Part Time Cowboy (Copper Ridge Book 1)

by Maisey Yates

  She clung to him, grabbing his T-shirt and holding it tight, holding him tight.

  When they parted, they were both breathing hard, and her cheeks were wet, tears tracking down her pale skin.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said, his tone a command. “Don’t go.”

  “Eli...”

  “I am an idiot. You are distracting. And you did change things. But dammit, Sadie, I want to be distracted by you. I want to be changed by you. Hell, baby, I need it. And I was just about to drink a whole bottle of liquor to try to forget how much of an ass I am. But then I saw my counter.”

  “Your counter?”

  “It’s clean. Your shoes aren’t sitting on it. Everything’s in order. Everything. You’re not there saying some...sexual innuendo I barely understand, and you know what? I hate it. I hate the order if it means I can’t have you. I love you, Sadie.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Then why are you packed?”

  “Because. Because I was going to leave but I went and did some thinking. And now I’m not,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You know...it’s hard to say. Because leaving is what I do. And even when I knew I would miss you like hell it seemed easier than this. Easier than standing in front of you and telling you I want more. But I’m going to do it anyway. I went back to my clearing. It was where I used to go when things got to be too much. When I needed to escape. But I didn’t find oblivion there. I found you instead. And whatever power there was in escape, whatever I used to enjoy about it...it was gone. I don’t want to run anymore. I want to stand and fight. I want to stay. I want more. Because I want you. I want everything. Good and bad and stick up your ass. I love you and I want to fight for that love like I’ve never fought for anything.”

  He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. It was one thing to confess his love to her, but he didn’t think for a damn minute he deserved to have it returned. Not after the things he’d said to her.

  “How can you love me?” he asked. “I failed you.”

  “That’s the thing, though, Eli, you didn’t. I wished that someone would have stepped in and saved me. Of course I did. And I think...it was easy to wish it had been you. But what I really needed was to save myself.”

  “You did, Sadie,” he said, his chest tightening. “You left.”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s not when I saved myself. That’s when I learned to run. Which is the first step sometimes. But I realized something today, when I was ready to leave this place, to leave you. I realized it’s not enough to have a life. You have to have all of life. And I haven’t let myself do that.”

  “Sadie...” His throat closed up. “I haven’t, either. I wanted to believe that I could control things. That somehow I could stop bad things from happening. But the problem with that is that...I can’t. I thought if I could, if I got things in order... But it’s not in my power. And admitting that is one of the scariest damn things I can think of because control is everything to me. Being the one taking care of things is everything to me. So that...” He felt like an ass even thinking this, much less admitting it. But it was time to say it. And it was time to let it go. “People leave me, Sadie. I thought someday I’d make myself so important it wouldn’t happen again.”

  “Well—” Sadie wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled “—Eli Garrett, future sheriff of Copper Ridge, you have made yourself so important to me that this woman, who always has her running shoes on hand, can’t leave you.”

  * * *

  SADIE LOOKED UP AT ELI, at the deep concern in his dark eyes, at the sincerity. And the insecurity. And any remaining walls around her heart crumbled completely.

  She threw her arms around his neck and held him close, stroking her fingers through his hair. “You’re the best reason in the world to stop running. And you don’t have to work to get me to stay. I’m offering to. Because you’re the best man there is. And anyone who made you feel like less deserves to be dragged behind a horse.”

  “I love you, Sadie. More than a clean house, more than stability. If you kept running, I’d run after you. Even if I had to leave all this behind. Because it doesn’t mean a thing without you. And I’m sorry. Sorry for all the crap I said to you. Everything I put us through. I couldn’t run, so I guess the best I could do was try to make you run. Because you scare the hell out of me, woman. But I’m even more scared of living without you.”

  A tear rolled down Sadie’s cheek, emotion filling her, so full she thought she might break with it. “Then it’s a good thing I’m staying.”

  “Oh, hell, does this mean I’m part of the bed-and-breakfast?”

  “Only if you spend the night.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “about that... Do you think you could run it if you mainly slept at my place?”

  “Mainly?”

  “Always.”

  “I have a cat,” she reminded him. “And he sleeps indoors. He basically lives indoors.”

  “I will give him his own bedroom.”

  “Holy crap, you do love me!” she said, laughing, another tear sliding down her cheek.

  “I really do,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “I really, really do.”

  Sadie kissed him back, the feeling of completion when their lips touched unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Whoever said you couldn’t go home again had never been to Copper Ridge. The place hadn’t changed at all.

  But Sadie had. And for the first time, she was home, and she was ready to stay.

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss Connor’s story, BROKEDOWN COWBOY,

  coming soon from Maisey Yates and HQN Books!

  Read on for an exclusive excerpt...

  CHAPTER ONE

  CONNOR GARRETT WAS a grown-ass man. He knew there was nothing to fear in sleep. He knew the darkness of his room didn’t hide anything more sinister than a pair of carelessly discarded cowboy boots waiting for him to stub his toe on them in the dead of night during a sleepy trip to the bathroom.

  He knew these things, just like he knew the sun would rise over the mountains just before six this time of year, whether he wanted it to or not. He knew these things as surely as he knew that an early-morning breeze tinged with salt meant a storm would blow in from the coast later. That unintentional run-ins with barbed-wire fences stung like a son of a bitch. That wooden barns burned, and people you loved left.

  Yeah, he knew all that.

  But it didn’t stop him from waking up most nights in a cold sweat, his heart pounding harder than a spooked horse’s hooves on arena dirt.

  Because the simple truth was that Connor Garrett might know all these things, but his subconscious had yet to catch up.

  He sat bolt upright in bed, sweat beading on his bare chest and his forehead. If this weren’t standard procedure for his body he might’ve been concerned he was having a heart attack. Unfortunately, though, by now he was well aware that the racing heart and accompanying chest pain were just stress. Anxiety.

  Damn lingering grief that refused to lessen even as the years passed.

  He wasn’t surprised when he woke up alone in bed, not anymore. It had been three years, after all. It didn’t come as a shock, but he still noticed. Every time. Was acutely aware of how cold the sheets were on her side of the bed. It wasn’t even the same bed he’d slept in with Jessie. He’d bought a new one about a year ago because continuing to sleep in the bed they’d shared had seemed too depressing. But it hadn’t accomplished what he had hoped it might.

  Because no matter how hard he tried, whether he lay down in the middle of the bed at the start of the night, or even on the side nearest to the window, he always ended up on his side.

  The side by the door. In case of intruders or any other danger. The side that allowed him to protect the person sleeping next to him. The one he had taken every night during his eight years of marriage. It was like his late wife’s ghost was rolling him over in his
sleep.

  And then waking him up.

  Unfortunately, Jessie didn’t even have the decency to haunt him. She was just gone. And in her place was emptiness. In his bed. In his house. In his chest.

  And when his chest wasn’t empty, it was filled with pain and a kind of dread that took over his whole body and made it impossible to breathe. Like now.

  He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, the wood floor cold beneath his bare feet. He stood and walked over to the window, looked out into the darkness. The black shadows of pine trees filled his vision, and beyond that, the darker silhouette of the mountains, backlit by a slightly grayer sky. Down to the left he could barely make out the front porch. And the golden glow of the porch light that he’d somehow managed to leave on before he’d gone to sleep.

  His chest clenched tight. That was probably why he’d woken up.

  Abruptly, the dream he’d been having flooded back through his mind. It hadn’t been a full dream so much as images.

  Opening the door late at night to find Eli standing there, his brother’s face grim, bleaker than Connor had ever seen it. And a ring of gold light from the porch had shone around him. Made him look like an angel of some kind. An angel of death, it had turned out.

  As stupid as it was, he was half convinced that leaving that same light on downstairs brought the dreams back stronger.

  It didn’t make sense. But if there was one thing he’d learned over the years it was that grief didn’t make a lick of sense.

  He jerked the bedroom door open and walked downstairs, heading toward the entryway. He stood there in front of the door, looking at the porch light shining through the windows. For a second he had the thought that if he opened it, he would find Eli waiting for him. Would find himself transported back in time three years. Listening to the kind of news that no one wanted to hear.

  He flipped the light off and found himself walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge, rather than going back upstairs. He looked at the beer, which was currently the only thing on the shelves besides a bottle of ketchup and a bag that had an onion in it that had probably been there since the beginning of summer.

  He let out a heavy sigh and shut the fridge. He should not drink beer at three in the morning.

  Three in the morning was clearly Jack Daniel’s o’clock.

  He walked over to the cabinet where he kept the harder stuff and pulled out his bottle of Jack. It was almost gone. And no one was here. No one was here, because his fucking house was empty. Because he was alone.

  Considering those things, he decided to hell with the glass. He picked up the bottle and tipped it back, barely even feeling the burn anymore as the alcohol slid down his throat.

  Maybe now he would be able to get some sleep. Maybe for a few hours he could forget.

  He’d given up on getting rest years ago. These days he just settled for oblivion.

  And this was the fastest way he knew to get it.

  * * *

  “YOU SHOULD JUST install a drain in the house so you can hose it down and let all the dirt wash out. Just like you do out in the barn.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Liss?”

  Felicity Foster refused to be cowed by the overwhelmingly unfriendly greeting her best friend had just issued. It was just Connor, after all. She was used to his less than sparkly demeanor. She was also used to finding him passed out on the couch in the morning.

  It would be nice if that happened less frequently, but if anything, he seemed to be getting worse.

  Not that she could blame him. She blamed the barn burning down. As far as the loss of Jessie was concerned, things might have continued to get better had he not lost the barn, too. It was just a building, bricks and wood, but it was his livelihood. Now it was just another piece of Connor’s dream burned down to the ground. He’d had enough of that. Too much.

  She was officially pissed at life on his behalf. How much was one man supposed to endure?

  “And to answer your rather charming question, Connor,” she said, stepping nearer to the couch, “I brought you groceries.”

  He sat up, his face contorting, making him look a bit like he’d swallowed a porcupine. “Groceries? Why would you do that?”

  “I know it’s been a while since you’ve gone out and socialized with actual people, rather than simply sharing your space with cows, so I feel compelled to remind you that the normal human response here would be thank you.”

  He swung his legs over the side of the couch and rubbed his hand over his face. She wanted to do something. To put her hand on his back and offer comfort. She was used to those kinds of impulses around Connor. She’d been fighting them for the better part of her adult life. So she stood there, her hands held awkwardly at her sides, leaving him uncomforted. Leaving the appropriate amount of space between them.

  That was part of being a good friend. At least as far as she and Connor were concerned.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff. “But why the hell did you bring me groceries? And why the hell did you bring them by before work?”

  “I bought you groceries because man cannot live on booze alone. I’m bringing them this morning because I bought them last night and I got too tired to drop them off then. So I thought, in the spirit of goodwill and breakfast cereals, I would bring them by now.”

  “I do like breakfast cereals. I’m ambivalent about goodwill.” He stood up, wobbling slightly. “Feeling a little bit ambivalent about gravity, too.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  He looked away from her and shrugged in a classically Connor manner. Playing things off was an art form with this man. “I don’t know. I woke up in the middle of the night. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I had a little bit to drink and ended up staying down here. Anyway, I don’t really notice the hangovers anymore.”

  “I don’t think building up a resistance to hangovers is a crowning achievement.”

  “For my lifestyle, it certainly is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on, cowboy. I’ll pour you some cereal.”

  She shouldn’t offer to do things like that for him. She knew it. But she did it anyway. Just like she brought him groceries when she knew his fridge contained nothing but beer. Just like she still came to his house every day to make sure he was taken care of.

  “Whoa, wait a second, Liss. We do not know each other well enough for that shit.”

  “I’ve known you since I was fifteen.”

  “The preparation of cereal is a highly contentious thing. You don’t know how much milk I might want. Hell, I don’t know how much milk I might want until I assess the density and quality of the cereal.”

  “Are you still drunk?”

  “Probably a little bit.”

  “Kitchen. Now.”

  Connor offered her a smart-ass smile, one side of his mouth curving upward. She couldn’t help but watch him as he walked from the living room into the kitchen. His dark hair was longer than he used to keep it, a beard now covering his once clean-shaven jaw. She didn’t mind the look. Actually, didn’t mind was an understatement—she thought he looked dead sexy. Though in her opinion there was no look Connor had ever sported that she’d found less than sexy. No, on that score, the beard and hair were fine. The real issue was that his mountain-man look was an outward sign of the fact that he just didn’t take care of himself anymore.

  They walked into the kitchen, and with the sun shining through the window, she could clearly see the coat of neglect that everything wore. The stove had a grease film over the top of it, a shocking amount of splatters on the white surface considering that she knew Connor never cooked anything here beyond frozen pizza. The pine cabinets looked dingy; the front window was dotted with a white film of hard water stains.

  The house didn’t wear its neglect with quite the same devilish flare its owner did.

  Connor reached up and opened one of the cabinets, taking out one of the brightly colored boxes of cereal she had just placed ther
e. It struck her, in that moment, how funny it was she had known exactly where to put the cereal, and that he had known she would.

  He grabbed a bowl and placed it on the counter, turning to face her, and she realized then that Connor wasn’t wearing his neglect quite as well as he would like everyone to believe. Sure, he was still sexy as hell, the tight lines by his eyes, the deep grooves in his forehead not doing anything to diminish that. But they were new. A map of the stress and grief of the past few years, deepened by his recent losses.

  She ached for him. But beyond buying the man’s food there was very little she could do.

  She had been about to unload on him all the crap that was happening with her rental house. But it wasn’t a good time. Though she doubted with Connor there was ever a good time. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because she didn’t want to pile on.

  Connor poured milk on his cereal, milk she had brought, and set it back on the counter. He picked up his bowl and started eating, crunching loudly on his first bite. “Are you going to have some, Liss?”

  “I never say no to cereal. I have important accounting stuff to attend to. I find an early-morning carb rush is the best way to handle that.”

  “Coffee?” he asked, talking around the food in his mouth.

  “I had a carafe before I came over. I don’t play around with caffeine consumption.”

  “Well, I need some.” He set the bowl back down on the counter and made his way over to the coffeemaker.

  “So, you had coffee. Beer and coffee.”

  “I’m not an animal.”

  Liss snickered while she got her own bowl and set about preparing her cereal. There was a strange domesticity to the scene. Mundane conversation, easy morning sounds. Water running in the sink, clattering dishes. The soft filter of early sunlight through the thick wall of evergreens that surrounded Connor’s front yard.

  There was something poignant about sharing this with him. This moment that seemed to have slipped right out of time. Like something she’d stolen, something she shouldn’t have.

  Seriously, you would think she was the one who had been drinking. She was maudlin.