Her Cowboy's Caress (Taken by Cowboys: Part 1) A Billionaire Western Romance

by A. L. Loire

  Her Cowboy’s Caress

  (Taken By Cowboys: Part 1)

  By A.L. Loire

  Copyright 2014 Enamored Ink

  Smashwords Edition

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 1

  The wind whipped the hair around her shoulders, bringing tears to her eyes. She was standing on a wide-open plain with a swirling sky above her, a sky that felt overwhelmingly vast. It felt like a storm was picking up. She shielded her eyes in an effort to make out the figure standing a few feet in front of her.

  The person was a man—a heart-stoppingly handsome man. He was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a cowboy hat, with sandy blond hair falling across his tanned face in the wind. “Jess,” he said in a lazy Western lilt that sent a warm ripple of want straight through her. A smile played on his full lips. “Just the person I’ve been waiting for.”

  She wanted to respond but couldn’t get out a word—her desire had rendered her mute. Her legs trembled so badly she thought she might fall over. Before that could happen, though, he was right in front of her. He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her close to him. She gasped and melted into his heat, the length of his muscled body sending sharp needles of need all through her own. She wrapped her arms around his broad back to pull him to her even harder. The whipping wind seemed to have simply disappeared, so that all that existed was the two of them. He raked a hand through her long hair and tilted her chin up, his lips just inches away from hers. She closed her eyes and…

  “Jess!” someone cried. This time the voice that spoke her name was not warm and sweet as caramel. It was sharp, shrill and female.

  “Jess!” the haranguing voice repeated, this time with more irritation.

  The fantasy Jess had been enjoying was abruptly broken. Always at the good part, she thought, annoyed, as her eyes fluttered open. Then her annoyance gave way to a sheepish realization as images of a windy plane and a hot cowboy were replaced by stark white walls and Mac monitors. She had fallen asleep at work—again.

  “Yes, Lauren?” she asked with as much cheerful sincerity as she could muster. It came out garbled and sleep-choked, as if she had just swallowed a frog.

  Lauren, Jess’s boss, shot her a withering look. Tall, blonde, and rail skinny, she was the embodiment of the fashion PR industry, and everything Jess was not. Lauren was always dressed in layers of fabric, all of it expensive and all of it black. Today she was wearing skinny black jeans tucked into black ankle boots, a black chiffon blouse with silver studs, and a black leather jacket, her hair pulled into a swishy high ponytail. The combination made her pale skin and pretty though rather angular features even more pronounced. She was like a model in a skincare ad—flawless, impeccable, but not quite flesh and blood.

  “I’m going out for a smoke,” she said, picking up her black Balenciaga handbag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I expect the Christophe account—which, by the way, I gave you three hours ago—to be done by the time I get back.”

  Reluctantly Jess swiveled the mouse on her desk, bringing the computer monitor back to life. She cast a dark glare at Lauren’s back as her boss slinked away. Dragging the Christophe account back onto the screen, she was overwhelmed by a feeling of boredom that bordered on nausea. She was sick of this office, with its all-white walls and furniture. What was with PR people and monochrome? she wondered as she listlessly scrolled through the account. Lauren and her all-black, the office and its all-white. The only real color was the vase of flowers in the reception area, which was brought in every week by a high-end flower company. The beautiful bouquet of lush lilies and white roses, exotic and fragrant, had so impressed her when she’d walked into the office for her interview. After she’d gotten the job, she had even secretly saved a tiger lily when she saw the bouquet getting pitched into the garbage after its one week of glory was over. Now she hated those flowers. They were like the whole PR business—pretentious, gaudy and overpriced.

  If only she could get away from the city, she thought as she scrolled. She’d been up late watching Westerns on TV again, which is why she was nodding off at work again today. She just couldn’t help it. Whenever she got home after a long day at work to her cozy little one-bedroom on the Upper East Side, all she wanted to do was curl up with Scampers, her cat, pour herself a glass of pinot grigio and escape to a place where cowboys rode bucking broncos and saved damsels in distress—if only on the twenty-inch screen of her hand-me-down TV.

  Save me, she thought.

  It was hard to believe how excited she’d been about the PR job when she’d first started a year and a half before. An acquaintance from college had helped her get it after she’d spent three months fruitlessly searching for work and staying on her best friend Dani’s couch. “You have to work your connections,” Dani told her each morning before leaving for her own job as an editorial assistant at a major publishing house, as Jess sat at her kitchen table trawling online job listings and pounding out cover letters. Finally she’d swallowed her pride and called every single person she knew in the city to ask if anyone knew of an opening she’d be qualified for, with her double major in sociology and English (which, she soon realized, just made her look doubly useless). When Sarah got her an interview at the PR firm, she’d been dazzled by the glamour of it—parties! Celebrities! Fashion shows!—a glamour that had quickly dissolved into twelve-hour days and the biting snark of her co-workers. But that was New York City, she realized. You were overworked and underpaid, and you were expected to be grateful for it.

  Of course, she was the one who had chosen this path, as her mother never failed to remind her when she complained about work. The job wasn’t the only reason she’d stayed in the city, though. There was also him. A dark cloud of gloom and dread passed over her.

  She shook it off. No time to let him creep into her head—she had things to do. She glanced at the clock. Usually Lauren’s cigarette turned into two or three, and then she’d probably get yet another coffee on her way in. Nicotine and caffeine seemed to be that woman’s only sustenance. One day Jess would like to hide her pack of Marlboros, just to watch her freak out. She smirked at the thought.

  Okay, now she had to kick it into gear. Christophe was a new fashion line designed by the young protégé of a big-name designer that would be celebrating its launch the following weekend. It was going to be a huge bash—one that, as usual, Jess wouldn’t be invited to. Not that she cared, anyway. After attending a few events here and there, she’d realized that the parties were nothing more than extensions of the workday, with Lauren berating her for every little thing she wasn’t doing right.

  She needed to follow up with the flower people, confirm the caterer, make sure all the gift bag items were in place, and finalize their order with Moët & Chandon, a Christophe sponsor that would be giving out free champagne. She picked up the phone receiver and set to work. If there was one thing Jess knew how to do, it was hustle.

  She was just hanging up with the Moët representative when Lauren walked in. “Everything’s set,” Jess said, smiling sweetly. “Flowers, caterer, champagne, and gift bags.”

  She could tell Lauren was surprised, though she tried not to show it. “At the eleventh hour, as usual,” she said, striding past Jess’s desk.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call the week before the eleventh hour,” Jess muttered, but not so loud that Lauren could hear her. She sighed. It just wasn’t worth it.


  “By the way, girls, we got some samples from Christophe,” Lauren trilled from her desk, addressing the room full of women busily typing away and making phone calls. A buzz of excitement rose from the desks, punctuated by a few high-pitched squeals. Free clothes seemed to be the only thing that excited these women. “They’re all hanging on the usual rack. Be nice and don’t fight,” Lauren said. She was about to sit down again when she added, “And try not to bust any seams.” She was staring pointedly at Jess.

  Jess sharply drew in a breath, her face burning. She turned back to her computer screen and clicked around, trying to look absorbed as Lauren’s barb settled in on her. She had definitely been staring straight at her—there was no question about that. She was surprised to feel tears stinging her eyes. No, she told herself sharply. Stop that at once.

  It wasn’t the first time Lauren, or any of the other girls at the office, had made comments about her weight. It was true—Jess was no stick figure. She was a healthy size 10, and she always liked to think of herself as curvaceous. Where the other girls had straight lines, she was all curves: chest, butt, hips, thighs. And yes, she admitted, a little extra around the middle. So what?

  The thing was, before she’d begun working in fashion PR, Jess had hardly noticed her weight. She’d gone to school in Ohio, where the girls came in all shapes and sizes and hardly cared about what they wore. Here in New York, though, things were different. It was even worse in PR, where everyone was expected to be a size 2 and treated you like there must be something wrong with you if you weren’t. She had lost a lot of confidence in the course of the last year and a half, she realized. Lauren’s comments didn’t help.

  ***

  Jess let herself into the lobby of the old five-story apartment complex on Seventy-fourth and York and let out the sigh she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Finally, she was home. She liked her building a few avenues away from Lexington—the farther east you got, the cheaper the rents were, so she would take a few more minutes of walking to catch the subway. The place had its problems—during a big rainstorm that past fall, water had literally come gushing through her ceiling—but in general it was quiet and comfortable. When she was here, she felt safe.

  Her shoulders were aching from hunching over her keyboard. The afternoon had dragged on, with Lauren piling three new accounts on her at the last minute, all of them “super urgent.” What was so urgent about a couple of fashion shows and a partnership with another overly hyped cupcake bakery, Jess didn’t know. But then, that was the world of being a junior publicist.

  She stopped by her mailbox and fished out her key. It was stuffed with the regular mishmash of bills, credit card applications, and Chinese food menus. As she was shuffling through the envelopes, a brightly colored piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the tile floor.

  She stooped to pick it up. It was a brochure. The picture on the front panel immediately set her nerves on end—it was a wide-open plain, edged by mountainous peaks and topped with a vast sky, just like the one in her afternoon reverie.

  She set the other mail on top of the mailboxes. “Getaway Guest Ranch,” the brochure read, and below, “A Western escape for even the most stubborn city slicker.”

  She felt herself smile as she opened the brochure with shaking fingers. Why did she suddenly feel so nervous?

  The inside was decorated with stunning photographs of clear creeks, mountain vistas, crackling campfires and a simple but elegant dining room with tables piled high with food. “Come to Getaway Guest Ranch in Big Horn, Wyoming, and stay a spell,” the text read. “Take a break from the busy life and live in tune with nature. Get your blood pumping with hiking, horseback riding, fly-fishing, and even a hot air balloon ride.”

  Whoa, Jess thought. Her head was spinning as images of herself riding Black Beauty leapt into her mind. Never mind that she’d never in her life set her rump on a saddle. She kept reading. “Then, slow the pace down with a swim in our clear mountain lake, a night around the campfire, and a first-class massage at our spa.”

  What? It sounded too good to be true. Could such a paradise really exist? The brochure went on to describe the various amenities offered at Getaway, from guided mountain hikes to a full-service salon and spa. It was just rustic enough, she realized, to be authentic while still offering the creature comforts that “city slickers” like herself were used to. Clever.

  Still, there had to be a catch. She flipped to the back. “Prices,” the bottom square read. Ah-ha! She waited to have the wind knocked out of her, but in fact, the prices were surprisingly reasonable—far less than at a top-tier New York hotel. They also offered deals for week- or month-long stays. The guest ranch’s contact information was listed below.

  The next thing she knew her cell phone was out of her handbag and her fingers were wavering over the keys. Then she shook herself. Was she really about to call? What would she say—that she wanted to take off and spend a month in Big Horn, Wyoming? That was absurd.

  Suddenly the phone began to buzz in her hands, surprising her so much that she almost dropped it. She accepted the call and put it to her ear.

  “Jess! What are you doing right now?” Dani’s bright, ebullient voice came crashing into her eardrums. As was her custom, Jess held the phone away.

  “Dani, I don’t know how you survive working at a publishing house with a voice like that,” she admonished playfully.

  “Because I’m damn good at my job, that’s why. Plus, I like to think I’m a breath of fresh air for those old fossils,” Dani said cheerfully, without lowering the volume a notch.

  Jess laughed. “To answer your question, not much. I was just checking the mail.” She looked at the brochure that was in her other hand and felt a bit guilty, as if she had been looking at something indiscreet.

  “Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Dani said. “Meet me at Lucky’s in thirty?”

  “Make it fifteen,” Jess said, slamming her mailbox shut.

  ***

  Lucky’s was their favorite after-work destination. It was an old neighborhood bar that was comfortable without being hip, cheap without being a dive. It was also almost equidistant between their apartments, which were only fourteen blocks apart. Add seven-dollar cosmos until nine p.m., and it was hard to beat.

  They settled into their favorite booth with their drinks and Dani began giving Jess the rundown of her day. Jess was having a hard time concentrating on what Dani was saying—something about a writer who had been giving her a hard time over the phone. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the brochure that was now lying on her kitchen counter. How had Getaway Guest Ranch gotten her address, anyway? She hadn’t sent for any brochure.

  “Are you okay, Jess? You seem a little distracted,” Dani said, looking at her with concern. “Is it about Todd?”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her ex. “It’s just work. You know, the usual. Lauren’s been getting on my case again—”

  Dani cut her off. “Lauren is a miserable, malnourished bitch who will probably die an early death from lung cancer, if that stick up her ass doesn’t get to her first.”

  Jess burst out in laughter, the first real, hearty guffaw she’d had in days. She picked up her cosmo and took a sip. “Thanks, Dani,” she said. “I feel better already.”

  ***

  Back in her apartment, a little woozy from the second cosmo Dani had made her order, Jess took out the brochure again and contemplated it. Scampers wove around her ankles, mewing for attention.

  What did she have to lose? The least she could do was find out a little more information—even find out if the place was actually real. Before she could talk herself out of it, she took her phone out and dialed the number. As it was ringing, she realized how absurd it was—it was after ten p.m. Well, she could leave a message if she wanted, or just hang up.

  But the ringing was interrupted by a man’s voice. “Getaway Guest Ranch.”

  It took Jess a few seconds to find her v
oice. “Hello?” the voice repeated.

  “Hi! Sorry,” she said, collecting herself. “I guess I didn’t expect anyone to answer, it being so late.”

  “It looks like you’re calling from New York City, from your area code,” the man said. His voice was pleasant and warm, though it didn’t have any of the Western lilt Jess had expected. “We’re two hours earlier here. And anyway, we try to pick up the phone whenever we can.”

  “I see,” she said. “So you’re real, then.”

  The man laughed and Jess felt herself blush. She was glad he couldn’t see her over the phone. “Indeed, we are. We’re a full-service guest ranch offering short- and long-term Western escapes to anyone who needs to get away.” He paused. “Would that describe you?”

  She was taken aback by the sudden question. She’d expected to be the one doing the asking. “I think it might,” was the answer that came out of her mouth—the honest one.

  “Well, we’d love to have you,” the voice said. “A lot of city folks tell us that a month here does them a world of good. You just can’t beat that fresh air and time off the clock.”

  There was something entrancing about his voice—something that seemed to be pulling her in through the phone. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to be closer to that voice.

  “That does sound nice,” she managed, a little breathlessly.

  There was another slight pause. “What’s your name, if I may ask?”

  “It’s Jess,” she said.

  “Jess,” he repeated. His voice formed her name in a way that seemed full of hidden meaning, sending a very real shiver through her body. “Well, Jess, if you do decide to join us, you can go online and book your stay. You buy the plane ticket, and we’ll take the rest from there. Easiest vacation you’ve ever booked.”

  “I’ll certainly think about it,” she said. She fingered the brochure on the counter.