by Joan Kilby
Yeah, Boone could make his life on his family’s ranch. It was what his mom and dad wanted. But Boone wanted to be his own man. Make his own way.
And getting turned inside out by a woman and spending time with her, instead of honing his skills, wasn’t going to help him make his mark.
He slowed the truck’s speed further as he headed down the mountain pass into Paradise Valley. For once he wasn’t eager to see Marietta nestled in the shadow of Copper Mountain, wasn’t anticipating one of his mom’s home-cooked meals or riding the land with his dad and checking out the new stud bull he’d purchased—the one that had almost killed his dad last February.
“The town has a saloon. A real saloon.” Piper’s melodic tone rose in awe and her gray-green eyes glowed. “Can you imagine? It’s called Grey’s Saloon. It’s still open and it’s run by the descendants of Ephraim Grey.”
Damn, the girl loved history. And she loved reading. She often read while he drove the truck—fiction, politics, biographies, articles. The world came alive in Piper’s dulcet tones, and her voice had a husk to it that always turned him on, but also made him feel protective.
“Grey’s Saloon was the first building in Marietta, and there was a balcony where the ladies of the brothel used to stand and catcall down to potential customers. I wonder if it’s still there.”
It was.
Dammit. Guilt made him want to crawl out of his skin.
“I hope we have time to go there, Boone.”
“We’ll make time,” he said, loving the way the mid-morning light played on her hair—turned that thick red-gold mass into liquid fire.
“Grey’s has dancing. And with the rodeo in town, you know a lot of cowboys will be hitting the dance floor.”
“I’ve been known to two-step a time or two.”
Her smile held the promise of a sunrise. Her finger trailed along his thigh, and her hand rested there. A brand. Hers. He couldn’t lie to himself about that. His response was fierce. Painful. Not just his cock—he could deal with that—but everything inside him hurt as well. Felt broke, but when she touched him, he felt whole again.
Dumb.
He’d never been known to analyze anything except an engine or an animal. Why was he getting so…he didn’t even know what the word was, and he didn’t want to find out.
“Piper.” He couldn’t wrestle the urgency out of his voice.
She turned fully toward him. And he had trouble swallowing. Heck, he could hardly remember his own damn name. Her creamy skin always begged for his hands, or his mouth, and he had a hard time resisting her now even as they barreled down the mountain. She leaned toward him, his shirt slipping off her shoulders, leaving them bare and kissable. Available. She was like that. Warm. Sensual, curling up into him like a cat. She was so tactile. Loving. And he’d come to crave the contact. She brought him a peace he’d never known could exist.
And feeling calm and content at twenty-five when he hadn’t made his mark would spell disaster.
“You’re tense, Boone.” Her keen eyes assessed him, and he struggled to not squirm because Piper read him as well as she did all the books she downloaded on her Kindle. “Are you in pain? We have time. I could work on your shoulder and arm tendons and ligaments—loosen them up.” Her words were innocent. Her tone was tender with a hint of professionalism that should not have turned him on. He wasn’t an invalid. He was often in pain and ignored it, but Piper made him long to be soothed.
Piper’s full lips pouted a little as she visually assessed him. Boone shifted. Damn, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that, he was going to have to pull over to adjust himself. Or let her do it for him. That would solve the problem that had started eating away at him since Dillon if he drove off the road killing them both.
“You were reading to me about Marietta,” he said a little desperately.
Piper leaned closer. He felt the brush of her lips along his exposed collarbone and then her tongue swirled at the base of his Adam’s apple. Her hair was like silk against his neck and caught a little in the stubble along his jaw, even though he’d shaved this morning. Her small breasts, sweetly contained in a stretchy peach bandeau bra that he’d already pulled off with his teeth this morning when she’d been trying to get dressed, brushed his arm.
Fuck it.
He needed to pull over. He’d driven Highway 89 hundreds of times, but his mind came up blank about turnouts.
Piper laughed.
“The name Copper Mountain Rodeo comes from Marietta’s brief copper mining boom in the late eighteen eighties.”
Her voice was magic—drawing him in and jacking him up even as dread curled in the pit of his stomach. His phone tucked uncomfortably in his back pocket so Piper wouldn’t see it as it continued to blow up for the last fifty miles—voice messages and texts from his friends and family. Hell, even his half-brother, Witt, the orthopedic surgeon, had texted—joking that he hoped he saw him vertical, not horizontal in his OR. Not funny. But Witt wasn’t funny.
Boone had made the mistake of listening to a few voice messages when they’d stopped at a café and Piper had stood in line for a chai. He had over a dozen messages from family and friends—invitations for beer, dinner, game of pool, and his family was expecting him at the ranch. His room was ready. It was always ready.
He’d nearly lost the tofu and veggie breakfast burrito—wrapped in a damn almond flour tortilla—Piper had cooked for him earlier that morning because she was worried about his cholesterol. He rolled his eyes at himself for being so caught up in her that he’d actually eaten it. Not to mention enjoyed it. But WTF! He was just twenty-five. In his prime. He was a cowboy. Ranch all the way. He couldn’t eat vegan. He’d get mocked off the circuit. Kicked out of town. His dad raised cattle for fuck’s sake.
This was goddamn Montana.
And if he brought Piper home…his family would have a barn wedding planned and start construction converting one of the riverside cabins by the end of the weekend. He’d be off the circuit and working the ranch like he’d done his entire life.
He’d forever be Boone Telford, Taryn Telford’s youngest son. That clever surgeon Witt’s cowboy youngest brother. The war hero special ops soldier Rohan’s little brother. The rising country and pop singer Riley’s big brother.
He’d be tied to them. No accomplishments of his own.
He had to cut bait. It wasn’t fair to Piper. She screamed perfect and permanent down to the marrow of his bones.
But he couldn’t be the man to give her the permanent home and family she craved.
Not yet.
But Piper was now.
Way too fucking soon.
And he had to man up or else he’d make them both miserable.
Find out what happens next in Cowboy Come Home…
Buy now!
More by Joan Kilby
The Starr Brothers of Montana
Book 1: The Secret Son
Alex’s story
Buy now!
Book 2: A Baby for Christmas
Will’s story
Buy now!
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About the Author
Award-winning author Joan Kilby writes sweet, sexy contemporary romance with a touch of humor. When she’s not working on a new book Joan can often be found at her local gym doing yoga, or being dragged around the neighborhood by her Jack “Rascal” terrier. Her hobbies are growing vegetables, cooking, traveling and reading—not necessarily in that order. Happily married with three children, Joan lives in Melbourne, Australia. She loves to hear from readers so feel free to drop her a line.
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