Shattered

by Cora York

  “The only thing she said was that she had a pain in the ass guest in cabin ten who refused to move out.” I shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “But now that you mention it, I do recall her saying something to my mom a while back about a no-good country singing ho-bag who’d treated Colt like a doormat.”

  “I would be the ho-bag.” She crossed her arms over her huge rack and scowled. “I can’t go anywhere people might recognize me. They’ll sell stories. If the paparazzi gets wind of where I am, I’ll have no choice but to leave.” She scrutinized my face, then clicked her fingers. “Oh, now I get it. Did Tricia put you up to this? Is this her way of getting me out of her hair?”

  The corners of my lips twitched. She was all kinds of crazy. Lucky for her, I liked crazy.

  “Nobody put me up to anything. I don’t know who you are or why you’re hellbent on not getting help. What I do know is you’re hurt and you need to get those cuts and your ankle looked at.”

  She pushed herself off the ground and winced. She wobbled slightly, and I wrapped my hand around her bicep to hold her steady. My dick stirred, and my mind immediately went to images of getting her naked and fucking her senseless.

  She looked at me oddly. Maybe she’d imagined the same things I had.

  “If I agree to go with you, and that’s a big if, you’ll have to sneak me in the back then sneak me out. I can just imagine the headlines if I’m spotted: Montana’s Meltdown, Part II. Montana’s Madness-her freefall to rock bottom.”

  “You have more than a few screws loose, don’t you? You really think someone at Shady Peaks clinic is waiting for you to show your face so they can sell stories?”

  “There are assholes everywhere trying to make money at my expense.”

  I helped her onto Winston’s back, and, not wanting to invade her space by getting on behind her, I took the reins and began to lead the horse back to the main house. I wouldn’t have minded pressing my thighs against hers and feeling her ass between my legs, but forcing myself on someone wasn’t my style.

  “Why don’t you hop on up behind me, cowboy?”

  “Didn’t want to seem impolite. You don’t know me from Adam.”

  “I’d feel safer if you were holding on to me. I’ll crack my head open if I fall from up here, and I’m cracked enough as it is.”

  “You won’t hear me say no.” I stopped Winston and climbed on. My thighs gripped the outside of hers. Her ass nestled nicely against my crotch, and my cock perked up at her closeness. If she inched back, she’d feel something much harder than my belt buckle.

  “Why are you hiding out here?” I asked, doing my best to take my mind off the sweet scent of her hair and perfume.

  “Google it,” she said on a sigh. “There are posts galore about what happened.”

  “I’m not much for the internet. Why don’t you tell me?”

  For a long moment, she didn’t speak, but finally said, “For a while, I was the most played singer on country music radio, but then I did something unforgivable.”

  “Did you kill someone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you stab someone?”

  She gave her head a small shake.

  “Did you kidnap a man and use him for sexual favors?”

  “Didn’t do that either.”

  “Well, it can’t be all that bad, can it?”

  “In the grand scheme of things, no, but...”

  “Go on,” I encouraged.

  “I was drunk, but I still swear my drink was spiked. My fans mean everything to me, and I’d never do anything to hurt them on purpose. I ripped up some posters two little girls had made for me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I screamed in their faces. One of their moms caught it all on video.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Man. If someone on the rodeo circuit did that, their career would be over no matter how popular or talented they were. Biting the hand that feeds you is akin to killing someone.”

  “That’s why I think someone dropped something in my drink. Can’t prove a thing, though. So I take it you’re a bronc?”

  “Bull rider with plenty of scars to prove it.”

  “I thought you said you were some kind of horse whisperer.”

  I chuckled at that. No one had ever called me a horse whisperer before, but I supposed in a way I was. “Most of my time is spent competing at rodeos, but when I’m not doing that, I’m a trainer. I’ve been breaking and training horses for as long as I could get my foot in a stirrup. Aunt Tricia needed help with a new stallion. With Brooks now working as a detective in Atlanta, and Gunner working on the oil fields, she asked me to stop by for a while. Since I have some time to kill, I thought, why not? Plus, my mom thought a change of scenery would do me the world of good.”

  “Is it doing you some good?”

  I squeezed my thighs against hers. “Just arrived last night, but so far, the scenery is out of this world.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” she said with a smile in her voice.

  I wasn’t all that interested in anything more than a hookup. I didn’t want a woman waiting for my call, always expecting the worst, wondering if I was alive or dead, then nagging me to give up the one thing I was born to do. I got enough of that from my mom, aunt, and sisters, but I wouldn’t be averse to ripping up the sheets with a firecracker like Montana. She might fill my time away from the tour with some color.

  She wiggled back, causing her ass to hit against my crotch. Being a man and a red-blooded one at that, my dick reacted in the only way it could by hardening. I shifted in the saddle and cleared my throat.

  “You doing okay back there, cowboy?” The flirty tone in her words was loud and clear.

  I grinned. “I’m mighty fine, but if you’re not prepared to go through with what you’re teasing, stop wiggling your ass against my crotch.”

  “I can’t help it if we’re riding down bumpy, dirt roads, and that your crotch just happens to be absorbing the shock.”

  “Shame you’re hurt because if you weren’t, I’d give you a lesson in bareback riding right here, right now.”

  “I’m sure a cowboy like you knows all about that.”

  “Damn straight. You got a boyfriend?”

  She flicked her hair over her shoulder, the flowery scent doing nothing to stop my escalating lust.

  “You got a girlfriend?”

  “Answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”

  “Do you think I have a boyfriend? Look at me. My roots are darker than freshly poured asphalt. I don’t have a scrap of makeup on. My hips, tits, and ass are so big they should have their own zip code, and I wear yoga pants every day. On top of that, I live in a cabin in the mountains. Tricia has the ranchers scared shitless, so they don’t talk to me much. Not that I want to talk to anyone anyway. That answer your question?”

  “I guess it does.” Her reply more than answered my question; it gave me the green light, and when the time was right, I would turn on my charm and make my move. “If it helps, I think your hips, tits, and ass are perfect.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, but not even Bradly Cooper saying he wanted to take another look at me would help. Do you have a girlfriend or not?”

  “Not.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Make something up. Tell me you came here to heal your broken heart. That you were left at the altar and are so devastated, you want to lock yourself away until you find your one true love.”

  I laughed at her messed-up imagination. “Just here to help out my aunt. No broken hearts or sob stories.”

  “You need to add some drama to your life.”

  “Meeting you is all the drama I can handle.”

  This one was trouble with a capital T. The question I had to ask myself was if I really wanted to invite that kind of trouble into my life.

  Chapter Two

  Montana

  “Did you see the way they looked at me?” Using my crutches for support, I hobbled to the truck.


  Dylan helped me get in. My top rode up, and I couldn’t say I minded the feel of his rough, hard-working hands wrapped around my waist. I wasn’t the type of woman who got all wide-eyed and giggly over a man, but I could see myself falling hard for his down South sexiness.

  “Didn’t notice,” he said with a small shrug.

  I slumped against the headrest and groaned. “I bet the jungle drums are already beating and are saying I fell when I was drunk.” Just because I hadn’t received any new Google alerts didn’t mean there wasn’t any new gossip. I slid my phone from the side pocket of my yoga pants and double-checked. For now, there were no new articles or posts.

  “You weren’t drunk, and despite what you might think, the whole world isn’t out to get you.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  He closed the passenger door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

  Before he pulled out of the parking lot, I noticed the nurses standing by the windows, watching us, giggling to one another. My cover was well and truly blown.

  “I would’ve been fine if I’d rested for a few days at home. There was no need for me to come into town for a sprain.”

  “You had two-inch thorns buried in your palms. A gash on your forehead, and a badly sprained ankle.”

  “I wasn’t on death’s door or anything.” I sighed. “I give it an hour before the paparazzi are buzzing all over the place. I’ll have to lay low and stay locked away in my cabin for the next while. Maybe I should move out. Go someplace else.”

  He shot me a sideways glance. “What are you, the Howard Hughes of country music?”

  “Who?”

  “Playboy. Entrepreneur. Aviator. Ended up a recluse and had a paranoid personality disorder, among other things.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  “Leonardo DiCaprio played him in The Aviator.”

  “Oh,” I said, finally realizing who he meant. “I hardly think I’m going to start peeing into jars and storing them around the cabin. I might have issues, but I’m not insane.”

  His lips curved into a wide grin. “The jury’s out on that one.”

  “Thanks a bunch.” Slightly irritated, I pursed my lips and frowned.

  “Look, if anyone starts sniffing around, me and the other guys at the ranch will take care of them.”

  Annoyance at his inability to grasp the seriousness of my situation stuck in my throat. “They won’t leave me alone until they get what they want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Another clickable breakdown. It’s all about views and likes. What I did was unforgivable. In the media’s eyes, I’ll never be able to redeem myself. I’m a monster.”

  We pulled up to a stop sign, and he glanced in my direction. “You’re not a monster. Like you said, you have some issues. Who doesn’t?”

  “Do you?”

  “A few.”

  “Like what?”

  His dark eyebrows drew together in a sexy scowl. “Is this a therapy session or something?”

  “Just trying to figure you out is all.”

  “What you see is what you get.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, and when the light turned green, he turned his focus back to the road. “No one from the clinic will sell your whereabouts to anyone. The GP Mason is my best friend.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him to come to the ranch to treat me?”

  “Today’s the day he spends at the old folk’s home.”

  “Still doesn’t mean the nurses won’t post about me on Facebook.”

  “They won’t. They’d lose their jobs for breaking client confidentiality if they even thought about it. One more thing, you’re not going anywhere till you’re all healed. I take full responsibility for you falling, and I take full responsibility for helping you heal. I should have been watching and not lost in my thoughts.”

  “What had you so preoccupied?”

  “Damn, girl, you ask a lot of questions.” His eyes snapped in my direction then back to the road. “You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”

  “I’m naturally curious.”

  “How about nosey.”

  “Potato, potahto.” Since the cowboy wasn’t willing to tell me anything about himself, my friend Google would. As soon as I was on my own, I’d search the crap out of him.

  “Long story short. My doc told me I should quit riding. He’s overreacting. I hit the back of my head when I dismounted and got a concussion. The bull wanted to teach me a lesson, so he kicked me around some.”

  My hands flew to my mouth. “Holy Mother of God. None of my business, but a doctor telling you not to ride doesn’t sound like an overreaction.”

  “It was a mild concussion. I’m fine,” he said, acting like a concussion was nothing more than a stubbed toe.

  “Getting bumps and bruises comes with the territory. I’ve broken my jaw once or twice, dislocated my shoulders, separated my ribs, once had a ruptured kidney. Had my tibia stepped on and broken a few times, too. Mason, who’s also my doctor, is being overly cautious.”

  “How many concussions?” I asked with a grimace.

  “A few.”

  “Geez, Louise. And you think I’m insane. Do you enjoy pain? Like does it turn you on or something?”

  He threw his head back and belly laughed. “Hardly. There’s no sexual gratification from being trampled on by a bull. You get addicted to the rush and will do anything you can to ride. To feel that high. It’s almost like a competition between you and the bull, not the other riders. Eight seconds of pure adrenaline. You know it could kill you, but you can’t stop.”

  “Believe me, I can relate.” I wanted to add that I’d stopped my addiction before I’d done any permanent damage to my body, could he say he’d be able to do the same? There had to be more to his story than simply riding for the glory. Something else drove him. Why else would he put his life at risk?

  “There’s a rodeo in Nashville coming up. Doctor’s orders or not, I intend to ride.”

  “What if you still have a concussion? What if you hit your head again? You could get permanent brain damage or die.”

  “I won’t. I know I won’t.” I couldn’t help but wonder who he was trying to convince—himself or me.

  “I don’t know much about rodeos, but I’m guessing bull riders and broncs have to wear helmets for protection like footballers.”

  He shook his head. “Not mandatory unless you were born after ‘94. Since I was born in ‘83, I don’t have to.”

  I blinked several times, confused at his reasoning. “Even though you know it would protect your noggin.”

  “You sound like my mom and sisters. A helmet would knock me off balance. Ruin the ride.”

  “Wow. Just wow.”

  “Unless you’re a bull rider, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “I guess not.”

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. Dylan lost in his thoughts, and me lost in mine. Once we made it to the ranch, he pulled up to the main house.

  “Can you drop me at my cabin?” I asked, not making a move to get out of the truck.

  “You’re going to stay with me till you’re all better.”

  “Who the fuck made you the boss?” I bristled. “I want to go to my cabin and climb into my bed. I need to get online and do a thorough search.”

  “You’ve been checking your phone nonstop since we left town. How many more times do you need to search for yourself? You’re like an addict who needs a fix.”

  “Am not,” I said, sounding defensive.

  “How often do you Google your name daily?”

  “Not much.”

  “Where’s your phone when you go to bed?”

  “On my pillow.”

  “When you wake up, what’s the first thing you do?”

  I firmed my lips.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’m not addicted, okay? I like to keep track of what’s going on in the world.” I stared him down. “Take me to my cabin, or I’
ll hobble there myself.”

  “You’re staying with me, and if that means I have to burn down your little She Shed, I will. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I won’t be doing cartwheels anytime soon, but I’m fine.”

  He looked at me like he was about to give me a lecture or throw me over his lap and spank my ass.

  “You’re stayin’ with me, and that’s final.” He held my gaze until my heart did backflips.

  “One night,” I relented.

  “Three nights,” he countered, “then we’ll renegotiate.”

  He smiled. And, oh my Lord, it was the kind of smile that made me want to open my legs and invite him in.

  “While you’re here, there’s something I want you to try.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “An electronic detox.”

  “A what now?”

  “Give up your devices for a few days.”

  “Hell to the no.”

  “I bet the whole time you’ve been here, you haven’t explored the land, gone up to the waterfall, hiked.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what? Moping and feeling sorry for yourself? Looking for imaginary stalkers?”

  “No.” Yes, yes, and yes. So what? I liked being online, and I loved my phone. Cyberstalking myself and people from my old life gave me a weird sense of satisfaction.

  Giving up my phone cold turkey like I’d given up alcohol wasn’t something I wanted to do, but maybe I could limit the time I spent mindlessly scrolling to one or two hours a day.

  “Sorry. Can’t give it up.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” The glint in his hazel eyes showed he was enjoying every minute of torturing me.

  “Won’t.”

  “I don’t think I’d ever let anything have that strong of a hold over me.”

  “Liar. You’re addicted to bull riding.”

  “Not the same. I don’t ride to torture myself. I ride because it gives me purpose and makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.”

  “Your logic doesn’t make any sense. I’m not giving up my phone. End of conversation.”

  “Guess you’ve got no willpower.”