by Karen Rock
Jewel Cade wants two things—
One is Heath Loveland
The Rocky Mountain cowgirl has her heart set on becoming range boss of the Cade ranch. But first she has to accompany the son of her family’s longtime enemy—and her off-limits secret crush—on a cattle drive across Colorado. Discovering Heath shares her attraction only makes for a rockier road. Because Jewel has a sneaking suspicion that if she drops her guard, the cowboy might ride off with her heart.
“Let go, you Neanderthal.”
Jewel yanked back.
Shocked, Heath opened his hand, and the sudden release sent her sprawling backward into the dirt. He rushed over and gripped her shoulders. “Jewel! Are you all right? Jewel!”
Without warning, she grabbed his shirt collar and twined her leg in his, flinging him away as she rolled. He landed on his back. Hard.
The thick air, now hazy with smoke, muffled her laughter. She bounded to her knees and pressed her palms to his shoulders. “Pinned you!” An enormous grin broke out over her face, and she whooped like a cowboy.
“Wrong!” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, maneuvered her beneath him and braced his weight on his palms.
The cockiness faded from Jewel’s eyes. In its place, the yearning he’d glimpsed the night of his last gig returned. No one ever looked at him the way Jewel did...
Dear Reader,
I’m thrilled to return to the Cade-Loveland saga with the long-awaited Jewel Cade and Heath Loveland romance! It’s inspired by one of my favorite love stories of all time: Romeo and Juliet. Like millions of readers and playgoers through time, I’m captivated by the star-crossed lovers whose hearts pulled them to each other while their feuding families pulled them apart. As Juliet said to Romeo in the infamous balcony scene, “’Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”
Likewise, Jewel Cade, an independent, tough cowgirl who’s loyal to her family, struggles against her growing feelings when she’s forced to work with her former feuding neighbor turned new stepbrother: sensitive singing cowboy Heath Loveland. She doesn’t ever want to be tied to any man, let alone a Loveland, and plans on becoming range boss, not a wife. Yet her heart is saying otherwise. Making matters worse, Heath Loveland has a fiancée who’s sweet enough to give Jewel a toothache. A headache, at least. As for Heath, prickly Jewel isn’t close to his type, even if she wasn’t his sworn enemy and he wasn’t taken. However, as they work side by side to herd cattle during a grueling drought, he finds himself falling for the one woman he shouldn’t.
I’m glad to report that, unlike Shakespeare, I did not write a tragedy, and readers will enjoy Heath and Jewel’s delightful happily-ever-after! Even better, the Rocky Mountain Cowboys series continues with four more new novels ahead. Look for Daryl Loveland’s romance, A Rancher to Remember, in April 2019.
Until then, happy reading, friends!
Karen Rock
Winning the Cowboy’s Heart
Karen Rock
Award-winning author Karen Rock is both sweet and spicy—at least when it comes to her writing! The author of both YA and adult contemporary books writes sexy suspense novels and small-town romances for Harlequin and Kensington Publishing. A strong believer in happily-ever-after, Karen loves creating unforgettable stories that leave her readers with a smile. When she’s not writing, Karen is an avid reader who also loves cooking her grandmother’s Italian recipes, baking and having the Adirondack Park wilderness as her backyard, where she lives with her husband, daughter, dog and cat, who keep her life interesting and complete. Learn more about her at karenrock.com or follow her on Twitter, @karenrock5.
Books by Karen Rock
Harlequin Heartwarming
Falling for a Rancher
Christmas at Cade Ranch
A Cowboy to Keep
Under an Adirondack Sky
His Kind of Cowgirl
A Heartwarming Thanksgiving
“Thankful for You”
Winter Wedding Bells
“The Kiss”
Raising the Stakes
A League of Her Own
Someone Like You
His Hometown Girl
Wish Me Tomorrow
Bad Boy Rancher
A Cowboy’s Pride
Visit the Author Profile page at www.Harlequin.com for more titles.
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To star-crossed lovers the world over,
may your love be as boundless as the sea,
your happily-ever-afters deep and infinite.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EXCERPT FROM KISSED BY THE COUNTRY DOC BY MELINDA CURTIS
CHAPTER ONE
“THANK YOU FOR coming out tonight, Carbondale!” Heath Loveland shouted into the mic at Silver Spurs, the town honky-tonk. A drumroll behind him, followed by a cymbal crash, punctuated his closing set’s final remark. His bass player, Clint, hammered a quick, throbbing beat.
Heath loosened his sweaty grip on his Fender and peered into the throng of country-western-dressed locals, searching out his MIA fiancée. No surprise she hadn’t shown. In fact, it would have been a surprise if she had, seeing as she disapproved of his gigging. “We hope you had a good time tonight.”
Raucous hoots and hollers rose to the exposed-beam rafters in answer. Stamping feet vibrated the dusty wooden floor. Water streamed down condensation-covered windows while overhead fans stirred humid air reeking of beer, body odor and peanuts. Beneath Heath’s Wranglers and black muscle shirt, sweat slicked his body.
A wide smile creased his face as he absorbed the room’s electric energy. Playing for hyped crowds was like a hit of pure sunshine; it lit him up with the force of a solar blast. Hardworking folks watched his band, Outlaw Cowboys, to forget about life for a while, and he gave them that amnesia: a hat-raising, boot-stomping, tail-swishing night out.
“We love you!” a pair of cowgirls in Daisy Dukes screamed from the front row.
He tipped his black cowboy hat, earning him another earsplitting screech, and ignored Clint’s eye roll. Not a night went by that Clint didn’t gripe about renaming their band the Heath Loveland Fan Club. Heck. Wasn’t like Heath could do anything about it. They followed him from show to show. What’s more, he’d never get involved with groupies, even if he wasn’t already spoken for...though he supposed their attention figured into Kelsey’s demand he quit gigging and “grow up,” as she put it...
...and set a date for their wedding.
A heaviness clamped around his chest. He slid a finger along his damp T-shirt collar, stretching it from his steaming neck. She’d be fit to be tied if he told her about this morning’s call from Nashville. And she’d never agree...
“Marry me, Heath!” an unfamiliar female voice hollered.
With a wink, he strummed a quick open-string scale, then cranked a tuning peg to sharpen his G, sending his hovering female fans int
o a tizzy of squeals and shrieks. “How about a little Johnny Cash to finish us out?”
“Yeah!” roared a pack of men near the bar. They raised their overflowing mugs.
Heath strummed the opening notes of “Folsom Prison Blues” and caught his bandmates’ surprised expressions from the corner of his eye as they scrambled to catch up. Usually they closed with one of the band’s originals. Yet this cover popped in his head and shot straight to his fingertips before he’d given it conscious thought.
He played close to the bridge for added twang as he growled out the opening verse. The gravelly words were dredged from a dark well inside him. Low and deep. He was stuck, trapped, he crooned, listening to the train going by without him. His chest ached. His eyes stung. Like every tune he performed, he experienced the song’s pain, loss, regret, becoming the music, the notes pouring from him like an open wound.
He grabbed his Fender’s headstock and bent it back, strumming low on the E string so the notes arced as they flew. When he hit the bridge, his foot stomped on his Boss compressor to give it lots of swells. Behind him, Remmy, his drummer, pounded a driving beat while Clint thrummed the deep bow-wow-wow bass line that vibrated your body, your organs, your cells even.
His gaze swept the stomping crowd as he sang and stopped dead on a pair of luminous brown eyes. It wasn’t so much the shape that caught his attention, though they were enormous in her freckled face or the thick fringe of lashes surrounding them—it was their ferocious expression. A fierce hunger and an aching vulnerability directed not so much at him but at his music...which was him...the person few really saw.
Jewel Cade.
His new stepsister.
His fingers stumbled and missed the eight fret when he changed chords. Heat swamped his face. He tore his attention from Jewel and muted the strings with the side of his hand for the next seven bars before risking another glance.
Her magnetic eyes lifted from his guitar and clicked with his and in that moment, a strange sense of connection, a recognition, jolted through him. Despite the dim light, he spied her rapt expression. It softened her lean face, parted her full lips. She wasn’t just listening to music, she was breathing it in, was sustained by it, just like him.
Music was his life support. Once taken off it, would he survive?
He ripped into his guitar solo, hammering the B7 chord, adding extra flourishes as he kicked up the tempo.
“Where’s the fire?” Clint muttered close to Heath’s ear, jamming beside him, but Heath only played harder.
He shredded the notes, alternating octaves, grabbing the horn of the guitar and pulling the top into his stomach to bend them. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face and his muscle shirt clung to his torso. His fingers slid along the neck from one fret to the next. He toggled while he plucked up one note, then stroked down another, fast and tight, picking like a madman. One, two...eight phrases later, and he peered up from his guitar in Jewel’s direction. Was she impressed?
And why did he care about his new stepsister’s opinion?
Disappointment washed over him. She was gone. He kept strumming, continued singing, but his earlier excitement faded. A few minutes later, he ended the song with a rowdy flourish to roof-raising applause. Heath and the rest of the band broke down their equipment, loaded it in Remmy’s van and then sauntered back into Silver Spurs for some tall cool ones.
Clint signaled the bartender and ordered beer. “Who are you looking for?”
Heath quit craning his neck. “No one,” he lied. He sought out Jewel’s fire-engine red hair for no good reason except the connection sparking between them. Had he just imagined it?
Not that he’d pursue her, even if he weren’t already engaged. She wasn’t even his type. He liked gals who wore makeup and nail polish, who fixed their hair pretty and smelled like flowers. Soft and sweet. Jewel, on the other hand, was scrawny and hard-edged, a prickly tomboy cowgirl who preferred horses to people and was as approachable as a cactus. Not to mention they were now family, and he was engaged to a woman he was supposed to love forever.
“Last call!” shouted the bartender to the mostly cleared honky-tonk. He slid them three cans of Bud.
“Has Kelsey made any of our shows?” Remmy asked.
“She’s busy with work.” Heath gulped his beer and scanned the room again.
Kelsey, a tireless volunteer and fund-raiser at the local animal shelter and food shelf, also helped at her father’s ranching supply company, Hometown Ranching. When he and Kelsey married, she expected him to leave his family ranch, Loveland Hills, and join the business. He tugged at his limp collar again. Nothing against their enterprise, but working the open range left him free to sing to the cattle, compose songs by the campfire and gig in the local honky-tonks. He’d have to give it all up...
Once he agreed to a wedding date and said, “I do.”
Their families expected him and Kelsey to marry, seeing as they were high school sweethearts and got engaged after graduation ten years ago. Kelsey was sweet and generous, his first love. So what was stopping him from setting a wedding date with her? It’d make everyone happy...
“Can we get your autograph?” A trio of gals shimmied close, wriggling in their boots and fringed skirts as they stared Heath up and down like he was the last steak at a family reunion.
He shot them a giggle-inducing smile and signed the backs of their phone covers with an offered Sharpie. They flicked their hair and batted eyelashes long enough to scare a daddy longlegs.
“Call me, sexy.” One of them shoved a paper in his pocket before traipsing out the door, Silver Spurs’s last customers.
Heath read a cell number on the note followed by a <3 Jaimey and crumpled it up.
“Did you make up your mind about Nashville?” Clint snagged the paper, drained his brew and chucked the can in the recycle bin behind the bar.
“Hey!” groused Kevin, Silver Spurs’s owner. “Make yourselves useful and put up some chairs.”
“You got it.” Heath quit drinking, despite his dry, hoarse throat, and headed for tables grouped around a pool table.
“Do you ever say no?” Clint caught the dishrag Kevin hurled at him and wiped surfaces as Heath cleared.
“He’s a people pleaser.” One of the waitresses, June, held out her tray for the empties Heath collected. “My therapist says I’m one, too. Means you always make everyone else happy except yourself. That’s why I owe five hundred bucks to Pampered Chef.”
Clint slapped the dishrag on another table and swished it across the wet-ringed surface. “Are those pans solid gold?”
June laughed and her earrings, peeking from beneath a short pouf of strawberry blond hair, danced. “My friends threw parties all month. I had to order from each or I’d offend them.” She shifted her weight and sighed. “See? Can’t say no, just like Heath. Though that’s why we all love our heartbreaker.” Her nails lightly scraped his cheek as she patted it. “Just remember: ‘to please is a disease.’” She sashayed away.
“I’ve said no before.” Heath diligently stacked Kevin’s chairs, despite needing to get home for some shut-eye. In four hours, he’d be vaccinating calves alongside his brothers. He rubbed his gritty eyes, then hoisted another chair.
And what was wrong with wanting to make people happy?
“Like when?” Clint scooped peanut shells into a pail.
“Ummmmm...” Heath’s brow creased as he searched out an example. “I didn’t let Pete Stoughton borrow my bike.”
“Dude, that was in eighth grade,” Clint laughed.
“Still counts.” Heath positioned the last chair and hustled back to his half-finished beer. The empty bar top met his eye. He bit back a request for another when Kevin pressed a hand to his back as he straightened from the mini fridge.
“What about Nashville? Are you saying no to that?” Clint tossed his dishrag into a bucket filled wi
th cleaning fluid.
“Nashville?” Remmy ended what’d sounded like an argument on his cell phone and joined them. “What’re you talking about?”
“Clint’s been posting our videos on YouTube. Some Nashville person saw them and wants to give me a tryout.” Heath propped a hip against the bar, his tone casual, as if this wasn’t the biggest thing that’d ever happened to him.
“Some Nashville person? It’s Andrew Parsons!” Clint grabbed a cherry from the garnish bin and tossed it in his mouth.
Remmy’s eyes bulged. “You’re fooling, right?”
Heath shook his head and despite his best effort to act unruffled, the movement was jerky, tense.
“He owns Freedom Records.” Remmy shoved his longish hair from his face. “They’re the biggest country music company in America. Heath’s gonna be famous.”
Heath held up a hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s only a tryout. A snowball in hell has a better chance than me earning a contract. I’m not sure if I’m even doing it.”
Clint jabbed his index finger into Heath’s chest. “You gotta do it, dude.”
“You want me to leave the band?” Heath shoved his balled hands into his jeans pockets.
Clint shrugged. “Once you make it, you’ll bring us with you.”
Heath scuffed floor dust with his boot tip. “What’s wrong with just gigging?”
“Nothing if you want to get paid in beer and pocket change and never have anyone except Carbondale hear your originals. You’ve got talent. Don’t waste it.” Clint ambled behind the bar and popped the tops off some longnecks when Kevin disappeared into the back room. “Wouldn’t you like to make real money?”
Heath lifted the offered beer and sipped. Writing and performing music had never been about money. He understood the grasp music had over people, what they needed it for, how it got them through and the role he played. He lived his life in service to song. Freedom Records would help him reach more people, millions of lives to touch...to move. He wanted the chance as badly as he wanted his next breath.