Cowboy Karma (Cowboy Cocktail Book 4)

by Mia Hopkins

  Seeing Harmony and Araceli laughing together at dinner made funny things happen in his chest. Happiness was not an adequate word for what he felt in this moment. Complete came close. And there was a third word he could use—but maybe it was too soon to bring that word up.

  He broke their kiss and embraced her tightly, resting his chin on her head as he stroked her back.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

  They held each other for a long time, the silence of the forest descending over them. “You’re amazing,” she said at last. “I can’t believe you can do all that.”

  “It’s just practice.”

  “How’d you tie that calf so fast?”

  “It’s not hard. Two wraps and a hooey.” He smiled. “I’ll show you later.”

  She sniffed, a little puff of breath against his throat. “We have to find a way for you to keep Batman. You can’t give this up. I was thinking about Araceli the other day. I’m still in touch with the recruiters at my nursing school. I emailed one of them and she’s going to send me some applications for scholarships. If Araceli gets an internship at the hospital this summer, her supervisors can recommend her for the scholarship. I can too.”

  As he held her, Lucky could feel Harmony’s heart beating faster. She was excited about helping his sister.

  He loved his family more than anything in the world. But looking after them had been a difficult, often lonely job. To have someone on his side at last—warmth flooded his chest. This woman was amazing.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m not giving up rodeo. I’m not selling Batman.”

  She pulled away from him. Her eyes were luminous in the moonlight. “You’re not?”

  “No, belleza. I was going to tell you this in person when I got home.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I talked to Dean MacKinnon three days ago. He needs someone to take over the horse-training program at Walker-MacKinnon Ranch. We’ve worked together for years, so he hired me for the position. It’s a full-time job. Benefits, retirement, boarding for Batman, flexibility to compete in rodeos, even a place to live on the property in Lake Isabella. And more money in one year than I’ve ever made in all my jobs put together.” He paused. “Araceli can go to nursing school now. No doubt about it.”

  Harmony jumped up into his arms and squealed with laughter. He struggled to keep his hold on her as she covered his face with kisses. “I can’t believe you waited to tell me that! I was so heartbroken when I saw Tanner Thomas’s time posted. Your sister was crying. Have you told them yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Lucky!”

  “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

  “That’s just cruel.”

  “A little bit. They’ll be okay.” He smiled. “But right now, I need to tell you something else.”

  She froze. “What now?”

  Gently, he set her back down on her feet and kissed her forehead. “It’s kind of big. Are you ready?”

  “Yes. I’m ready.” She took a deep breath.

  “I have to whisper it. That’s how big it is.” He bent down and brushed his lips against her tiny earlobe. “I want you to be my girlfriend. What do you think?”

  To Lucky’s surprise, Harmony didn’t answer him. She grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him so slowly and thoroughly that he lost himself in her, adrift on a fever dream. She didn’t answer him as they walked back to the rodeo grounds in the dark. She didn’t answer him as he undressed her in his trailer, or as he made love to her like the universe was collapsing around them, her moans echoing in his ears as she came again and again and again.

  Hours later, they lay on the bed in his trailer, tangled in each other. They were looking through the little window at the same stars he’d stared at when they talked over the phone.

  “Yes,” she whispered at last. “I want to be your girlfriend. Very much.”

  Lucky lay still as Harmony slowly fell asleep in his arms. His thoughts moved from one image to another. His father walking out the door for the last time. The plum tree in the backyard, heavy with fruit. His siblings howling in the dark as he struggled to put new batteries in the flashlight.

  Now new images faded into the old ones. Cattle in a dew-covered pasture. His horse’s golden-red coat, twitching as he brushed it. Harmony in her purple dress, laughing at some asinine thing he’d said. His mother crying as Abel translated his university acceptance letter to her. His brother and sister giggling in the dark as he made funny faces in the single beam of the flashlight.

  Harmony snuggled against his chest and sighed softly.

  He stared up at the stars. Dumb luck. Fortune. Karma. He didn’t believe in any of it. But he did believe in love. And he knew no one loved like he did. When the time was right, he’d tell this girl the truth—he knew she was brave enough to face love head-on, just like he did.

  “Good night, Lucky,” she murmured.

  Love filled his body, infusing his bloodstream with pure light. “Good night, belleza.”

  Feisty reporter vs. gruff cowboy—

  buckle up for a hard ride.

  Please see the next page for a preview of

  COWBOY RISING

  Curiosity is the lust of the mind.

  —Thomas Hobbes

  December in the Central Valley—thick white fog descended over Georgia Meyers’s ancient Toyota Corolla, steaming up the windows faster than her broken-down defroster could blow them clear.

  Georgia pulled down the one of the sleeves of her fleece jacket, reached forward, and wiped her windshield. A few feet of asphalt appeared in front of her car at a time, as if the road were creating itself underneath her tires.

  She’d anticipated bad cellphone reception, so she’d mapped out her route back in Fresno before she’d left an hour and a half ago. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she reached into her bag and pulled out her pale-green steno pad.

  Two oak trees, mailbox. Ranch gate ALMOND MK.

  Georgia squinted at her own scrawl. “Huh,” she said aloud. “What the heck does that mean?”

  She passed a few dirt road turnoffs, but none that matched the description. She paused at an imposing stone wall and tall wooden arch hung with a sign. Hughes Ranch—not it.

  Two more miles. The ghostly early-morning landscape was like a blank piece of paper. Then she saw it: by the side of the highway, two oak trees flanking a tipsy mailbox. Hanging from the rusty open gate was a wooden sign burned with the ranch’s brand, the letters M and K enclosed in an almond shape, like an eye.

  Asphalt gave way to dirt as she turned onto the long driveway. The road curved around a low hill between rows of neat fencing. Georgia rolled down her window. The rich scent of farmland, underpinned with the unmistakable funk of cattle, filled her nose.

  When the road ended at a small compound of buildings, Georgia parked her car and shut off her engine. She glanced in her rearview mirror. No makeup, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’d been a reporter in the Central Valley long enough to know that cowboys and ranchers reacted to her in one of two ways: patronizing teasing or outright flirtation. The sooner they realized she meant business, the sooner she could get her quotes and file the story.

  She grabbed her camera and bag and walked across the yard to the neatly kept farmhouse. She stood on the porch and rang the doorbell. Dogs barked inside.

  The door opened. A skinny green-eyed kid holding a big glass of milk looked up at her with a puzzled expression. Twelve or thirteen, he was dressed in a hoodie, jeans, and boots. His dark hair was messy. Two Australian sheepdogs wagged at his heels. “Good morning,” he said. “May I help you?”

  “Hi. My name is Georgia Meyers. I’m a reporter from the L.A. Chronicle. I have an appointment to talk to Dale MacKinnon today. Is he here?”

  “Who is it?” a deep voice called from inside. A big hand pulled the door open wider. Behind the first kid stood another
kid who could only be his older brother. He tipped his cowboy hat back. This one looked about eighteen, ridiculously tall in a Priefert T-shirt that strained around his broad shoulders and arms. He looked her up and down before his quick brown eyes settled on hers with a stare far too direct for Georgia’s comfort.

  “Hey, there,” he said with a baby-faced grin.

  “I’m looking for Dale MacKinnon,” she said again.

  “That’s our dad,” said the older brother. “I’m Clark. This here’s Oops—I mean Caleb. You can call him Oops.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes and turned around. “Cut it out, asshat.”

  “Watch your language, young man. Go call Daniel while I talk to this beautiful lady. Run along.”

  “He’s in a bad mood.”

  “Just go get’m before the school bus comes.” Clark opened the screen door while Caleb wandered back into the back room. The dogs followed him out.

  “Come in. Have a seat,” said Clark.

  The house was clean, well worn but well loved. A sagging sofa, a couple beat-up armchairs, and a Barcalounger sat around an old television. A fresh Christmas tree with simple discount-store decorations sat by the window. A bookshelf pushed against the wall held a few farming textbooks, several romance novels with cracked spines, and a big leather-bound Bible.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Milk? Orange juice?”

  Georgia took a seat and smiled to herself. MacFlirty had good manners—a well-raised kid, just a little oversexed. She shook her head. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “That you are.” Clark leaned casually against the armrest of the sofa. His T-shirt and jeans were faded but clean. A leather utility belt hung from his lean hips. It held pliers and a knife. He was a working cowboy—the boots and hat weren’t just for show. “So what’s your story about?”

  “Organic cattle ranching. Your family’s one of the first in the Central Valley to apply for organic certification. I’m here to write about the process.”

  “I didn’t know lady reporters were so hot.” He folded his arms. His biceps swelled. “Are you from around here?”

  Georgia ignored his question and took out her steno pad and pen. She’d brought her voice recorder, but she preferred using old-fashioned ink and paper. “So Dale MacKinnon’s your dad? How many of you are there in the family?”

  Clark looked at her notebook and frowned. “Wait a second. Are you writing down everything I say?”

  “That’s what lady reporters do, generally.” She uncapped her pen. “I’ve got Clark and Caleb. Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

  “Um, Daniel’s my older brother. Dean’s the oldest.” The kid stood up straight and cleared his throat. “You know, I think I see Daniel. Yeah. Here he comes,” he said quickly. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Meyers.” Chastened, Clark retreated into the kitchen where a screen door opened and shut with a bang.

  “Where is she?” said yet another voice, this one even deeper than Clark’s.

  “In the living room. Watch what you say. She’s gonna write it all down.”

  “What?”

  Yet another MacKinnon kid. What was going on? Where was their father? Slightly annoyed, Georgia stood up to meet the latest progeny as he strode into the living room.

  Wearing an olive-green jacket, his cheeks red from working outside, the new brother removed his gloves and tucked them under his arm. He took off his hat and shook her hand. His rough fingers were warm.

  “Daniel MacKinnon.” He didn’t smile.

  Georgia couldn’t explain it. Daniel wasn’t as tall or buff as Clark. With a heavy jaw and dirty blond hair styled high and tight, he was as clean cut as a cadet—she usually preferred tattooed, bearded types. He looked to be in his mid-twenties—she usually liked seasoned men who were older than her, not younger. But this guy’s hotness seared her eyeballs, nailing her feet where she stood.

  “Georgia Meyers, L.A. Chronicle,” she said automatically, all other words escaping her. She was too old, too experienced, and far too smart to react this way—and yet, here she was. Staring slack-jawed at a pretty-faced cowboy like some blue-stockinged virgin at a rodeo dance.

  “I know you’re here to see my father,” he said, the low rumble in his voice stroking a sweet spot inside her chest, “but he isn’t available today. You need to reschedule, Miss Meyers.”

  His bright green eyes were so distracting, she almost didn’t register his words. “Reschedule?”

  “Yeah. You need to come back. Do the interview another day.”

  “What?” Snap out of it, Gigi. The story. She yanked her professional persona back in place. “Mr. MacKinnon, I’ve just driven an hour and a half from Fresno to be here. Two days ago, your father said he’d give me a tour of the ranch and walk me through the organic certification process. Isn’t there anyone else I can talk to?”

  Daniel’s stoic expression was both infuriating and unspeakably hot. “No.”

  Hot or not, who does this guy think he is? She stood up straight. “Okay, let me lay it all out for you. If there’s no one here who will speak with me today, just to make sure my time isn’t wasted, I’ll be more than happy to find another rancher. There are plenty of spreads in your neck of the woods, aren’t there? I’m sure my readers wouldn’t mind learning about conventional ranching operations. Maybe someone at the Hughes Ranch will make time for me. What do you think?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her and took a deep but silent breath. His broad chest rose and fell as he looked her over. At last he said, “Can you ride?”

  “A little.” Which was completely true, depending on one’s definition of “a little.”

  Fresh impatience lit up Daniel MacKinnon’s eyes. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Enjoy this preview?

  Cowboy Rising is available on Amazon.

  Copyright © 2016 by Mia Hopkins

  Excerpt from Cowboy Rising copyright © 2016 by Mia Hopkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Jennifer Haymore

  Cover by Syneca

  Cowboy Karma/ Mia Hopkins. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN-10:

  0-9979922-0-4

  ISBN-13:

  978-0-9979922-0-5

  To receive e-mail alerts about Mia’s new releases, please click here.

  Also by Mia Hopkins

  The Cowboy Cocktail series

  Cowboy Valentine

  Cowboy Resurrection

  Cowboy Player

  Cowboy Karma

  Cowboy Rising

  Cowboy Cocktail (short story)

  Cowboy Overload (short story)

  The Kings of California series

  Deep Down

  Hollywood Honkytonk

  About the Author

  Mia Hopkins writes lush romances starring fun, sexy characters who love to get down and dirty. She’s a sucker for working class heroes, brainy heroines and wisecracking best friends. She lives in the heart of Los Angeles with her roguish husband and two waggish dogs.

  To receive e-mail alerts about Mia’s new releases, please click here.

  For more information…

  @miahopkinsxoxo

  Mia Hopkins’ Books

  www.miahopkinsauthor.com

  A Note to the Reader

  Thank you for taking the time to read Lucky and Harmony’s story. Ever since their hot cameo in
Cowboy Player, I knew they needed their own book! If you enjoyed Cowboy Karma, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or your ebook retailer’s site. Your feedback means so much to me, and it will help other readers find their way to Oleander. Thanks again!