by CP Smith
His attraction to Sienna Miller.
She’d gotten under his skin. Buried herself there, and he couldn’t get her out. And now with the threat to her and the other Wallflowers, he was tweaked, felt off-balance. He wanted to lash out at something.
Bo thought back to that afternoon. He’d hurt Sienna, that was apparent. Her interaction with him had been guarded when he’d returned with Devin, and he hated it. Hated that he’d been the one who caused her to turn cautious with him. If he could take it back, he would have done so.
Closing his eyes against the memory, Bo’s thoughts wandered to the moment she’d buried her face in his chest, as if she thought he was the only man who could help her. He tried to ignore the way she’d felt pressed close, but it was no use. The heat from her body had seared a memory into his.
Rolling his head from side to side to work out the kinks, Bo lifted the bottle to his mouth for another long pull. The sound of a clock ticking in his apartment amplified how quiet his life was when he wasn’t on the job. He told himself for the hundredth time it’s how he wanted it. How he’d organized it after a childhood full of chaos, but what had once been a necessity to block out the pain, locking it behind bars like an unwanted criminal, now seemed like a self-imposed prison. He looked around his apartment and noted how sterile it was. There were no pictures from his twenty-eight years of life, no clutter to distract him. Only organized boredom. His life was gray.
Clenching and unclenching his fist, Bo looked down at his beer then turned and threw it at his fireplace in a fit of rage. The bottle shattered, splattering beer and glass on the polished hardwood.
He stared at the destruction peppering his carefully planned world, then looked at the clock. Moments passed as the second hand ticked by, a metaphor, he thought, for his life. Looking back at the shards of glass, Bo realized it, too, was a symbol for his childhood, but it was also a sign of things to come if he didn’t move forward.
He had a decision to make.
He could live in the past, holding his mother’s actions against a woman he craved more than air, or he could pull his head out of his ass and move forward before another man saw what he did. Sienna was the sun in his gray world.
“Fuck it,” he growled, heading for the door.
It was time to leave the past where it belonged. Dead and buried.
He made the drive to Sienna’s apartment in ten minutes, then parked and peeled out of his truck. He looked up at the darkened windows of her unit and knew she was asleep.
Bo didn’t hesitate to take the stairs two at a time to her landing. He was done fighting what he wanted. Done denying what he felt for the woman. He wanted her, and he knew she felt something for him. He’d seen it in her eyes on the beach. It was time to drop the subterfuge that he didn’t want to claim Sienna for his own. He’d played by the rules his whole life, and he had nothing to show for it but a lonely existence.
Rules don’t keep you warm at night. Rules didn’t fill a void that’s been empty since he was ten. He wanted Sienna more than he’d wanted anything in his life, except for his mother’s love, and when he wanted something, he normally went after it with both barrels blazing and hung on tight. Why he’d let his past stop him from grabbing hold of Sienna with both hands, he’d never know. Chalk it up to stupidity. But he was done being stupid. Tonight, he’d let Sienna know exactly where he stood, and that her days of searching for her white knight were over.
Raising his fist, Bo pounded on her door. He waited thirty seconds for her to wake up, then pounded again. When he heard no movement inside, he looked over the railing into the parking lot and saw her beat-up car. She was home but not answering. He smiled. His woman slept like the dead.
Pulling his lock pick tools from his back pocket, Bo went to work on her deadbolt. It wasn’t lost on him that he was pulling the same maneuver Devin had in his attempt to track down his Wallflower.
When the bolt finally gave, Bo turned the knob and entered. He was standing in a hallway, so he moved to the living room on quiet feet. Finding the light switch, he flipped it on and then blinked. He’d walked into an English garden of soft pastels and wicker furniture. The walls were painted a soft pink, like the color of her full lips. The wicker furniture was upholstered in shades of pink and purple floral print that was neither loud nor subtle. There were bookshelves lining two walls, jam-packed with paperback novels that looked as if she’d read them multiple times. But the structure that caught Bo’s eye the most was the large queen trusses supporting the open ceilings. Her building was an old Tannery that had been remodeled and converted into apartments years ago. The space, though small, was as appealing as the woman who lived in it.
Moving to the open bedroom door, Bo pushed it wider until the light from the living room filtered in and he could see inside. A king-size wrought iron bed with a snow-white quilt and matching shams took center stage in the room. It looked soft, inviting, like a man could crawl inside and sleep for years while he held his woman tight.
It was also empty.
“You better not be out speed datin’,” Bo growled, then pulled out his phone to call Devin.
When he swiped his phone awake, he noted he had a text message waiting for him and tapped it open, hoping it was the station with a match on the print. He wasn’t disappointed.
Print came back to a Larry Dwayne Daniels. He’s a prospect with the Serpents. Goes by Purge in the club.
Bo was beginning to think Wallflowers was the wrong name for this particular set of women. They were better suited for the name Calamity Janes. How in the hell did they get on the Serpents’ radar?
Swiping Devin’s number after reading the text, he waited impatiently for his friend to pick up. The call went to voicemail. He didn’t have time to waste, so he hit redial. In their line of work, Bo knew Devin wouldn’t ignore a second call from him at midnight, even if he was with his woman.
“This had better be good,” Devin growled.
“Ask Calla where Sienna is,” he growled back.
Devin sighed, aggravated, then muffled the phone. He came back a few moments later with laughter in his voice. “You’re not gonna believe this shit. Bernice has friends who run a dude ranch. Sienna and Poppy are headed up there for a week of ridin’ horses and milkin’ cows.”
“And huntin’ men. The ranch is full of hunky cowboys!” Calla called out loudly.
Bo narrowed his eyes. “You wanna repeat that?”
“You heard me. And Calla. The Wallflowers are spendin’ their vacation on a ranch.”
“Jesus. They’ll end up ridin’ off a cliff.”
A low rumble of laughter sounded over the phone.
“I told you earlier she needed to be locked up,” Bo chuckled.
“You also said you pity the man who takes her on.”
“That opinion hasn’t changed.”
“Are you sayin’ you’re not the man for the job?” Devin questioned. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“Oh, I’m the man for the job, but I have to find her first,” Bo bit out.
“Fuckin’ déjà vu,” Devin muttered. “I feel your pain.”
“Ask Calla the name of the ranch.”
Devin covered the phone again, then stated, “Calla said Bullwinkle Ranch. Like the cartoon.”
Bo saw a computer sitting on her nightstand, so he walked over and opened the lid.
“You gonna hunt her down?” Devin questioned as the screen came to life. It was password protected. Bo remembered what Calla had said about women using their birthdates for passwords, so he shoved the phone between his ear and shoulder and pulled out the slip of paper he’d written Sienna’s information on at the office.
“You still there?” Devin asked.
“Yeah, I’m tryin’ to Google the address of the ranch.”
“That answers my question at least. What about the print? Did you get a hit?”
“Yeah. Belongs to a biker by the name of Purge. I’ll have him picked up in the mornin�
��. In the meantime, keep an eye on Calla till he’s hauled in.”
“That’s a given,” Devin answered. “She’s in my sight at all times ‘til we figure out what the fuck he was after.”
Bo punched in Sienna’s birthday and smiled when the screen sputtered then logged in. Then he barked out “Christ,” when an image of a scantily dressed woman, handcuffed to a bed, appeared on the screen.
“You got somethin?” Devin asked.
“Yeah,” Bo bit back. “A mystery wrapped in an enigma tied up with leather and lace.”
“You’ve lost me,” Devin said.
“I gotta go,” Bo growled.
“You find what you were lookin’ for?”
“Yeah, and then some.”
Bo ended the call and scanned the website Sienna had logged into. She’d left the page open to an article titled “Are You A Submissive?”
“Jesus,” Bo said, then opened a tab and Googled Bullwinkle Ranch. Then he remembered what Calla had said about Sienna and Poppy huntin’ cowboys and grabbed his phone. He left a message for his captain on his voicemail.
“This is Strawn. You know that vacation you‘ve been yellin’ at me to take? I’m takin’ it now. I’ll be back in a week . . .”
Three
GIT ALONG, LITTLE DOGIES
A CROW DARTED ACROSS THE periwinkle horizon, its sharp cry bouncing off the valley, and I looked up, squinting my eyes against the morning sun. Then I took a deep, cleansing breath. The quiet that surrounded Bullwinkle Ranch was like a Band-Aid to my soul. I could kiss Cali for suggesting we come here. The ranch was isolated in a valley that was bordered by rolling hills and mountains. This was God’s country. Peaceful. Serene. The only noise that could be heard was the intermittent cry of a cow, chicken, or horse. It was as if time stood still in this little pocket of heaven.
The main house at Bullwinkle Ranch was a sprawling log cabin, complete with a front porch that twenty people could easily sit back and relax on. It faced the mountain range—which rivaled any view in the world—and a small lake on the border. Windmills dotted the property, which brought water to the ranch as well as the livestock, adding to the impression of having stepped back in time. Their mute presence guarded over the ranch like silent sentries.
And everywhere I looked, there were animals . . . and men.
In every shape and size.
Every age.
Young, old, and in-between.
Unfortunately, not one of them held a candle to Bo Strawn, and that was my dilemma. How was I supposed to get over my attraction to the man if everywhere I looked I saw examples of why he was my ideal?
Poppy and I had arrived the night before. After the day we’d had, I decided I didn’t want to wait, so she and I headed out early evening and arrived close to midnight.
We’d called ahead, so Boris and Natasha had kept the home fires burning, waiting for us to arrive. They’d stood on the front porch, arm in arm as we pulled up, greeting us with warm smiles, bear hugs, and warm apple cobbler.
For this overworked, overstressed city girl, it was much-needed medicine.
Boris was big, bold, and fatherly, with a high and tight haircut reminiscent of a man who’d spent years in the military and hadn’t let go.
Natasha . . . Well, Natasha was a plump woman with silver hair and skin the texture of leather. She clearly had worked the ranch right alongside Boris and didn’t believe in sunscreen. She also wore the pants, and Boris loved it, and her. I guessed their age around late sixties, since, according to Boris, they’d been married almost forty years, spending only five days apart in all that time.
I’d wanted to adopt them instantly as my very own grandparents.
“Why does that horse look like he wants to take a bite out of me?” Poppy whispered as I took in the glorious day.
Turning my head, I peered at the impressive animal. I’d ridden a horse exactly twice, so I knew nothing about them. This particular one was big, black, and staring at us through the split rail fence surrounding the corral. We were feeding the chickens in a coop bordering his enclosure, tossing seed on the ground as the hens darted around our feet.
“He’s just curious, I suppose. Maybe he’s hoping you have an apple?”
A loud bang caused us both to jump, and we directed our attention to the horse stalls. By eight a.m. the ranch was in full swing, and one of the ranch hands had thrown open a door and was currently hauling a bale of hay inside.
“Is it just me or is the sight of a sweaty man throwin’ around hay a turn-on?” Poppy whispered.
I crinkled my nose and snorted. Then I pictured Bo as the man hauling the hay around, his muscles bulging as he easily hoisted the bale into a stall, and my opinion changed. “Definitely,” I answered, then frowned.
Will I ever get the man out of my head?
“Hey, you two,” Natasha shouted. “Quit your lollygaggin’, or you’ll miss out when Boris checks the herd.”
Poppy turned back and looked at the horse currently watching our every move. “He’s all yours,” she mumbled, jerking her head in the horse’s direction.
“You’re bein’ silly,” I replied, tossing out my final handful of seed. “I’ll prove it to you.”
Dusting off my hands, I moved to the beast and put out my hand, intending to scratch him between the eyes. The horse jerked his head back before I could pet him, then opened his gaping mouth and bit me.
Snatching my hand back, I glared at the satanic animal. “See if I bring you an apple anytime soon,” I snapped.
“Goliath,” Natasha shouted, “quit bein’ an ass.”
“Told ya he wanted to bite us,” Poppy snorted.
I glared at her, too.
“Please tell me we won’t have to ride him,” I asked Natasha.
“Not unless you’re an experienced horsewoman. Goliath can be…” She bobbled her head back and forth like a bobblehead doll, looking for the right word.
“An ass,” I supplied.
“I was gonna say stubborn, arrogant, and full of himself. Only the most experienced riders can handle him, and he prefers men.”
“So he’s a typical male, is what you’re sayin’,” Poppy laughed.
“Exactly,” Natasha said. “Are you girls ready for a nice long ride?”
Poppy and I looked at each other. “I’m game if you are,” I stated.
“Count me in.”
Natasha jerked her head toward a group of horses that were saddled. Boris was climbing on top of a stunning snow-white horse that seemed to bear his weight with ease as we walked up. He settled a cowboy hat on his head, then looked back at us and winked.
“You ladies ready for some fun after milkin’ cows and feedin’ the hens?”
Natasha pointed to a pretty little speckled mare for me, and a buckskinned mare for Poppy. They were both handsome creatures and a little more my speed. The speckled mare was much smaller than Goliath and not near as intimidating.
“What’s her name?” I asked, running my hand down the center of her long head.
“This here is Tiny Dancer,” Natasha said. “And the buckskin is called Harriet.”
“Harriet?” Poppy chuckled.
“She’s named after my dear departed mother,” Boris called out. “On account she looks just like her. Those big brown eyes and long snout, it’s like lookin’ at her, I tell ya.”
Natasha leaned in with a smirk and mumbled low so he couldn’t hear her, “He’s not lyin’. His mother was as sweet as they come, but, Lord, was she homely.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I smiled and grabbed hold of the horn to pull myself up into the saddle. I put my foot in the stirrup, then tried unsuccessfully to get on top of Tiny Dancer. On the third try, a pair of strong hands grabbed me by the waist and pushed me up. I looked down as I tucked my right foot into the stirrup and found one of the ranch hands smiling up at me.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling in return.
He tipped the brim of his hat at me, mumbling, �
��Ma’am,” before winking and turning to leave.
“That’s another stud to steer clear of,” Natasha informed me. “Duke’s a good seasonal hand, but he’s what your generation calls a player.”
“All right. Let’s head out,” Boris called out.
I looked around and found it was just Boris, Poppy, and me who were on horseback.
“It’s just the three of us?”
“Yep. You’re our only customers right now.”
“Where are we headed?”
“Boris is goin’ to check on the herd. We have them up in the high country grazing. He’ll bring them back down in a couple of days. You’ll have fun with that. Nothin’ like herdin’ cattle to get your juices flowin’.”
I could think of a few other things that would get my juices flowing more than rounding up cows. A good romance novel being at the top of my list.
With a, “Yee-haw,” that had to be for their guests’ benefit—though I will admit Tiny Dancer perked right up at the exclamation—we took off in a cloud of dust.
We made it halfway down the trail that led to the foothills before Tiny Dancer broke into a canter. That’s when I realized I wasn’t a very good horsewoman, nor was Poppy. We bounced and bobbled all over the seat, holding on for dear life to the horn.
“I should have worn a sports bra,” I told Poppy, wishing I could let go of the reins to adjust my bra. My boobs were getting a workout. If Tiny Dancer went any faster, they’d knock me out.
“Harriet needs a smooth-ride button,” Poppy grumbled. “I’m gonna break a tooth.”
Boris shook his head at our commotion and stopped, so I pulled on my reins.
Looking back at us, he studied our form. “Sit your ass deeper in the saddle so you move with the horse. Right, now bear down with your heels in the stirrups so you don’t bounce your insides out. Heads up. Now straighten your backs, but not too straight.” We complied and then looked at him for more instructions. “Right, that’s right. Now loosen your grip on the reins, and whatever else you do, for God’s sake, don’t fall off.”