Catching the Cowboy: A Small-Town Clean Romance (Summer Creek Book 1)

by Shanna Hatfield

  Summer Creek, Book 1

  A Sweet Western Romance

  by

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Catching the Cowboy

  Summer Creek 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, transmitted, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, now known or hereafter invented, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the email address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image: Shana Bailey Photography

  Cover Design: Shanna Hatfield

  Published by Wholesome Hearts Publishing, LLC.

  wholesomeheartspublishing@gmail.com

  You are just a tap away from:

  *A Free Book

  *VIP notice of sales and freebies

  *Free bonus content

  *Exclusive giveaways

  *Author happenings

  *Sneak peeks at new titles

  Join Shanna’s newsletter today.

  Tap here to see all of Shanna’s sweet romances.

  Come join in the fun in Shanna’s Hopeless Romantics group on Facebook.

  To Grandma Nell –

  For all the delicious meals,

  shared recipes,

  and loving encouragement.

  Chapter One

  “Pardon me, ladies, but it’s time for you to leave.”

  Emery Brighton glanced up from the fluted champagne glass she held between her slim fingers at the owner of her favorite restaurant.

  “As you can see, Mr. Grayden, we haven’t finished eating.” Emery set the glass on the table and pasted on a sweet smile. “We’ll be ready to go in about an hour.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Brighton, but you girls have been disturbing my other guests. Please, take your things and go, or I’ll be forced to call the police.” Mr. Grayden looked as though he’d swallowed something distasteful as he stood at their table, thin-lipped and clearly irritated.

  “Well, I never!” Emery stood and gulped down the last sip of her mimosa. Later, she’d regret allowing her best friend, Gwen, to talk her into the drink. Now, as the bubbles teased a pleasant trail down her throat, she could only enjoy the indulgence.

  Emery, Gwen, and four of their dearest friends had planned a special brunch outing at Grayden’s, one of the swankiest restaurants in downtown Portland. She and the girls may have been a little loud as they discussed stupid boys they’d been dating, but that wasn’t cause to ask them to leave.

  Livid that Mr. Grayden would dare to draw such unnecessary attention in their direction, not to mention his threatening to call the police, Emery slapped money on the table to cover their orders.

  “My mother will be in touch, Mr. Grayden.” Satisfaction filled her as he flinched. Lisa Brighton was a force to be reckoned with on a good day. She and Mrs. Grayden belonged to the same book club and were close friends. Emery had no doubt her mother would have Mr. Grayden’s head on a platter before the day was through, and the delay was only because Mother was in Georgia visiting friends.

  Emery marched toward the exit, barely registering the staccato sound of her heels or those of her friends as they clacked across the tile floor.

  “I certainly won’t eat at this establishment again,” Gwen said, tossing Emery a snooty look, as though it was her fault Mr. Grayden took exception to their shrill, somewhat inappropriate choice of topic this morning.

  “Come on. I’m in the mood to shop,” Emery said, unaware her words sounded slurred. Her friends might have noticed if they hadn’t been equally as tipsy.

  “I’m still hungry. Let’s go to the boutique over on Madison, then stop by the new restaurant that opened up across the street,” Charlotte suggested.

  Snidely, Emery mused that if Charlotte wasn’t careful, the girl would gain a pound, or five, and not fit in any of the new spring clothes she’d recently purchased.

  Boisterous as they strolled down the street, they’d only gone two blocks when they happened upon a police horse tied to a parking meter.

  Emery looked around and didn’t see a police officer anywhere in the vicinity. She loved horses and had taken years of riding lessons, although that was a detail she wasn’t sure even Gwen knew. Her mother thought it was too outdoorsy and athletic, but her father encouraged her in her equine pursuits.

  Without thinking, Emery slid her hand along the neck of the red chestnut horse, admiring his sleek coat. Suddenly overcome with a need to ride him, to show her friends how well she could ride, she patted the horse, then turned to her friends. “I’m going to ride this horse,” she declared.

  “I don’t think you should do that, Emery. Besides, since when did you know how to ride?”

  Emery glowered over her shoulder at Gwen and defiantly flicked her long, fake eyelashes. “I can ride a horse—this horse—and I will.”

  “I believe you, Emery, but I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Gwen looked to the four girls accompanying them for agreement or support.

  “Maybe we should keep walking,” Charlotte suggested, taking a step closer to Emery.

  “I’m riding this horse.” Resolve added a hint of steel to Emery’s voice. She handed her Bottega Veneta handbag to Charlotte, annoyed by the way the girl caressed the soft calfskin leather, then wiped damp palms on the skirt of her new Chanel suit.

  One more look around assured her a police officer wasn’t rushing in her direction, so she grabbed the horse’s reins in her left hand and the back of the saddle with her right and lifted her leg, attempting to get her Jimmy Choo heel into the stirrup. The police horse didn’t appear concerned by Emery or her rather flamboyant friends as they surrounded him.

  However, the animal was taller than she originally anticipated. In her slightly buzzed state from the mimosa at brunch, she struggled to make her limbs obey. She hiked her skirt up on her thigh and balanced on one teetering heel like a drunken flamingo, straining to reach the stirrup with her other foot.

  “A little help.” She turned her head to stare imploringly at Gwen.

  “Come on, girls,” Gwen said, rushing forward and giving Emery a boost.

  “Hey! Not quite so friendly with the hands,” Emery warned when they pushed on her backside with more force than necessary, sending her sailing upward. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d say two of the girls did their best to sling her over the horse on purpose.

  The sound of ripping fabric and the feel of the cool spring air wafting across her posterior made her acutely aware that her skirt bunched around her waist. Her left foot tangled in the stirrup while her head and right arm dangled toward the ground on the opposite side of the horse.

  Each passing second made Emery increasingly lighthea
ded and nauseated. Vainly, she worked to pull herself up, but couldn’t quite manage it with the button of her jacket caught on the saddle.

  The childish giggles emanating from her friends stirred her ire. If the girls snapped photos of her, she would never speak to any of them again. One of them could have helped her, or at least possessed the decency to toss a jacket over her exposed rear end.

  Still struggling to regain her equilibrium, she stared at the sidewalk and drew in a deep breath. The noise behind her faded while a shiver of apprehension slid down her spine. A pair of shiny black boots appeared in her line of vision and stopped next to the horse.

  Slowly, her eyes traveled across the boots, up a pair of dark navy pants, to a sturdy black leather belt that held a gun holster and a taser among other things. Emery swallowed hard. Her gaze continued upward, over the muscular chest of a man with a badge pinned above his left shirt pocket, stopping when she could see her reflection mirrored in his shiny aviator sunglasses.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

  “Well, officer, you see, I, uh … ” Emery forced a smile, one she hoped he found charming. It had gotten her out of trouble too many times to count.

  “Yes? You what? Thought you’d steal my horse?” he asked, with no hint of amusement in his accusing tone. “Theft in the first degree is a Class C felony. Or maybe I’ll charge you with assaulting a law enforcement animal.”

  “But officer, my friends and I … ” The sound of silence made her acutely aware her friends had either abandoned her or finally shut up their infuriating giggles.

  “Are those friends real or imaginary?” the officer questioned as he walked around the horse.

  “Real. We went to brunch and then we … ” She wasn’t sure how to phrase the truth without incriminating herself in a delicate matter.

  Emery merely wanted to show her friends she could ride the horse. In hindsight, she should have left the officer’s horse alone and taken her friends out to the stable where she often rode. A Class C felony wasn’t something her family could easily dismiss, even if her uncle was a judge. Then again, Uncle Henry did dote on her, and her father could hire the best attorney on the planet, if it came to that.

  Convinced the police officer only meant to scare her, she tamped down her fears and raised her head at the same moment he removed her foot from the stirrup. He lifted her off the saddle, paying no attention as the button from her suit jacket flew off and skittered down the sidewalk. Without a word, he set her on her feet while censure poured off him in reproachful waves.

  Dizzy and slightly disoriented, Emery took a few staggering steps while yanking her skirt down then straightening her blouse and matching jacket. She glanced around, looking for her friends, unable to locate them in the gathering crowd. The five girls had snuck off like cowards, taking her wallet and identification with them. Charlotte had better be prepared for a verbal dressing down when Emery caught up to her. And Gwen! She’d never forgive her for leaving her to face this disaster on her own.

  The exasperated sigh she released nearly knocked her off balance. The officer caught her elbow in his hand, steadying her.

  “Barely past eleven in the morning, and you’ve obviously been drinking. How much have you had, miss?” the officer asked.

  “Just one mimosa. I, um … I’ve never been able to handle liquor,” she admitted.

  “Yet, knowing that, you had a drink, or six, and tried to steal my horse.”

  “I didn’t try to steal him!” Emery shouted, wobbling on the edge of losing her composure.

  Both eyebrows shot above the officer’s sunglasses. “Drunk and disorderly conduct. I could include indecent exposure for having your fancy underpants, or more accurately the lack of them, on display for any and all to see. Any more charges you’d like to add to the rapidly growing list, miss?”

  “No, sir, but you see, my friends … ” Emery hesitated to refer to the sneaky deserters as friends considering her current circumstance. How dare they abandon her to deal with this alone?

  The officer appeared to be taking her measure and finding her far short of any acceptable mark. Emery quickly concluded it was time to switch tactics. Mustering a flirty smile, she stepped closer to the officer. “Isn’t there a way we can just forget about this whole thing? I didn’t intend to steal the horse, officer. I only wanted to show my friends I could ride him. He’s a beautiful, majestic animal. A fitting companion for a handsome man like you. What’s his name?”

  “Sugar Bear.” A muscle twitched in the officer’s jaw as he moved to stand between her and the animal when she reached out to pet the horse. “And if you think batting your eyelashes at me is going to get the charges dismissed, you’d better rethink that, miss.”

  Emery fisted a hand at her waist and glared at him. “Do you have any idea who I am? My father owns half the buildings on this street, and my uncle is Judge Henry Brighton. I could have you fired. Or perhaps Daddy could write a check to make this all go away? Would three thousand do it? I’ll go to his office right now and … ”

  The officer slapped cuffs on her wrists with such speed, Emery wasn’t certain when he moved from stroking the neck of Sugar Bear to pulling her hands behind her back. The horse hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time she was stuck atop him but chose that moment to shake his head. The look he cast in her direction, one that she was certain smacked of disparagement and disappointment, brought her up short.

  “You have the right to remain silent … ”

  Emery glared at the nametag pinned to the police officer’s shirt. Officer B. Tipton didn’t know it, but he was about to learn what happened when he confronted a member of the Brighton family.

  Chapter Two

  Emery didn’t cry when Officer Tipton arrested her, when she was fingerprinted, or through the ordeal of posing for mugshots at the Multnomah County Detention Center. She remained stoic when her clothes were taken from her and as she suffered through a full body search. It was the single most humiliating and horrible experience she’d ever endured. She barely blinked when she was given a hideous jail uniform to wear.

  Not even a sniffle worked its way free when she’d been allowed to call her father. Rather than ranting about the fools who’d arrested and booked her, he sounded upset with her as she relayed what had transpired.

  “I can’t believe you got yourself into this mess, Emery, but I’ll take care of it,” he’d said, then hung up on her.

  Incensed by her father’s lack of sympathy and failure to immediately come to her defense, she wondered if he’d send his attorney, Kevin Knight, to her rescue. Emery pondered how long it would take for Mr. Knight to arrive and gain her freedom as she marched into a holding cell. Once inside, she turned around to watch an officer shut the door with a resounding click.

  Indignation swiftly morphed into fear, and then the tears began to fall. Emery cried for hours, unable to stop. It was a good thing she’d already removed her fake eyelashes, or it would have looked like soggy caterpillars had slid onto her cheeks. Unable to sleep on the narrow bed and terrified of the germs it might harbor, she spent most of the night standing against the wall, crying.

  Any moment, she expected her father, her uncle, or Mr. Knight to arrive, set the jail staff on their ears, and take her home.

  Only no one came.

  No one.

  Distraught and discouraged, she picked at the protein bar she’d been given early that morning, too sick at heart to eat. She forced herself to drink a cup of coffee that was strong enough to make her wince as it burned all the way down her throat.

  Minutes, or perhaps it was hours, after breakfast, an officer appeared at the cell door and opened it.

  “Come with me, please.” The officer motioned for her to exit the cell.

  Emery wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt but remained silent as the officer accompanied her to a courtroom. A dozen people were there, speaking in hushed tones. A few she recognized from events she had attended at h
er aunt and uncle’s home. With her face puffy from crying and devoid of makeup and her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, she doubted anyone would recognize her. That wasn’t a bad thing.

  “Sit there,” the officer said, pointing to a chair at a table facing the judge’s bench.

  Emery sank onto the chair, still waiting for the moment when her father would arrive to get her out of trouble like he had so many times in the past. Not that she’d ever been arrested, but there had been many times when she could have gotten into deep trouble if her father, or even Uncle Henry, hadn’t stepped in to smooth things over.

  People began trickling into the courtroom. The hum of conversation might have lulled her to sleep if Emery hadn’t been overcome with worry. Left to her own defenses, she had no idea what might happen to her. The thought of spending time in jail, though, caused her stomach to tighten into an aching knot. One night was enough to make her wish she’d never gone with her so-called friends to brunch, never given in to Gwen’s urging she have at least one mimosa, and never acted so foolishly about riding the officer’s horse.

  She should have accompanied her mother to Georgia to visit friends. Right now, she could be lounging by a hotel pool, or shopping, or …

  “All rise,” the bailiff said. Emery stood, casting a quick glimpse behind her to scan the crowd. With no sign of her father, she turned and watched her uncle enter the courtroom then take a seat at the judge’s bench.

  Relief poured over her. Uncle Henry would make everything right. Face lit by a bright smile, Emery took a seat then smoothed her hands along both sides of her mussed hair. Her uncle would keep her safe and out of trouble.

  Mistakenly, she’d assumed someone would bring her a change of clothes and allow her to freshen up before appearing in the courtroom, but no one had offered. Most likely it had been an unintentional oversight.

  No matter. Uncle Henry wouldn’t care how she looked, and she’d be free in a matter of minutes. The first thing she intended to do was go to the spa and get a massage and facial. Then she’d purchase a new outfit, or four, to make up for the one that was ruined yesterday.