Cowboy on the Run

by Devon McKay

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  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

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Cowboy

  on the Run

  by

  Devon McKay

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cowboy on the Run

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Devon McKay

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-253-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-254-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my loving husband,

  my cowboy on the run

  Chapter 1

  Nate Walker pushed his bike to extremes, hitting eighty before the surge of adrenaline he’d been striving for flushed through his veins, scratching the surface of the itch, the need to run.

  Not this time, he told himself, maintaining his course, now nearing close to ninety. The reckless speed made him feel more in control despite the two reasons driving him back to the small town he never wanted to step foot in again. Both affecting him in a no-win, gut wrenching way.

  He toyed with the idea of turning his bike around and heading back the direction he came from—or anywhere else. Although the thought was enticing, it wasn’t a choice anymore. His demons would still chase him, biting at his heels every inch of the way.

  No, after all these years, it was time to face them. Besides, he was tired of running, even if the outcome did seem rather bleak.

  Scowling, he pushed the bike further, taking a sharp corner at a life threatening angle, testing his mortality.

  A morbid satisfaction burned through him as he felt the pavement skin the side of his leather boot. The feeling lasted only a split second before his dilemma returned full force, and his thoughts became more demanding than before.

  Of the two reasons, he knew which one would be more challenging, yet was certain neither would be easy—the funeral of a man who conjured up memories of a life better left forgotten, or the woman who haunted his every waking moment and would never forgive him for what he did to her.

  Nate revved the throttle before shifting down a gear, determined to take on the more difficult of the choices first.

  For a moment, regret marred his decision. It wasn’t as if Jessie Calhoun would welcome him with open arms. Can’t blame her. Guilt shredded his insides as he pulled into the lot of the Lucky Horseshoe Bar and parked the bike in the back. The day he left, he’d been stupid and angry.

  No, she wouldn’t be very welcoming, which meant a serious challenge contemplating her stubborn nature. Hell, he stood a better chance of dancing with the devil than ever winning her over again. The daring invitation spurred him on.

  Confident, he walked through the large, horseshoe-shaped doors and entered the crowded bar the same way he always had...as if he owned the place. Patsy Cline’s Crazy played on the tired jukebox stationed in the back corner by the bathrooms, and the flashing of its red and yellow neon lights snared his attention.

  The same tune had been playing the last time he’d been here. He shook his head, debating whether or not it was some kind of sign. Patsy was right. He was crazy for returning to this godforsaken place. Especially considering the arrogance of his entrance had granted him the attention of everyone other than the one person he wanted to notice him.

  Shock showed on most of the faces, before the looks were replaced with raised glasses and comforting smiles he registered as pity. A little exposed, his mood soured as he tried in vain to block the memories flooding in. The other reason he was here.

  In less than a week, he would bury his estranged father.

  This day was bound to come. Although, he’d expected it much sooner.

  He brushed aside a stab of remorse. How his father had managed not to drink himself to death before now remained a mystery.

  They had been far from close. Nate recounted their last heated exchange, blaming the alcohol. Old man Walker’s love for the hard stuff had never been a secret. Nor had his father’s temper. The man had not been known for sparing the rod. Or his fist.

  A twinge of self-pity and shame washed over him. The emotions hadn’t surfaced for a long time, and now old scars were torn wide open. A low, guttural growl escaped him, and he wished like hell he was still on his bike.

  The small, hometown watering hole hadn’t changed much despite the years he’d been gone, and he couldn’t hide the disappointment etched on his face. The bar was still on the verge of run down, he determined quickly, peering through the smoky fog of the room.

  A strong wave of stale beer and cigarettes confronted him, and he disregarded the images from his past the potent smells triggered, counting the years it had been since he had last set foot in this bar. Damn near seven years...Seven. Very. Long. Years.

  On the left side of the room, the exhausted billiard table, embellished with its trademark covering of torn felt, still resided. His gaze swept over the Budweiser lamp stationed above the pool table, highlighting the weary, faded green.

  He had played too many games to count on the table. His stare channeled in on the multicolored pool balls all aligned in a nice triangle. Nate reached down and rolled the cool, ivory in his hand for old time’s sake, fighting the longing to pick up a pool stick and play a round or two.

  Even the chipped cue brought back memories. A spider-veined crack lined the smooth surface, reminding him it was the same cream colored sphere responsible for knocking out Jimmy Greenwood’s front tooth one rowdy Friday night. Of course, he had been at fault, wielding the weapon.

  He returned it to its resting place, spinning away from the table, refusing to linger on memories better left forgotten. He was here for another reason. The last thing he wanted was to bring back to life his reckless past.

  Several bar stools aligned the face of the bar, allowing a front row position for those wanting faster service or a little conversation from the bartender. Old beer signs advertising a good time were posted on the walls behind the bar, recalling a time when they’d been crisp, clean endorsement
s.

  He heard someone shout his name and spun his head in the direction, acknowledging another person from his past with a nod before looking away. He wasn’t here to make friends or catch up with old acquaintances.

  His gaze narrowed, scanning his old stomping grounds. There were several more faces from his past, but there was only one reunion he planned on. An unforgettable brunette.

  He found her standing at the bar with her back turned to him, immersed in a deep conversation with Ed. Seeing the bartender reminded him of a joke the man used to tell about never retiring, only aging like fine wine. It was clear now the old barkeep had not been joking.

  Regardless, the two of them were the only ones in the entire joint oblivious of his presence, and for some reason, it annoyed Nate to no end, pushing his mood to an even darker depth.

  A deep, throaty laugh reached his ears, changing his black disposition in an instant. He smiled, embracing the rich tone of Jessie’s laughter like a long, lost friend. That’s how contagious it was, captivated by the sound as it brought forth a collection of slighted memories.

  Jessie, he savored, admiring her tantalizing backside. She hadn’t changed a bit, still the same girl who could stop him in his tracks just by the sound of her laughter. Not to mention her many other assets.

  She appeared busy taking inventory, occupied with counting and jotting down numbers. Thankful for her distraction, he studied her in silence and drank in the sight, making sure not to overlook even the slightest detail.

  She was no longer the slim tomboy with skinny legs he remembered. No, she was a woman, he observed, flustered by the way her thick, sable locks were pulled into a pony tail, exposing the delicate lines of her neck.

  Ed pushed a tray of MGD’s toward her, which she counted, offering a sassy smile before putting down the notebook and tucking the pen behind her ear to deliver the order.

  Nate followed her, keeping a steady eye on the patrons littering the bar. He shifted his weight, crunching discarded peanut shells beneath his worn cowboy boots. Another person from his past called out his name, drawing attention to him again.

  Jessie spun around, her brunette ponytail whipping the air. She never could hide her emotions, showcasing her feelings like an open banner for all to see. Surprise lined her face, and for a split second, he saw a flash of something he couldn’t name within the emerald depths of her eyes. At least it wasn’t anger.

  Not yet anyway. A slight promise of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Proving his point, her expression changed from shock to fury in an instant. And as disarming as this new declaration was, he’d be an idiot to dismiss her first response, which gave him a tiny thread of hope.

  He held her gaze for a full minute before she reeled around and snapped a drink order to Ed. The motion offered him a seductive view he had missed over the years. A pair of snug blue jeans clung to her heart-shaped derriere, set off by a tight, black tank top adhered to her every curve. Dangerous curves—he sucked in a deep breath—the kind only a red-blooded male could appreciate. She had the same effect on him now as she did when he was seventeen—still making his blood boil with need.

  Nate took a few steps closer to her, the exposed flesh of her neck a breath away from his lips, the heat of her backside competing against his strong resolve to stay focused. He came here to tie up loose ends, despite her, or his, feelings at the moment.

  However, he couldn’t control the will of his hand, twirling a silky strand of her hair through his fingers as he inhaled the floral scent of her.

  Time to dance with the devil...

  “I’ll have a shot of whiskey, Ed,” he said to the bartender. His mouth returned to her ear, whispering in a tone so light the words vibrated and tickled his lips. “If I remember right, you were always a tequila girl. Stuff used to make you wild.” Surrendering, he skimmed the delicate line of her jawbone with a feathery kiss, the gentleness a vivid contradiction to the implied meaning of his words.

  A sharp stab of pain pierced his stomach, stealing his breath for a moment. She still had dead-on aim. He rubbed the spot and grinned, forgetting how helpless a blow from her elbow could render him.

  Glancing up, he saw Ed’s smile falter, and a weary look of caution transformed the man’s weathered face. The bartender cast a concerned stare in Jessie’s direction before pouring him the shot and slamming the glass on the bar. The amber liquid sloshed back and forth along the top ridge of the glass, threatening to spill over.

  Far from discouraged, Nate tipped his head, tossing a crisp, ten-dollar bill down for the drink. Using the opportunity to his advantage, he compressed his tall, lanky frame against her backside as he reached for the whiskey.

  Perhaps it was the bold move, but for one sweet moment, her body yielded, melting into his, before tensing up. He downed the shot, needing the welcome distraction.

  Jessie held her breath as the interchange played in slow motion. It wasn’t as if she could move if she wanted to anyway. Hell, at the moment, she couldn’t even think straight. Not with the familiar hardness of Nate’s chest pressed against her back.

  She exhaled, slowly. Seeing the man who haunted her past had almost caused her to drop the full tray of beer mugs. Luckily, her body reacted on autopilot, turning away and placing the tray on the bar, even though the sight of him caused her head to spin.

  Why couldn’t he have been any other cowboy in the saddle brown, leather Stetson and rugged Levis? She attempted to compose herself, squeezing her eyes closed in a useless effort to wipe away the lingering image.

  Damn him and his cocky smile. It remained imprinted in her memory, the smirk reminding her of the way he’d always been able to read her every thought.

  She cursed under her breath, angry at her own weakness—because her initial, pathetic thought had been one of bittersweet relief. Nate Walker had come back for her.

  She fought to calm the erratic beating of her heart. Think rationally, she told herself, refusing to let him waltz back into her life as if he hadn’t left her in the dust of his taillights. Not an easy task. His body, molded against hers, shredded any hope of resistance.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she grabbed a full mug of beer off the tray and whirled around, shoving the thick glass into his hand. “Here, drink this and go.” She stepped to the side so she was no longer imprisoned between his body and the bar.

  Big mistake.

  The averted route only repositioned her so she was even more accessible to him. Stopping him from coming any closer, she placed her hand on his chest. The second her hand met his body she gasped, startled by the electric charge which shot through her palm.

  Jessie forced herself to ignore the spark. “I mean it, Nate. Go.”

  He answered by taking a deep pull of his beer, his sapphire gaze pulling her in, holding her captive.

  An ocean of outrage spiked through her. Same old Nate, still so confident and cocky. Through her rage, a small taste of guilt surfaced, reminding her to be more compassionate considering his father just died. The prodigal son had returned for the funeral, not for her.

  She was merely a plaything to him at the moment, a diversion to sidetrack him from what he needed to face. And despite his angry actions severing the family ties, he must still be dissecting the news his father was gone forever.

  She, of all people, knew how it felt to lose someone you loved. Like your heart had been ripped clean out of your body. Nate had done it to her.

  Her anger trumped the guilt. She grabbed a cleaning rag off the bar and stomped away, not sure if she was more upset with him or herself. With short, furious strokes of the bleached-soaked rag, she cleared a corner pub table.

  The strong fumes of the sterilizer caused her eyes to sting. Frustrated, she wiped at the unwelcomed tears with the back of her hand and heard the familiar sound of his boots cross the wood planks of the floor behind her.

  “I told you to go,” she spat out, refusing to face him with tears streaming down her face.

&nbs
p; His hat whisked by her head in a brown blur stirring the stagnant bleached air around her with the scent of leather before landing with a soft thud on the table. She jumped in surprise, touching the side of her head where the worn brim had brushed. Despite the sudden shock to her system, she composed herself, continuing to clear the surface, wiping around the hat as if nothing had happened.

  Warmth flowed into her back as his arms came into view. He placed a hand on each side of her, enclosing her between the tall, pub-styled table and his hard, muscular torso. Once again, he managed to encompass her in an embrace without even touching, trapping her in his heat.

  His damned, memory-provoking hands found their way to her waist and wrapped snugly around her. Her breasts responded to the attention, defiant nipples taut against the thin cotton of her tank top.

  Damn it, she cursed, fighting the tight pull of her breasts. When he was around, she never could control her own body, much less her thoughts. The forward gesture, or perhaps just the reminder of what his magical hands could do, almost undid her, making her legs weak and unstable.

  “We are going to finish what we started,” he whispered into her ear.

  His words caressed her skin like fine cashmere. Even after all these years, the sound of his deep, raspy voice still gave her chills, and she hated herself for this lack of control. Her breath caught in her throat as his nearness caused a surge of excitement to course through her veins, overcoming the last little bit of her perseverance.

  Sinfully, she allowed herself to relish, only for a moment, what they once had. Jessie caught herself inhaling his manly scent—a distinct mixture of leather and masculinity. The heady fragrance rekindled faded memories she’d tried like hell to forget.

  Flashes, like scenes from a movie, of a time when they had been inseparable. Nights spent holding hands and staring up at the stars in the back of his beat up pick-up. The dreams they shared, the hay barn, the creek...

  “I’m not leaving here without you,” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

  As if she could. The thought filtered away as quick as it appeared, replaced by the blissful heat of his mouth scorching her neck. She closed her eyes as the longing she’d denied for years returned full force.