Pretending I don’t notice the photo, I enter the guest room. I miss competing almost as much as I miss Violet. It’s hard seeing those photos without feeling like regret has kicked me in the nuts. With spurs on.
The same piles of unopened boxes that have been here since Grandma Meg moved into the cottage five years ago still crowd the room. There’s also a twin bed with floral bedding and a few antique pieces from the old ranch house.
Grinning her mother-bear smile, she points to a medium-sized cardboard box on the floor. “It’s in there.”
I kneel, my bad knee telling me to go to hell. Nothing new there. It’s been that way since the accident. It doesn’t always act up, but after a hard day of work, it’s as grumpy as a bull in a hailstorm.
I place the sweater on the floor, open the flaps, and peer inside. The pain in my knee is instantly forgotten.
No.
Fucking.
Way.
“Is this for real?” I remove the old Thor Marvel comics one by one from the box. Yes, I’m a Norse mythology freak—and these comics are responsible for that.
“Bert knew how much you loved them,” Grandma Meg says.
“But why wait until I’m thirty?”
“No idea. Even after being married to him for forty-six years, I didn’t always know what he was thinking. But I do know he was hoping that one day you’d share these comics with your own kids.”
My laugh comes out as a God-you’re-hilarious snort, and I straighten to my feet. “He definitely got that wrong. There won’t be any kids in my future.”
Her eyes go wide, crinkles forming across her brow. It’s the early warning signal that I’m in for a lecture: the sweet-grandma-guilt-you-up-the-ass lecture. “How can you say that?”
Has she asked her own grandson that question lately? He and I are both in the We’re-never-going-to-be-fathers club—new members always welcome.
“Because I’m not interested in settling down.”
“And why not? You’re young and virile. What woman wouldn’t want you?”
“I have a busy ranch to manage. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.” I kneel again next to the box of comics, set the sweater on top of it, and stand, hoisting it all in my arms. I head for the bedroom door.
“Why?” Grandma Meg says from behind me as I walk down the hallway. “Because it didn’t work out with She Who Shall Not Be Named?”
I can’t help but grin. It’s a very apt name. My ex-girlfriend and Harry Potter’s nemesis have a lot in common. Although in Katherine’s case, the last I heard, she’s married to some tech whiz in Silicon Valley.
Killer barks.
“See—even Killer thinks my single status is a good idea.” I pause at the front door.
The little white fluff ball barks again.
“No, what Killer said is, you should sing at the senior center during our next bingo night.”
“I don’t sing,” I deadpan.
Grandma Meg rolls her eyes like she’s a teenager instead of a senior citizen. “Remember, I’ve known you since you were in diapers, TJ. I know you sing. You have a beautiful singing voice.”
“That still doesn’t mean I sing.” At least not in public.
“That’s too bad. Violet always loved it when you sang.”
I ignore her—while battling the urge to look at Violet’s photo.
Too bad my heart and cock rule my brain at the most inopportune times.
Traitors.
2
“What do you think?” Jake asks as he and I study the computer screen. It’s been four weeks of avoiding Grandma Meg’s house and Violet’s picture on the wall.
Four weeks of not jerking off in the shower because I knew I’d be thinking of Violet if I did.
All right—there might have been the one time last week.
And a few times before that.
But I swear I wasn’t imagining Violet’s sweet lips trailing down my pecs, down my abs that flexed and relaxed at her touch, down the V formation leading to my cock.
I wasn’t imagining her tongue licking the sensitive spot under the head. And I wasn’t imagining her lips wrapped around my superhard length.
My dick twitches at the memory of what I hadn’t imagined, and I mentally curse myself for going there.
My birthday party? It was uneventful—so I’ll spare you the details.
Jake is sitting at the antique oak desk in front the picturesque window. It’s the same antique oak desk and antique oak furniture, the same deep burgundy curtains and deep burgundy rug that have resided in the office since Granddad was alive.
For the past few minutes, Jake and I have been clicking through the pages of our website.
“It’s boring,” I say on a sigh.
“Exactly. It worked fine for Granddad. He’d already earned a reputation in cattle ranching long before websites were necessary.” And long before social media was a thing. As it is, none of us have social media accounts. We don’t have time for them.
And it’s not like we need Instagram accounts to get laid.
Jake enters “Scottsdale Ranch, Montana”—our rival—into the search engine and clicks on the link. The website pops up on the computer screen.
And shit, it’s good. Better than good.
I lean in closer to the screen. “Do you think if we update ours, it will make that much of a difference?”
Jake heaves an I-knew-this-was-a-mistake sigh that has nothing to do with the website. “It couldn’t hurt. But it definitely won’t be enough to get the word out about our ranch. We need to do something bigger. Something that will get us noticed.”
True. “The best way to do that is to have our horses compete in rodeo events and consistently win. We have the champion sperm, thanks to Thor and Odin. It will just take time to get there.”
At sperm, my cock sends an SOS message, reminding me just how long it’s been since my last fuck. The rate I’m going, I’ll die of a brutal case of blue balls in no time. Won’t that make quite the RIP on my gravestone?
Jake opens his mouth to say something—the something I recognize in his expression. It’s the look he always gets when he’s about to try to convince Noah and me to switch back to cattle.
I don’t give him a chance to speak. “And if worse comes to worse, I can return to the rodeo circuit and prove how great our horses are.”
Jake gives me a dubious smile. “So, how’s the old knee doing?”
“It’s fine.”
“Right, it is. You know what the doctor said would happen if you blow your knee out again.”
“That I’m fucked.” Not his exact words—but the sentiment was the same. “Fine, we’ll call that plan B.”
“What’s plan A?”
I go back to studying the screen. “You’ll be the first to know once I figure it out.…The good news is, Sophie said two of the colts show promise.”
I glance at Jake in time to see his face soften at her name. It’s my secret weapon that works every time. With Jake.
“And in the meantime, we need to fix our website.” I gesture toward the computer, with the Scottsdale Ranch website still on the screen. “But I’d prefer to hire someone from town than to trust it to a stranger online.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Not a one. But we can get word out that we’re looking for someone.” I back away from the desk, only for a scary thought to stop me. “And it’s probably best we don’t hire anyone who you, Noah, or I have screwed. The last thing we need is to give a woman who was hoping for more than a one-night stand access to our account. Who knows what might happen?”
“Good point.”
I turn to leave. “If you need me, I’ll be in my workroom.”
“Sounds good. Oh, before I forget, Noah called and said there’s something he needs to discuss with us. He said it’s really important.”
I glance over my shoulder in time to catch Jake’s God-what-kind-of-trouble-did-he-get-into-now? expression.
With Noah
, it could be anything.
“How did he sound?” I ask. “Was he happy, or did it sound like he was shitting his pants?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Shit. That can’t be good.”
“Don’t I know it.”
My favorite scent after that of straw, hay, and horses is the sweet smell of freshly cut wood. Maybe that’s why I prefer spending the evenings in my workroom, located in an old hut on our property.
With my goggles on, I grab the fine sandpaper and rub it along the wood grain of the horse’s leg. The rocking horse is big enough for a five-year-old child. Or a five-year-old girl, in this case.
I continue sanding until the wood is smooth, blowing away the sawdust that clings to it as I work. Then I clean the wood and apply the conditioner.
An hour or so later, someone knocks on the door as I’m staining the wood dark brown.
Without looking up, I call out, “Come in.”
The door softly creaks open and I glance up.
Noah is in the doorway, Jake behind him. “Is this a good time?” Noah asks.
“Sure.” I lay the brush on top of the can as they enter my cave. Only those with man cards are permitted inside.
“Who’s that for?” Jake points at the wooden horse.
“Katie Higgins. Her mom wants to surprise her when she comes home from chemo tomorrow. I just have to varnish it.”
Noah bends down and picks up a toddler-sized rocking horse. “Who’s this one for?”
“No one yet. I’d planned to finish it, so Grandma Meg could show it at the farmer’s market last weekend, but I didn’t have time.”
Noah’s eyebrow lifts. “You do realize we are trying to gain a reputation as horse breeders, right? Shouldn’t we be marketing our real horses instead of your wooden ones?”
“Hey, don’t mock my strategy for gaining future customers. In a few years, the kids with my rocking horses will be wanting a real horse, and we’ll be ready for them.” I was joking, but now that I think about it, it’s not a bad idea. “I just need to include a plaque on the rockers, so the kids know where they got the horse from. It’s a brilliant plan.” I give Noah a smug grin, daring him to come up with something better.
“Fortunately, I came up with a fucking awesome idea to promote the ranch, and it will give us results much sooner.”
I look at Jake. He shrugs, appearing as clueless as I feel.
“So, what’s the idea?” I ask.
“Ever heard of The Bachelorette?”
“Isn’t that the female version of a bachelor party?”
“I’m talking about the reality show.”
Both Jake and I give him an identical expression. The What-the-fuck? expression.
“Exactly how many reality shows do you think we have time for?” I ask. That’s zero, in case you’re wondering.
“It’s the show where the hot chick spends time getting to know twenty-five single men. At the end of each episode, she selects the men who will continue on to the next one. At the end of the season, one man is left, and he proposes to her.”
“Do I even want to know how you know this?” Jake asks at the same time as I say, “What kind of desperate idiot does that?”
“Sophie told me about it,” Noah explains.
“All right,” I say, “we’ve established that of the three of us, you’re the one holding the estrogen card. But what does this have to do with promoting the ranch?”
“Because Sophie told me about a new reality show.”
“That’s it…no more talking to Sophie for you.” Grinning, I smack him on the arm.
He ignores me and powers on. “It’s called Cowboy Most Wanted. The idea is that the star of the show—a hot chick like on the other show—wants to fall in love with a cowboy. The production crew will go to the ranch of each participating cowboy, and spend a few days there, filming him in action. The viewers then vote which cowboys should go on to the next round.”
“That’s nice,” Jake says in a tone implying that what Noah told us is anything but nice; Jake is just humoring him. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
That’s when I put it all together. “You’re seriously thinking of applying to be on the show?”
“I figured it would be great publicity for the ranch,” Noah says, once again ignoring me. Warning sirens blare in my head, but apparently Noah isn’t the only one good at ignoring things.
“Even if the contestant doesn’t go all the way to the finals,” he adds, “the ranch will be showcased. And if he does go all the way, it could lead to social media brand endorsements, which can only further benefit the ranch.”
“Except, how do you know that viewers who want horses will be watching the show?” More than likely, Noah has come up with a new way to get laid. A brilliant way, if he’s lucky.
“It’s not guaranteed, but nothing in life ever is.”
Jake laughs. “You sound like Granddad.”
“That’s because both Granddad and I are geniuses. Or was in his case.”
“Well, genius boy.” Jake slaps Noah’s back with enough unexpected force to cause Noah to take a step forward. “The odds of being selected are pretty slim. Do you have any idea how many cowboys will be applying?”
“No, but I’m guessing thousands,” Noah says. “Of course, most won’t qualify because the show is searching for good-looking men. The hotter the better.”
At least Noah will get points for that. No one can claim he’s not good-looking.
“When do you find out if you made it in?” I ask.
“They’ve already contacted me.”
“And?”
The corners of his mouth tug up in a smooth movement. It’s the smile I recognize. The smile that is the equivalent to a huge neon sign. It warns you that his news is about to flip your world upside down and inside out—and not always in a good way.
Noah holds out a piece of paper to me. “Congratulations, TJ. You’re a contestant on Cowboy Most Wanted.”
My stomach nose-dives onto the sawdust-covered floor.
Holy fuck.
3
I pull away, as if the paper in Noah’s hand is a glowing hot branding iron, and pace around the room. I want to yell at him. I want to shake some goddamn sense into him. I want to strangle him.
The overhead light in my workroom flickers. Despite the sweet smell of pine in the air that usually soothes me, a forest fire burns inside me—complete with scurrying woodland critters trying to escape its rage.
My gaze darts to Jake. “Did you know anything about this?” But even before the words stomp from my mouth, I know the answer.
It’s painted on his face like graffiti.
Jake shakes his head. “No, I had no idea what he was up to.”
“Why the hell me?” I ask Noah. “Why not you?”
He answers with his patented Your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine shrug. “Because you’re the oldest.”
“That’s your fucking excuse?”
“Sounds like a good reason to me.” Noah grins. “Look, I swear once you hear me out, you’ll realize I’m right.”
I doubt that. “Right about what?”
“That you being on the reality show will help us. It will help the ranch.”
“Help us?” I intone.
“Help us put the ranch on the map.”
Both Jake and I exchange looks.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jake asks, echoing my own thoughts.
“We agreed that we need to do something to get our name out there—”
“Right, to get our name out as a ranch that sells winning horses.” My tone is as tight as a glued-shut jelly jar. “Not so we can become the butt of a joke.”
“You won’t be a joke, TJ,” Noah says.
“Yes, because the reality show will gain me a shitload of respect.”
“I think you’re looking at this the wrong way,” he says.
“There’s another way?” Jake asks. I can’t tell if he’
s amused or siding with me or inwardly doing cartwheels that Noah didn’t submit his name for the show.
“Cowboy Most Wanted could do big things for us,” Noah says. “And it’s a lot cheaper than anything else that might get our name seen. Millions of viewers could potentially watch it…like with the other reality shows similar to it.”
“He has a point,” Jake says.
Easy for him to say.
“Great, then you do it.”
Jake chuckles. “Hey, keep me out of this. You guys wanted to switch to horses when I thought it was a bad idea. So it’s only fair that the unlucky contestant is one of you two.”
All I can say is, those two had better watch out. It won’t take much for me to accidentally spill a bottle of hot sauce in their chili tomorrow—when it’s my night to cook.
I turn to Noah. “What makes you so sure the viewers are even looking to buy a horse?”
“I’m not saying we’ll get rich. But you never know. This might lead to the word-of-mouth we need. I looked at the demographics for The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. They’re impressive.”
“What do you mean impressive?” Jake asks, always the businessman.
“A high percentage of the viewers come from households with an excellent annual income. Those viewers might not want to participate in rodeos, but some of them might be interested in owning a horse. We can’t just rely on the rodeo circuit to market our horses.”
Which is something we already know.
“As for why Jake or I can’t do it…” Noah says, “the show’s producers picked you, TJ. They didn’t pick me, and they didn’t pick Jake. They picked you.”
“Are you saying you also submitted your name and his?” I point at Jake.
“Well, no. I only submitted yours. No point in us looking desperate.”
“Yeah, heaven forbid that ever happens.” I shove my fingers through my hair, mostly to keep them from going around his neck. For now. “So, what? You just woke up one morning and decided to submit my name for the show because—what? You were fucking bored?”
His mouth twists into a smirk, and I upgrade my desire from strangling him to punching him in the face. Let’s see what the women think when he’s missing a few teeth.
Cowboy Most Wanted (Copper Creek Book 1) Page 2