Cowboy's Sweetheart (Sugar Coated Cowboys Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Titles by Stephanie Berget
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Sneak Peek at other books by Stephanie Berget
Gimme Some Sugar Excerpt
About the Author
Cowboy’s Sweetheart
Sugar Coated Cowboys: Book #3
Stephanie Berget
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right of reproduction, distribution, or transmitted in whole or part in any form or means, or stored in any electronic, mechanical, database or retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
Cowboy’s Sweetheart
Copyright 2017: Stephanie Berget
Cover Design: RM Duffy
Other Titles by Stephanie Berget
Change of Heart Cowboys
Radio Rose
Salt Creek Cowboys
Sugarwater Ranch
Sugar Coated Cowboys
Gimme Some Sugar
Sweet Cowboy Kisses
Cowboy’s Sweetheart
DEDICATION
To the Forepaugh Peak Barrel Racing Syndicate: Yo Curtis, Lee Trotter, Joan Harrington and Della Epler.
You pick me up, cheer me on, talk me down and urge me to buy just one more yard sale item. Thanks for being my friends and making winter's brighter.
CHAPTER ONE
Born at least a hundred years too late, Byron Garrett has finally found his place in the world. Even though he’ll never own an acre of the Circle W, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Although a thin rim of ice had nestled along the edge of the trough when he’d had caught his horse in the pre-dawn darkness, the chill of the early hours had warmed to one of the Northwest’s spectacular autumn days. He’d shed his coat by noon and was now down to his T-shirt.
Turning toward the pine-covered mountain between him and the Circle W, he set off at a trot. After searching for years, Byron had finally found heaven on earth, away from the pressure of his father’s attempts to remold him into the son he’d expected.
Byron’s plan had been to work as a buckaroo for a few months then move on. Four years later, he’d changed his mind. He was here to stay.
Micah West, the owner of the ranch, had not only given him a job, the man had practically made him a part of the family. That thought brought a rare smile to Byron’s face. He’d never felt a real part of a family before.
His Circle W family was as different from his biological one as water and whiskey. As far as his mother and father were concerned, he was a showpiece to be trotted out when his father wanted to impress potential business partners. Have you met my son, Byron? Full ride football scholarship at Penn State. We’ve had offers from several NFL teams. Yes, sir. Y’all are going to be watching him play football on Sundays.
His mother intended to move to the top of the best social circles by having Byron marry into the right family. She’d ruthlessly worked toward this since he’d been a young teen.
Byron had ruined both their plans.
His sweet tempered little brother, who had the unfortunate luck to not be perfect in his parent’s eyes, hadn’t been introduced at all.
He shook the tension out of his shoulders. That shit was in his past now. He hadn’t thought of his father for several months. And he wasn’t going to waste another minute on the man.
Most of society thought a man had to be a little off in the head to be a hermit, but outside of his friendship with the West’s, Byron was completely at ease with his solitary lifestyle. Out here, the only thing that cared what he did or didn’t do was his horses, and as long as they got fed on time, they were content.
The pounding beat of Another One Bites The Dust pulsated through the mountain air. Byron smiled as he pulled his cell from his pocket. Queen was one of his favorite bands.
Tension constricted his shoulder muscles as he caught a glimpse of the caller ID. Wilbur Garrett. He turned the ringer off and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He was not going to let his father ruin a great day.
As he started through the pines toward the ranch house, the three-year-old gelding he was riding saw a ghost. There must have been a ghost, because there wasn’t one threatening thing as far as Byron could see. The colt jumped and spun then blew air out its nostrils with a loud whoosh.
Rubbing his fingers through the horse’s mane, Byron whispered. “Easy, Crater, easy.”
Just as the colt started to relax, a jackrabbit jumped from a clump of sagebrush and raced for the cover of the pines. The young animal shook like a leaf in a windstorm.
Tracing a line between the gray and the white spots on Crater’s neck with one finger, he scratched at a sweaty spot until the animal calmed enough to continue their ride back to the ranch. “Big, tough bunnies are the worst, aren’t they, buddy?”
As he started up the trail, he felt a pulsation in his pocket. The phone was buzzing like a rattlesnake’s tail. He’d turned the sound off, but forgot about the vibrate function. He grabbed it from his pocket and sure enough, it was his father—again.
Wilbur Garrett would go months without attempting to contact his son, but if he got a whiff of a NFL team looking to fill a hole in their offensive line, he was relentless.
Byron powered the phone down. “Crater, tomorrow we get a new number.
After closing the wire gate to the pasture, Byron took a moment to let his horse graze on some dry tufts of grass. The paint’s coat was dark with sweat. This wasn’t the easiest animal Byron had ever trained, but he had talent and fire and one day, he’d be a great one.
Byron rubbed his hand down Crater’s neck. “Let’s head home. Looks like for once, you’re more tired than I am.”
The colt was worn out from their all day ride, but Byron had ridden enough young ones to know tired didn’t mean Crater couldn’t fall apart with the right incentive. He gathered his reins, got hold of the saddle horn with one hand and mounted with a smooth move.
Crater stood like a rock.
Byron patted the colt’s neck. “Good man.”
The ranch house and barn stood in the distance, less than a half-mile away. A shower and one of Cary’s home cooked meals would be an ideal end to a perfect day.
It didn’t take long for the fast walking colt to reach the barnyard. As soon as they rounded the corner of the barn, the aroma of roasting meat made Byron’s mouth water.
One of the perks of living on the Circle W, besides the fact that they pretty much left him alone, was Micah’s wife’s cooking. She was getting better at the meat and veggies part of the meal. Her pastries and pies had always been the best in the West.
As Byron shifted his weight to dismount, Crater’s head came up, his ears pricked, and his body grew stiff with tension. Before Byron could settle back into the saddle, the colt whirled toward the house, snorted a loud whuff, and bogged his head.
Crater had missed his calling as rodeo bronc.
Byron tried to gather his reins, but blew a stirrup.
Ground is never soft when you’re bucked off, but the barnyard dirt was packed like pavement from over one hundred years of use. Lucky he’d landed on his ass. He’d be sore but nothing was broken.
He watched as the paint colt continued his impression of a NFR saddle bronc. “You spavin-legged, mule headed, piece of shit!” he said under his breath.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A colorful vision floated toward where he sat beside the round pen. Wisps of light, frothy material floated with the woman’s movements. Long blonde curls bounced as she ran toward him.
Even the colt stopped bucking to watch her approach. He danced on his toes, ready to run at the slightest provocation.
Byron stood and held out his hand to stop the woman and returned his gaze to the colt.
“Are you okay?” she called, continuing to advance at a slower pace.
He whirled on her. He didn’t want to yell. That might be all it would take for Crater to decide leaving was his best option. Luckily, his stare had its intended effect.
She froze in her tracks.
Byron turned back to the animal, crooning in a near whisper as he approached the scared colt. “Don’t worry, little man. I won’t let the big, bad lady near you.” The paint was a bundle of nerves, but he stood until Byron could get a hand on the reins. “Let’s get you put away.”
He started toward the barn, but felt the change in the gelding the minute something behind them moved. Crater jumped and tried to push past him, slapping Byron in the jaw with his head. Byron took a minute to reassure the colt again, ignoring the pain, before turning to the woman. She’d stopped where she was, but the wind was whipping her skirt around her thighs.
High-heeled knee-high boots were as inappropriate for ranch wear as the rest of her costume. She looked like a woodland fairy or maybe one of those hippy girls he’d read about from the Seventies.
“Are you okay?” She stayed where she was, but didn’t retreat. She hadn’t taken his heavy-handed hint to leave. That’s why he hung around horses, cats and dogs and not people. Hell, he even preferred hamsters.
If he’d been a friendlier man, he’d have taken a moment to explain why she was scaring the horse, and that he was fine. He could have asked her to leave him alone, but he’d found people rarely believed him if he politely told them he didn’t want their company, so he’d quit.
Turning, he led the colt into the barn. He pulled his custom-made Wade saddle off the colt and stowed it in the tack room. He’d special ordered it from Hamley & Co. in Pendleton a few years earlier, and besides the horses he owned, it was one of his most prized possessions.
As he left the stall after turning the colt loose, Byron glanced out the door. The flower child stood where he’d left her, one hand raised, wiggling her fingers at him.
Just what he needed. A hippy do-gooder. She probably loved wolves and spotted owls. Thought they were people with fur and feathers.
It would only take a few minutes to throw a leaf of hay in Crater’s manger and make his escape out the other end of the barn.
If he continued to walk away, even this flower child would take the hint that he didn’t want her company. Right?
~-~
Vivi watched as the big man led his horse into the barn and began taking off his saddle. The animal was gorgeous, if dangerous. The sight of the man made her heart pound, but his attitude seemed the same as the horse—intimidating.
She’d always dreamed of owning a horse, but Mother would never have allowed it. You couldn’t have a horse without dirt and dirt was one thing her mother controlled with an iron fist. Father took care of controlling everything else.
What her parents thought didn’t matter anymore. She made her own decisions now. She was free as a bird, accountable to no one, although she wished with all her heart her twin brother, Sebastian, could be here to see this beautiful country and meet these cowboys.
When Sebastian had been killed by a distracted driver, she’d lost a piece of her heart. Now, she’d made up her mind to live enough for both of them.
Maybe the man hadn’t heard her question about his injuries. She hated to think she’d done something to hurt him. Waiting until he had the horse in a pen, she entered the barn.
As she got near, he threw some hay into the feeder, glanced at her then strode away. Was this man rude or just reclusive? She’d found that people were often shy, and if she opened a conversation with them, she found a new friend.
If this cowboy was rude, she’d find out soon enough, but if he needed a friend . . . Well, then, she was good at that.
“Hey, cowboy. Are you okay?” she called out as she hurried after him.
He continued down the aisle toward the other end of the barn, apparently not hearing a word she said. He’d only spoken a couple of words to the horse, and they’d seemed garbled.
An idea popped into her head. Maybe the man was deaf. Even though her brother had been born deaf, he’d managed to speak a few words.
She ran until she was close enough to grab his shoulder. The muscles were hard beneath her fingers, and when he whirled to face her, she shrank back.
He was over six feet tall, way over.
She pulled in a calming breath and started signing. My name is Vivi. When he didn’t respond, she continued. I’m a guest at the Circle W. What’s your name?
The man’s gaze shifted from her face to her hands and back. He raised his hands and spelled out B-Y-R-O-N one letter at a time.
She had been right. Hello, Byron. I’m an artist. I’m delivering a life sized willow cow as a gift from Cary to Micah. Her fingers flew.
He stood as if she were speaking Greek. Maybe he needed her to sign slower. Would you like to see my work? She watched as his brows drew down and his lips thinned.
“No. Thank you.” His deep voice sent shivers down her spine, even though there wasn’t much friendliness or interest in the three words.
“You aren’t mute? Of course you aren’t.” She signed as she spoke. “My brother was born deaf, so I’ve signed all my life.”
“Your brother?” His expression relaxed, and he showed a moderate amount of interest for the first time since she’d started the conversation.
“My twin, actually. Sebastian.” Her voice broke at the end of his name and she cleared her throat, forcing a smile. “So obviously, we weren’t identical.”
He raised his head and looked into her eyes for the first time. “Weren’t?”
She didn’t want to have this conversation. Sebastian’s loss was still too new. It would always be too new. “You aren’t deaf, are you?” His speech was clear and when the subject had turned to her brother she’d forgotten to sign.
“No. Why would you think that?” Byron stood, his broad, tanned hands on slender hips, the sleeves of his black T-shirt stretched by his biceps.
She couldn’t help but notice the muscles cording his arms. Holy cow!
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d worked hard to have socially acceptable conversations with strangers, and she’d screwed this one up all the way. “When I talked to you outside, you didn’t respond. I assumed. I’m sorry.”
His gaze settled on her for a moment before he glanced toward the barn door. “Excuse me, ma’am. I have work to do.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
Her lungs tightened, and she had trouble pulling in enough air. The tingling in her fingers spread an icy shadow up her arms. Cold hard power had radiated from Byron’s face, spurring on the panic she’d fought hard to extinguish from her life.
Even though she felt like a chastised child, she walked from the barn to the h
ouse like she didn’t have a care in the world. Working hard, she kept her pace slow and leisurely when all she wanted to do was run. Byron wasn’t watching, she knew that, but just in case he was she let her hips sway with each step.
She opened the front door to the aroma of pot roast and the soft tones of Cary talking to her children in the kitchen. Vivi snuck upstairs and closed herself in her room.
Flopping onto the bed, she concentrated on breathing, visualizing her fantasy art studio. Thinking about her dreams helped calm the fear she’d fought hard to banish. The panic episodes had become fewer, but popped up every now and then. Mostly when she met overbearing people.
Pushing herself to her feet, she took a deep breath. She could sit in here and worry or she could get up and get going. After running a brush through her hair, she pushed it behind her ears. The blonde color suited her. Much better than the mousy brown she’d been born with. She focused a minute on the deep green of her eyes. God how she loved colored contacts. Those more than anything helped her feel like a changed woman. With the contacts in, she felt like she could hide who she’d been.
Sorting through her suitcase, she finished putting her clothes in the dresser. She’d been unpacking when she’d noticed a cowboy ride up the lane. He’d been mounted on the most beautiful horse she’d ever seen. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be so private, so amazingly good-looking, and so powerful it made her heart pound.
Time to take her mind off the man in the barn, so she hurried down the stairs to a kitchen was filled with happy people, fresh bread and giggling kids.
Vivi ruffled Willa’s wild red curls and picked Rodie up to whirl around the room. “How are my favorite munchkins?”
“You missed all the fun.” Willa’s elfin face spread into a grin. Several curly red tendrils escaped from her headband. “Mama dropped a whole bowl of bread dough and she said a bad word. Want to know what it was?”