Cowboy Rough: A Steamy, Contemporary Romance Novella (Colorado Cowboys Book 1)

by Harper Young

  “Okay, I need you to crack three eggs into this bowl.” She gestures at a pink bowl on the counter. “Then add half a cup of brown sugar and half a cup of white.”

  “Um, what’s the difference between brown and white sugar?” I ask, eyes distractedly on the window.

  Was that Baby I just saw go by? Is she headed out to see Cord?

  Miranda laughs until she realizes I’m not joking, then purses her lips and sets the sugar bags in front of me. “One is white, and one is brown, Sloane.”

  I laugh, embarrassment warming my cheeks. “That seems obvious enough.”

  “Yes, so cream those all together, okay?”

  “How many eggs did you say again?”

  “Three.”

  “And how many cups of what?”

  It takes ages, but I eventually get what I hope are the right ingredients in the right order into the bowl before whisking away until my arms hurt.

  Twenty minutes later, as the smell of burning dough rises in the kitchen, my phone suddenly trills loudly from my back pocket.

  “Go on, dear,” Miranda smiles and gives an exasperated laugh, shooing me away from the stove where I was supposed to have been watching the timer.

  With a little too much glee, I dart out of the kitchen and into the hallway, pulling my phone from my pocket as I do so.

  Mom shines up at me from the bright screen of my cell, and my heart drops into my stomach like a heavy anchor thrown off the bow of a ship.

  “Oh, no,” I mumble, cringing at the thought of talking to her.

  The last thing I want to do right now is have a conversation with either of my parents, especially when I’m dying to get outside.

  This talk has to happen at some point though, so I begrudgingly accept the call and dart into my room to answer it.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to make it sound as though I’m happy to hear from her.

  “Sloane Gentry, you have some kind of nerve!” she starts instantly, her voice so shrill that it makes my ears sting. “I can’t believe you! Ignoring our calls, really?! We raised you better than that, young lady.”

  “I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

  Mom laughs, a laugh that I know is definitely not a cheerful one.

  “What matters, Sloane, is that you need to come home now. You’ve made so many mistakes. You worked so hard all your life, and now you’re just throwing it all away. My daughter is not a college dropout—”

  “I’m afraid she is, Mom. I studied really hard for you and Dad, but not for me. It was never about what I wanted,” I retort with a scoff. “It’s only been a few days here at Uncle Daniel’s, and I’m already happier at this ranch than I ever was for a second at school. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “You need to come home. You need some serious therapy. There is no way you’re enjoying life on that dirty ranch.”

  “I am, actually. And I might be staying here longer than expected.”

  “Sloane!”

  “I’ll talk to you soon, Mom. I love you, but I love it here, and I’m going to stay if it makes me happy.”

  Before she can argue any further, I hang up my phone, turn the sound off, and slide it under my pillow so that I can’t see it illuminate with the next dozen calls I’m sure I’ll receive.

  Blankly, I stare at the pillow, trying to remember how to breathe.

  I’ve never stood up for myself like that. Maybe . . . maybe I am actually changing. Maybe this farm is just what I need to find myself.

  I stand and escape outside before Miranda can find me again. I take in a deep breath as I step off the porch, and the warm breeze sends my hair tumbling back off my shoulders.

  This place, it really is becoming like home to me. I feel like I’m changing, like I’m building a cocoon around myself and becoming a whole other, better person than I was in Connecticut or California.

  Crumpet looks up as I dance into the barn, shaking his head with an excited whinny and a few stomps of his feet.

  He’s as ready as I am to ride, to get one long taste of freedom.

  I take his reins, fitting the saddle on his sturdy back as he shifts impatiently.

  “We’re going, Crumpet!” I laugh, fitting my foot into the stirrup and heaving myself upward with more ease than before.

  As the air rushes around me, I breathe in the scent of grass and mountain air and utter independence.

  Finally, I’m becoming the woman I always imagined myself being—a woman who is completely and totally my own.

  8

  Cord

  “Cord, I told you once already, son. I’ve got thirty-two reports filed about these missing cattle, and you want . . . you want to report what, exactly?”

  Sheriff Monty DuBois closes his eyes and presses a hand against his plump stomach like he’s going to get an ulcer. He’s been sheriff of Gramsby for years, and the most interesting case he ever saw was when a deer hopped right on top of Mrs. Brunt’s pickup four summers ago. Dented the whole roof in, but both she and the beast were fine. It was all the news the town could talk about for a month. I still like bringing up that story when the other ranch hands and I have a drink on the weekend.

  “There was a man,” I explain for the third time, inhaling deeply though my nose, my heart thundering irritably in my chest.

  I’m a polite guy. Even though Mom passed when I was only ten years old, she had time to instill in me a respect for authority. Though Monty clearly isn’t listening to a word I say, he’s still the law, and I’m gonna hold onto my manners for as long as I can.

  “A man,” Sheriff DuBois echoes blandly. “And what did this man do?”

  It’s obvious by Monty’s tone that he’s barely listening. He’s too busy trying to figure out just how he’s going to get down to the Douglases’ ranch before the Sylvans’ and the Richards’ and the Davises’.

  He doesn’t even wait for my answer before continuing. “I’ve got a busy day in front of me, son. I’m not even going to be able to stop by Henrietta’s Diner for lunch . . .” A frown twitches on his mouth as he fiddles with the shiny star pinned to his chest. “I really had a hankering for Henrietta’s world-famous patty melt today.”

  “He was staking out the ranch. I’m sure of it,” I reply through gritted teeth, trying not to point out that Henrietta’s patty melt has been the daily special for over a year running and that sandwich is not going to vanish within the next two hours.

  “And what time was this? It was dark, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but Baby and I both saw him clear as day—”

  “So you have a description then?” Monty quirks his eyebrows up, looking vaguely interested now. “What did he look like? Age? Hair color?”

  I bite my lip, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Well, I meant that we definitely saw a man. It wasn’t a trick of the light or a shadow of a tree, but I couldn’t see just what he looked like.”

  Monty DuBois blinks irritated eyes, deciding he’s wasting too much time on our conversation. The foreman of the Douglas ranch is waiting for him to come take a report, and Carl Yancey is not exactly known for patience, especially after two of his prized cattle were taken sometime last night.

  “I’m sorry, Cord, but you can come back when you have some actual information for me. For all we know, it was one of your own ranch hands that was taking a leak in the woods.”

  “Sheriff, it wasn’t one of my men,” I insist, placing my palms on the desk and shifting slightly to keep my eyes locked on his, even as Monty turns away to grab his beige hat. “I’m telling you, it was one of those thieves! We could be next!”

  “I’ve got my best men on this, Cord. And by that, I mean me. I’m going to catch the troublemakers, but until we have, I can’t follow a vague lead like this. I’ve got ranches that have actually had cattle stolen that I have to investigate right now.”

  I want to argue, but I can tell when I’m being dismissed. There’s nothing else I can do here.

 
Begrudgingly, I give a tired nod and step back. Clearing my throat, I offer Monty my right hand.

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” I acknowledge quietly. “I know you’re doing your best with this.”

  Monty pauses before giving a light sigh and a firm shake of my hand, meeting my gaze with his weary one. It’s not just me that didn’t sleep well, apparently.

  “You keep your eyes out, son. Let me know the second you have anything concrete.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply, ducking my head politely before turning on my booted heel and striding out from the station.

  That could’ve gone better, I groan inwardly as the bright sun hits my eyes.

  I wince, pulling my hat brim further over my brow before shaking my head and turning to take a left.

  A warm breeze blows over the sidewalk, bringing with it the light chatter of people grouped around the farmer’s market across the street. I inhale, breathing in the earthy scent of fresh picked corn, tomatoes, and sweet, baked bread.

  Whenever I’m in town, I usually stop by the market and check out the produce. Miranda is always so happy when I bring her back some local stuff. Plus, perhaps I can snag some of Mrs. Cooper’s ginger chocolate for Sloane . . .

  The thought of her makes such an intense wave of emotion roll through me that I have to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and take a moment to breathe long and deep. There’s no good to be found in walking around the farmer’s market wearing a raging hard-on.

  Still, it’s impossible to think of Sloane without hearing her cry out my name. The memory of her fingernails digging into my skin is so vivid that I actually reach back to press my fingertips on my shoulder blade to make sure she isn’t standing behind me.

  Even in the midst of all the confusion and distress with the missing cattle, she’s a beacon of clarity for my clouded mind.

  I’ve never felt anything anywhere near this before. I can’t be sure what it means, but I’m sure that what I want more than anything is to get back to the ranch, take her in my arms, and drink in the sweetness of her full, delicious lips.

  It’s not often that I head into town, however, and I still have a few errands to run while I’m here. I almost wish I’d caved like everyone else and gotten a cell phone so that I could call Sloane and hear her lovely voice say my name just once.

  When someone jostles roughly past me, I realize I’m standing frozen as a statue in the middle of the walk. With a faint chuckle, I stride forward again, my legs now long and powerful, every step firm against the cracked pavement. There’s something grand waiting for me at home, and knowing that makes every move I make strong and sure.

  I can feel the lingering gazes of nearby women as I travel forward. Their eyes sweep over my body and face. Their inquisitive looks have never once meant anything to me, and they still don’t.

  No woman matters but Sloane. All I see and feel any more are her fiery eyes and gentle heart.

  The brown brick walls of the Gramsby Library rise sharply upward ahead of me, piercing the cloudless blue of the horizon. Potentially my favorite place, other than the ranch, I make it a point to come to the library at least every few weeks to pick up a new assortment of books.

  I hardly ever get the time to read them all. I try, though. The rare times I do have some energy left before bed, I tend to pass out with my face buried in a book’s pages. When that happens, all my dreams show up bathed in the hazy yellow of faded paper.

  It’s comforting, having those books on my nightstand. I get novels of various subjects and lengths, anything from the Eastern philosophies I dig to books on woodworking and calligraphy—and even one once on how to properly care for a chinchilla. I’m not picky when it comes to reading. I want to know everything and anything that I possibly can. The world is so large, and books are the perfect gateway to it.

  “Good mornin’, Cordy,” the elderly librarian greets when I enter, her grin bright as the day.

  She reminds me of Miranda, in a way. All sunshine, all the time. The little kids love her. When I was young, my mother would bring me to her reading groups here. Some of my earliest memories are of the woman’s calm voice as she read picture books to us in the rainbow-painted children’s room.

  “Morning, Miss Lucy,” I reply with a smile. “Have anything good for me today?”

  “I’ve been savin’ this just for you.” She beams back, leaning down under the desk to pull out a small stack of three books. “You don’t come in enough, Cordy. Remember when I would see you every day?”

  “I know, ma’am. The ranch keeps me real busy.”

  She gives a sympathetic click of her tongue and an understanding nod. “Well, just gives me more to look forward to, I suppose.”

  While the stack of books is shorter than normal, each one is plump. They’ll feel heavy and cool in my arms as I carry them back to my truck. I tap my fingers along my old leather belt loop anxiously, eager to see what she has for me, wondering if Sloane might be interested in starting our own little book club.

  “We got here . . . Principles of Light and Mass. Now I know you don’t normally enjoy the physics stuff, but I think you’ll like this one. Oh, and a book on Eastern lore. Right up your alley . . .” She pushes the first two over then holds up the last book. “Daniel mentioned that a new girl was coming to stay with y’all for bit. He said she was a city girl, college educated and smart. This is a little something for her. Now, I don’t know her taste, but I did love Pride and Prejudice when I was a girl. Even if she’s already read it, it’s one of those that gets better every time.”

  “Miss Lucy, that’s so kind!” I say in surprise. “I think she’ll love it.”

  “Maybe you two can read your books together,” Lucy continues slowly, the faintest hint of a wily smirk curling her mouth. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  I just laugh as she swipes my library card. No way am I letting her know she just read my mind.

  “I’ll give her the book when I get home,” I say.

  Lucy grins and waves, turning her attention to a young boy at the counter as I trot back outside once again.

  A blast of warmth hits me in the face as I slide out the front door, sweat forming almost instantly at the nape of my neck. Around the far corner, I can still see my familiar powder-blue truck parked at the sheriff’s station, though Monty’s car is gone now.

  Since I can still spare a few minutes before rushing back to the ranch, I walk briskly over to the farmer’s market. I can’t bring back cookies or pies; that would upset Miranda. Besides, my aunt’s cooking is better than anyone else’s here.

  I’m leaning over, trying to decide between ripe peaches and blackberries when I suddenly hear my name mumbled all low and rumbly.

  Curious, I straighten and look around, my gaze sweeping over the heads of wandering folks picking out fruits and veggies. No one’s looking directly at me, and I can’t tell where the sound has come from.

  I’ve only just shrugged and turned my attention back to the berries when I hear my name again.

  “ . . . strange about the McPherson ranch, huh?”

  Two men stand huddled together beside a big crate of petunias. Their backs are to me, but they both look familiar.

  “Sheriff DuBois told me they’re the only ones not hit by these cattle thieves. It almost makes you wonder if they don’t have something to do with it all.”

  I bristle instantly, shoulders pulling back, hair on my arms rising. Their tone is bitter and accusing, not the type you want your own name to be associated with, especially in such a tiny and close-knit community as ours. Here, rumors spread like wildfire—especially damaging ones.

  “I’ve always said Cord is trouble,” the first man responds.

  He turns his face to the side, giving me a clear view of his profile. It’s Jet Stephenson, a man who owns a ranch on the other side of town. He shakes his head so roughly that his shaggy, dark hair falls in his eyes.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was him behind all of this, trying to take the other r
anches down.”

  Before I drop them from shock and anger, I heft the books higher under my arm. I can’t stop myself from narrowing my eyes and clearing my throat. “Maybe if other ranches practiced the same discipline and hard work that we do, their cattle wouldn’t be vanishing.”

  The second man whirls on me in startled disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, McPherson?”

  I don’t know the man, but now I recognize him. He’s a hand that’s worked at a few different ranches. The fact that he knows my name when I don’t know his is disconcerting.

  “We go out and check our fences every single day,” I answer. “Do you the do the same?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” the redhead barks, stalking toward me. “Are you trying to say that we don’t have the same standards you do?”

  “All I’m saying is that I can tell you exactly what posts of our fence are weakened and exactly which of my farmhands is working on them right this second. I doubt you could do the same.”

  The man’s voice rises, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “You’re nothing but a boy, and you’re talking to me like some fine aged cowboy. You’ve got a real smart mouth on you.”

  “I told you,” Jet snaps. “He’s involved in this.”

  The two men advance on me, their chests heaving. We size each other up with wild, angry eyes. Their fists are clenched, and I’m ready to drop my books and go at it in a heartbeat if I have to.

  At this point, I want to fight them, to take my chance to beat the shit out of anyone who trash talks my family’s ranch. My muscles go tense with anticipation, and I swiftly gauge the two, studying their stances, figuring out which hands they’ll likely punch with first. I’ve been in my fair share of fights, and I’ve won many more than I’ve lost. I’m not afraid to get in a tangle when it’s over something important.

  “Now, now, gentlemen.” A familiar voice suddenly breaks the heavy tension, and Daniel steps into our little circle of testosterone and bitterness. “Go get a beer at the tavern. Tell Marcy I sent you over, and she’ll put it on my tab.” He continues with a wink at the two burly men. “There’s enough going on with the ranches that we don’t need to turn on each other.”