by Vi Summers
by
VI SUMMERS
MONTANA COWBOYS
-1-
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2021 VI SUMMERS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Published by Vi Summers.
Editing by: Dark Raven Edits.
Proofread by: Diamond Editing and Proofreading.
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-473-58682-9
POD Paperback ISBN: 978-0-473-58681-2
Produced in New Zealand.
Published in the United States of America.
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Second chances are not given to make things right,
but are given to prove we are better even after we fall.
-Unknown
Chapter 1
Louisiana
“Right this way, Miss Carlyle.”
Sheriff Wilson’s sweeping gesture directed me toward the waiting patrol car. Making the most of my momentary freedom, I tilted my head to the early morning sun, soaking in the fleeting touch of the warm rays. I hadn’t been kissed by the sun outside of those cold stone walls for eight months, so the least the sheriff could do, was allow me these few stolen moments to breathe it in.
I carried a small duffle bag that held what little belongings I still owned. I had no idea what fate the rest of my possessions had suffered—for all I knew, Tyler had cleared them out.
The sheriff’s not-so-subtle clearing of his throat snapped me back to the reality of my situation, and he stood by the open rear door of his car, eyeing me like he expected me to bolt.
If only. Running as hard and as far as I could was all I wanted to do. Except, there was one thing—the most important in my life—holding me back. I had to push through the last few months of my sentence and be thankful for the program that would allow me to endure it far away from the prison compound.
That in itself scared the shit out of me. Everything was uncertain and vague, but I knew for sure that the unknown wasn’t anywhere near as intimidating as some of the women within those walls behind me.
Taking the last few steps and chucking my bag into the back seat before sliding in, I kept my eyes straight ahead as the sheriff shut the door with a resolute thump.
I refused to take one last look at the prison behind the razor wire fence. I never wanted to see that horrid place again.
I didn’t belong there, and I would never go back—that was a promise to myself I vowed to keep.
Chapter 2
Brandon
Flicking my wrist, I re-checked the time.
“Shittin’ yourself, aren’t ya, boss?” Jake drawled from my side, his clean-shaven smirk lifting one corner of his mouth.
“Just making sure I’ve got time to head back and shower before the sheriff arrives.”
He barked a loud laugh. “You don’t usually shower before the fresh meat arrives. You got plans for this woman to be a little more than-”
“Christ, Jake. No!” I huffed and snatched my water bottle from the ground.
Before Jake became my ranch manager and close friend, he’d endured hard time within the confines of a jail cell. Freshly released after more than two years locked up, no one wanted to have anything to do with him. They either couldn’t see past his dark skin or refused to look through the invisible stigma that clung to a felony—the kind that was impossible to shake, no matter how far back in history it lay.
From my point of view, it was clear that when an inmate was released into the world after completing their sentence, the system anticipated they would do one of two things; either land on their feet, or stumble and bounce a couple of times before re-offending.
“She’s probably a dog anyway, Bran. Most jail bitches are. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s the occasional polished stone in the rough, but mmh-” He bit into his lower lip and shook his head before giving it to me straight. “Those bitches are mean, bro. I hope you’re prepared, because this girl is gonna cause more problems here than the average felon.”
The best damn chance I ever took was hiring Jake. His struggle inspired me to make a difference for those going through the same difficulties. The ‘Second Chance Ranch’ program was born out of a pipe dream and designed to rehabilitate inmates with good behavior by allowing them to see out the remainder of their sentence working on my ranch.
It took a lot of convincing the local sheriff to support the initiative, yet judging by the participants I’d had through so far, what Jake and I were doing out here was proving to make a real difference. Small, but real.
After I’d finished drinking, I lobbed the bottle at him. He caught it one-handed, twisted the cap off, then downed the rest of the water.
“Firstly, Jake, we ain’t calling her a bitch—have a little respect.”
Jake tossed the bottle behind us with zero care. “Sorry… Louisiana,” he emphasized with a wry smile. “She’s gon’ be trouble, Bran,” he mumbled and shook his head again.
“Second chances, Jake.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re too good, brother. I can’t take that away from you, even if I think you’re making a mistake with this one.”
There was the barest prickle of doubt in my mind. I, too, was worried I had bitten off more than I could chew.
Six inmates had cycled through the program to date, and so far, I hadn’t had any major issues. Today, the seventh was due to arrive in just over an hour, and out of all of them, this one made me the most nervous: a woman parolee was on her way across the state from the Montana Women’s Prison.
The deal with the local sheriff was that he organized the transfer and dropped the inmate at my ranch. Then he would let me mentor them. As long as they put in the effort and came here for the right reasons, they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted after completing their sentence. If they didn’t pull their weight or broke my trust, then there was a one-way police escort back to jail with their name on it. I’d had to dish out a hard word or two in the past, but never—yet—had to resort to removing someone from the program.
“I got your back though, boss.”
“Thanks for your sentiment, Jake. I’ll bear that in mind,” I deadpanned and turned my bare back to the midday sun.
Th
e spring days were beginning to heat up, and the temperature, combined with our manual labor, created a light sheen of sweat across my exposed skin. A recent wind-storm had ripped through the ranch and brought down a few trees. One of which, broke the fence Jake and I were repairing.
With the broken posts replaced and the wires reconnected and tightened, we loaded our gear into the back of my pickup and made our way back to the homestead. It was an easy drive over a couple of smaller hills, then across the flat fields that led to the yard.
Coming from this direction, the family homestead was on the right, along with the ranch manager’s residence, the machinery shed-come-workshop, then the barn that doubled as the stables, and stockyards were on the left.
Jake still lived in the house with me instead of in the ranch manager’s dwelling, and that provided extra safety when an inmate was staying. Maybe I put too much trust in the relationship I built with each person who came through the program, but they knew what was at stake. In a world where second chances were hard to come by, it would have surprised me if they put theirs in jeopardy.
Pulling up outside the workshop, I grabbed equipment from the bed of the truck.
“You want me around for this, or should I start workin’ the colt?” Jake asked, following me with an armload of tools to put away.
“Grab some lunch, then get started with him. I’ll bring Louisiana over for introductions once she’s settled.”
Jake tilted his head to the side and gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Righto. But remember boss—no special treatment for the jailbird.”
To avoid a snarky retort, I waved him off and headed for the house, intending to have a quick shower before the sheriff and inmate arrived.
Chapter 3
Brandon
Rolling waves of apprehension turned in my stomach as the Sheriff’s car pulled to a stop in the yard.
I slapped my Stetson on my head, then jogged down the front steps to greet him with a firm handshake. “Wilson.”
“Nash,” he replied.
A flash of blonde hair caught my attention through the back window, and my initial concern immediately changed to relief; blondes weren’t my type. Her wide blue eyes locked with mine through the glass before they narrowed into a displeased glower, complete with flattened lips.
“She’s been quiet the entire drive. Might take this one a while to settle in, Brandon,” Wilson murmured in a low tone. “Not sure she’s gonna cut it out here, to be honest.”
I forced my attention back to him. “She’s from the city?”
“Yes, Sir. I was a little surprised by her application, but who knows, she might prove me wrong.” He shrugged.
I reached for the car door handle and stepped back as I tugged it open. Like all good men around these parts, I offered her my hand.
She ignored the gesture and swung her feet to the ground, dragging a duffle bag from the back seat as she exited the car. Although she was average height, her figure was so slight that I knew my momma would want to feed her up until the cows came home.
She held my gaze while Sheriff Wilson made flippant introductions. “Louisiana Carlyle, this is Brandon Nash. He’s the owner here.”
Re-offering my hand, I smiled when her small palm slipped into mine. “Nice to meet you, Louisiana.”
A small and weary smile touched her heart-shaped lips. “You too, Brandon.”
Wilson rounded the car to grab the paperwork I needed to sign, and after a quick scribble of my name, he shook my hand vigorously again.
“Any problems, let me know.”
I got the impression he was expecting ‘problems’. “I’m sure it’ll be nothin’ I can’t handle,” I countered with an incline of my chin.
With a curt nod, he slid into his car and cast one last sideways glance at Louisiana standing at my side. Wilson was never one for cordial visits or lingering beyond the call of duty, but even for him, this departure was abrupt.
As the dust cloud settled on the gravel driveway, I turned to Louisiana and immediately felt as if I was being propelled toward a cliff face. Awkwardness settled between us as we both glanced in all directions except at one another.
“Welcome to my home,” I finally said with a sweep of my arm to encompass our entire surroundings.
Louisiana turned to scan the house and yard, pausing briefly to watch Jake working the young colt in the stock ring.
“Thanks,” she murmured without conviction. “It’s... nice.”
Damn right it was nice.
Picking up her bag from where it sat at her feet, I nodded at the porch. “After you.”
Louisiana’s piercing blue eyes locked with mine and didn’t waver. “I can carry my own bag.”
My grip held firm despite her reaching for the strap. “I’ve got it.”
She snorted. “Do you carry the bags for the other felons that come here?”
I hesitated for a split second; she had a valid point. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped around her and gave her no other option but to follow my lead.
“No, ma’am, I certainly don’t. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Her footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. I’d already made a mental note that her canvas sneakers wouldn’t cut it out here. They had to go. And the preposterously short daisy dukes.
“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. I loathe it,” she snapped with a distinct edge to her voice.
Pausing at the top of the porch steps, I looked back over my shoulder. “What would you prefer to be called, darlin’?”
Seeing the action of her tongue darting out to swipe over her lower lip created a stirring within me I neither expected nor welcomed. As if utterly compelled to, my gaze locked onto her mouth until it pressed into the same displeased line, she’d worn minutes ago. This time, the annoyance was also mirrored in her eyes.
“Darlin’ doesn’t sit well with me, either. Louisiana is fine.”
As she climbed the steps, I swung the screen door wide and gestured her through.
“Ladies first, Louisiana. I’ll show you to your bedroom—straight ahead, then up the stairs.”
She slipped off her shoes before cautiously stepping into my home, taking her time to absorb her new surroundings.
“The wood is cold to walk on,” she murmured as if wondering aloud.
I remained silent and watched with curiosity. Each of Louisiana’s footsteps seemed purposely placed on the knots and grain of the floorboards as she crossed the distance between the entrance and the foot of the stairs.
“When’s the last time you wore bare feet, Louisiana?” I asked.
“Too long,” she replied in a hushed tone, climbing the stairs ahead of me.
Although the temptation to glance up was almost too hard to ignore, I made damn sure my eyes didn’t wander up the back of her smooth, bare legs—which was a feat since they were directly in my line of sight.
Professionalism Bran, I reminded myself.
“First on the right.” I cleared the thickness from my throat and followed her into the room. “It gets the morning sun. And you’ve got your own bathroom, so won’t need to share the main one with me and Jake. It’s small, but does the job...”
Trailing off, I became rooted to the spot by Louisiana’s gaze that held the clarity of the sky on a cloudless summer’s day.
“You have a boyfriend?” she asked surprise washing through her expression.
I placed her bag on the floor and crossed my arms over my chest. “The only rodeo I partake in is the heterosexual kind, darlin’.”
When her eyebrows pulled down at the center, I clarified. “I like women, not men.”
My jaw ticked when she turned her back. “Good for you,” she mumbled while taking in the decor that my sister, Rory, spent a shitload of my money ‘freshening up’.
The beats of quietness elongated as I took her in; fine blonde hair hanging around her shoulders, slight build, shorts that were much too short, and the cutest kneecaps I’d ever damn seen
. Since when could a woman’s kneecaps be described as cute, or sexy, for that matter?
Urgently seeking a distraction, I thumbed over my shoulder. “I’ll show you around if you’re ready?”
Without a word, Louisiana followed me to the landing, where I pointed to my room, Jake’s room, and the main upstairs bathroom.
Her footsteps were mute on the stairs as we descended side by side, and my movements were tight and unnatural. I had to fight hard against the urge to inhale her freshly laundered scent. She’d taken me off guard the instant she emerged from the backseat of the Sheriff’s car, and her proximity had me unusually unsettled.
“If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask me or Jake. He looks like he would bite, but I can assure you that he doesn’t.”
My chuckle trailed off when Louisiana gravitated towards the large living room window and stared out into the yard. It commandeered the foreground before giving way to rolling pastures that met with the mountains, miles away and jutting sharply from the landscape.
“It’s beautiful,” Louisiana breathed with far more conviction than last time.
Following her line of sight, a strong sense of pride and happiness ballooned in my chest; it wasn’t often that I took a moment to appreciate what I had, but as awe rolled off the little woman in front of me, I became equally captivated in the scene beyond the window as I did in her fragrance.
Quietly excusing myself, I left her to settle in without my presence. I debated over how much space to give her. In the end, I leaned against the yard fence where Jake worked with the colt.
“How’s she doin’?” he asked without breaking focus.
I hummed and resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder toward the house.
“Time will tell. She’s green as hell, Jake.” I rubbed at my chin—something I did when in thought.
While the usual trepidation of a new arrival was present, the uncertainty was heightened with Louisiana. I needed someone who was robust and had the stamina for the long and sometimes back-breaking work on the ranch, and I had doubts over Louisiana’s resilience.