caroline Teagle
Cover photograph: Claudio Marinesco
v4.1
ep
J
ULY 25, THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
She’d always imagined a gun would make a louder sound, especially on a sticky summer night with only the crickets as competition. But it was more of a pop—like a kids’ toy rather than a lethal weapon—as Billy aimed it at the cashier and pulled the trigger.
Wait in the car,
he’d said.
I’m gonna get Old Man Mack to sell me some beer.
So she’d sat in the passenger
seat, eyes glued on the store’s plate glass front window, figuring the worst he was going to do was pull his charming
I-forgot-my-ID
act.
Her hand went to her mouth as Mack grabbed his own chest, spun, and then fell behind the counter. She felt blindly for the car door handle as she watched Billy scoop bills from the cash drawer, but she couldn’t get out fast enough. She heard a strangled sound
that must have come from her as he came flying out of the store carrying a case of Bud and the money.
He wrenched open the driver’s door and tossed the case toward her, then gunned the engine before he had his door fully closed. Gravel spit out behind them as he swung onto the pavement and shot the car toward downtown, and she couldn’t seem to take a whole breath as she watched the rearview mirror.
“That was Mack.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “You just shot…Mack.”
“You know him?” Billy looked over at her, then grabbed her knee. Hard. “
Mack
shoulda let me have the beer, princess.”
He squeezed harder, making her wince. “You didn’t see nothing, you got that?”
“God, Billy. We need to call the police. He needs an ambulance.” She didn’t dare crane her neck to look out the back window,
but couldn’t get the sight of Mack crumpling behind the counter out of her head.
Billy let out a short, maniacal laugh that made her cringe. “People need to learn who’s in charge around here, princess. Sometimes you gotta teach hard lessons, you know?”
Oh, she knew, all right. Mack wasn’t the only one Billy was trying to teach lately. She felt for the door handle again, but the speedometer was
holding steady at forty. Leave it to Billy to shoot a guy cold, then obey the speed limit all the way back to his apartment. She dug her fingernails into her palm, desperate to be out of this car—desperate to be as far away from Billy as possible.
She’d had her breakup speech memorized for three weeks now, but still hadn’t had the courage to deliver it. And now? She shivered, scared to her very
core. If Billy’d shoot Mack over a case of beer, what would he do to
her
if she tried to cut him loose?
“We can’t just leave him there, Billy. What if he—dies?” Her voice cracked as she pictured Mack handing her a piece of bubble gum every Saturday when Grampy used to bring her in for a root beer and a scratch ticket.
“Who we gonna call, princess? The
po
-lice?” He drew out the word like it amused
him. Billy looked over at her again, and she shrank toward the door. “We need to have a little talk about this?”
“No.” Their last
little talk
had left her with a bag of frozen peas on her ribs and a headache that didn’t go away for a week. She took a catchy breath. “No little talk.”
“Good.” He nodded, pointing toward the case on her lap. “Crack me one of those brews, wouldja? I think I earned
it.”
“Oh, lordy. I forgot my shoes!” Jess handed her carry-on bag to her landlady and scrambled back through the door of her yoga studio. Forgetting a jacket was one thing, but showing up for bridesmaid duty at Montana’s Whisper Creek Ranch in flip-flops would send her friend Hayley into serious bridezilla mode.
She flew back down the stairs, but as she reached for the door, the studio phone
rang. She debated letting it go to voice mail, but since Hayley had called six times already this morning to add items to her packing list, she figured she’d better answer. She put the phone to her ear, but before she could say hello, a voice rasped over the line, and Jess’s eyes widened in fright.
“Knock-knock,” growled a cigarette-fried throat that could belong to only one person. Jess’s hand
shook as her knees buckled. Then there was a cackle. “What’s the matter? You forget how to play this game? You’re supposed to say
who’s there
?”
Jess spun around, eyes taking in the gleaming hardwood floors of her yoga studio, the mats piled neatly in one corner, the sunny little shop area in the other corner, the brand-new door with its brand-new locks. The busy Boston street outside her door
was a far cry from the dumpy Charleston suburb she’d left in the rearview mirror thirteen long years ago, but South Carolina suddenly felt very, very close.
They couldn’t possibly know where she was. They just—couldn’t.
But they apparently had her number. She hadn’t heard this voice for thirteen years, except in her nightmares, but here it was on the other end of the phone.
She took a deep
breath in through her nose, exhaling carefully as she gripped the receiver with white knuckles. At least it wasn’t Billy. God help her—it wasn’t Billy.
“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.” She cringed as her voice shook.
The cackling laughter at the other end of the line dissolved into a coughing spasm and a series of expletives. Then, “Bullshit, princess. I have exactly the right
number. Yours.”
Jess slammed the phone back into its cradle, but missed and had to do it again. She tried to take a series of calming breaths, but instead ended up walking in circles, her heart thumping so fast that she started to feel faint.
The phone rang again, and she almost tripped. After four rings, the call went to the ancient answering machine on the desk. The same voice was still cackling
as she left her message. “Not gonna answer now? Your auntie calls for the first time in thirteen years, and now you’re gonna play possum?”
There was a long pause, another cough. “All right, then. I’ve waited this long. Guess a few more days won’t hurt.” She coughed again, and Jess winced. Two packs a day hadn’t killed her yet, but it couldn’t be too much longer before they did. “We got a lot
to talk about, princess. Maybe you’ve gone and forgot about Billy, but he ain’t forgot about you. Mack, neither. I think you know what I mean. You call me. Same number.” Cough. Cackle. “We ain’t gone nowhere since you left.”
The answering machine clicked as Luanne hung up. If history held, she’d light up another Salem Light, creak back in her crusty recliner, and use her remaining teeth to chaw
on a beef jerky she’d dipped in her Old Milwaukee beer. Breakfast.
Jess wrung her hands as she started pacing again.
How had they found her number?
How had they found her
name,
for God’s sake?
Someone rapped on the door, and she grabbed her throat as her heart rate spiked again.
They couldn’t be here. Not possible.
“Yo, Jess. Cabbie’s getting impatient.”
Oh, thank God.
Just Gianna. She’d
left the poor landlady standing on the sidewalk surrounded by suitcases. Jess tried to calm her heart rate before she went back outside, but it was useless. Finally, she headed through the door, pulling it closed behind her and locking the three deadbolts.
Gianna raised her eyebrows as Jess double-checked the last lock. “You expecting zombies while you’re gone?”
Jess swallowed hard.
Worse.
“No.”
Gianna’s eyes made a quick dart from the door to her. “You
look
like you’re expecting zombies. You all right?”
“Yes. Fine. Just fine.” Jess opened the cab door and tossed in her carry-on bag. “I’m late, that’s all.”
“You got everything?”
Jess pointed to her shoes, shaking her head. “I do now.”
Gianna took her by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. “You have fun out there, missy. You haven’t
had a vacation in way too long. You just stay in Montana as long as you want to. I got everything covered here.” She motioned Jess into the cab. “Go. Have fun. Enjoy the wedding. Maybe find a cowboy so I can live vicariously through you, okay?”
Jess’s stomach jumped at the thought of one particular cowboy at Whisper Creek. She hadn’t seen Cole since Christmastime, but she’d checked in on him
via the ranch’s website once or twice a month, or maybe—ahem—daily.
“I’ll do my best, Gianna. I will definitely do my best.” She blew her a kiss and closed the door, but Gianna put a hand up to stop her.
“Almost forgot. Mail came while you were inside. I was going to just hold it till you got back, but this one looks important.” She handed a manila envelope through the window, then waved and
thumped the roof, kicking the cabbie into gear.
As the taxi reached the end of the street and careened onto the next one, Jess held on to the door handle, cursing herself for not finding a friend to drive her to Logan Airport. Even on a Sunday morning, she’d rather navigate Boston traffic on a unicycle than put her life into the hands of one of the city’s cabbies.
When they entered the tunnel
that dumped them out near the airport, Jess tried not to think about how much an ocean weighed, or whether the people who’d designed this underwater Slinky had gotten
D
s in Structural Engineering. She needed distraction as the cab inched forward, and even the phone call of twenty minutes ago wasn’t enough of one.
She was debating whether it was legal to jump out of the taxi and just wait for
it at the far end of the tunnel when her gaze landed on the envelope Gianna had slid through the window. She pulled it out of the carry-on pocket where she’d stuffed it, then flipped it over to look at it.
When she saw the return address, she felt icy prickles slide up her scalp.
Then her voice made a strangled, pitiful sound she hardly recognized, and she dropped the envelope on the floor.
“No. I will not pose for some crazy beefcake calendar. Not happening.” Cole put one hand up, palm toward his sister-in-law as he reached into the fridge for a bottled water. He’d just finished leading a trail ride out to the cliffs, and had stopped by the main lodge for a quick drink.
Kyla smiled sweetly. “It’s not a beefcake calendar. It’s a Men-of-Whisper-Creek memento.”
“Beefcake.”
“Cole!
You know it would be a great moneymaker. Every woman who stays here at the ranch would take one home with her.”
Cole shivered dramatically. “That doesn’t make me feel better.” He pointed out the window. “Go take pictures of the scenery! Look! Blue skies, rolling grasslands, big snow-capped mountains in the distance. Make
that
calendar.”
“Come on. We’ll just take a few pictures. You’d have final
say over what shots I use.”
“No.” Cole sighed. He loved Kyla like a sister, and her ideas had been bringing in more money than they’d ever made before she came along, but a calendar? That was putting things over the top.
“Kyla, remember when you thought we should get goats?”
“Mm-hmm. I was right, right?”
“You were right. Kids love them.” He put up one finger, then raised a second one. “And
remember when you thought we should add a spa package?”
She nodded. “Right about that, too.”
“Yes.” He put up the rest of the fingers on his right hand. “Also right about the wedding gazebo and the Shetlands and the fishing excursions.”
“Sounds like I’m five for five.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“Exactly. So let’s not mess with your perfect record by pimping out the cowboys for a
calendar, okay?”
“Not all of the cowboys. Just a select few. Like, twelve.”
He shook his head. “Not happening.”
“Cole, we have the hottest cowboys in Montana. It makes business sense to capitalize on that and you know it.”
Before he could formulate an answer, Ma blew into the huge country kitchen with a laundry basket full of towels.
“What’s all this jawing about in here?”
Cole raised his
eyebrows at Kyla, silently daring her to tell Ma she wanted to put together a cowboy calendar. No way would Ma go for it, and they both knew it.
With a flick of her head, Kyla turned to Ma. “I was just telling Cole I think we should do a Whisper Creek calendar.”
Shit.
Ma pursed her lips, nodding carefully. “Cowboys?”
“Yes.”
Ma smiled benignly as she picked up a towel, folding carefully. “I
think it’s a great idea. Is he campaigning to be Mr. February?”
Kyla shot a superior look his way, huge grin on her face, and Cole could do nothing but sigh, slap on his Stetson, and head for the door. Great. Outnumbered once again.
“I’ll let you know when we need you for the photo shoot,” Kyla called.
He opened the door. “And I’ll let
you
know when I’m headed to Alaska.”
As he walked toward
the stable, he saw his brother working one of their new ponies on a long lead in the corral. He approached slowly so he wouldn’t startle them, settling his arms on the top rail as he watched.
Decker spotted him out of the corner of his eye. “How are things up in the henhouse?”
“Your wife is planning a beefcake calendar.”
“Oh, really?” Decker’s eyebrows went upward. “And who does she plan to
use for the—beefcakes? Is that a word?”
“Who do you think?”
Decker shook his head. “No way. Not happening.”
“That’s what I told her. But don’t think Ma’s going to save us. She just stamped her approval. I think you need to get some control over your woman, Decker.”
Decker smiled. “Right. You go ahead and tell her that.”
“It’d help if she wasn’t so damn right all the time.” Cole sighed. “Now
she’s got attitude.”
“She came with that.” He motioned Cole into the corral. “You want to take the pony for a bit? I need to get ready for that open house up at Boulder Creek.”
Decker might play a cowboy while he was working at the family ranch, but he was also an architect, and phase three of his new housing development on Whisper Creek’s western border was set to open this fall.
“Another
fun afternoon sitting around a model home with your fancy suit and shoes on? God, I’m envious.”
Cole stepped into the corral and took the rope from Decker, ducking as Decker tried to cuff him in the head.
“Lot of ways to make a living, buddy. Lot of ways.”
Cole nodded. “Yup. I’m just glad my ways don’t involve suits.”
Decker shook his head. “I’d much rather be here this afternoon, believe
me.”
“Sure.”
“I would.”
“It’s okay, Decker. I’ve got cowboy-duty nailed down. Even have my best Stetson on in case anybody shows up early. We’re covered.”
“Are you being an ass?”
“Nope. But if you start scheduling these open houses for every Sunday afternoon, I might turn into one.”
“Well, once we sell all the lots, we won’t need to do any more open houses, right?”
“Not till you start on
phase four, anyway.” Cole tried to keep the bitter edge out of his voice, but he figured Decker heard it anyway.
They’d both been raised right here at Whisper Creek, but after their little sister’s death, Decker’d been kicked off the ranch by their despondent father, who’d needed to blame someone. He’d spent ten long years out in California honing his architect chops while Cole and Ma had struggled
to keep the ranch from going under completely, but two years ago when Dad died, Decker had finally come back.
And at first, it had been great. He and Cole had poured buckets of sweat into reviving Whisper Creek. They’d worked together, cussed together, drunk beers at the end of the day together, got to know each other again.
But now? It’d been two years since Decker had driven back up the long
driveway and into their lives, but they still hadn’t quite worked out the who-does-what equation yet, and Cole was getting itchy.
While he mucked stalls and led trail rides and fed those damn goats Kyla had insisted on, Decker spent half his time up at the new development, or at town council meetings, or glad-handing the guys who would be
voting
at the next council meeting.
Leaving Whisper Creek
certainly hadn’t been Decker’s choice, but Cole just wished now that he was back, he’d be—back. Back in the stables, back on the trails, back in the corrals for more than a passing lesson or two before heading out in his truck for yet another meeting or business lunch.
Decker was working his ass off, no doubt about it. And the Boulder Creek development had been responsible for Whisper Creek’s
bank account finally moving into the black, but there didn’t seem to be any end in sight, and Cole was getting a little tired of feeling like he was carrying the ranch on his shoulders.
Especially since he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he even
wanted
to play cowboy anymore.
He sighed and headed for the stables with the pony. Yep. To the outside world, Decker was saving the ranch with his money,
his valedictorian brain, and his housing project, and Cole was—well, Cole was being asked to pose for the ranch calendar.
And that kind of said it all.
