Her Unexpected Cowboy (Unforgettable Cowboys Book 1)

by Danae Little

  Four men. He might be able to take them all, but could he before one of them got him or Syd? They would use her against him. He knew that. It soured his stomach and he spat into the bush next to him. These men had no morals or scruples. He didn’t need a memory to tell him that.

  He leaned back out and scanned the woods ahead of him. No movement. Cautiously he made his way from tree to tree until he could see the end of the long drive. Sure enough, a dark SUV sat there. He could see arms moving in heated conversation. Looks like they couldn’t agree on the next steps.

  He could take this advantage now, sneak up on them and dispatch them. Yet, what if he didn’t succeed? What would they do to Syd without him there to protect her?

  A sense of helplessness coursed through him. He growled, low and menacingly. It was not a sensation he cared to have, nor did he think he was used to it.

  He would have to have Syd call the Bureau. Local law enforcement was out. Thank goodness he had that nagging feeling from the get-go. Yet, maybe it would have been better had he been caught before getting Syd wrapped up in this mess.

  Selfishly, he was happy that he had gotten the chance to get to know the strong woman. He of course didn’t know for sure, but he felt as if he had never known a lady as capable and yet kind as her.

  He glared at the car before easing away through the woods and back to the house, back to Syd.

  ~*~

  The next forty-five minutes felt like forever to Sydney. The animals’ normal morning sounds became pleas of desperation. The poor guys were starving, and the mamas needed to be milked. She had to feed them. Guardian harrumphed outside. She snuck him out a bowl of food. At least she could do that.

  Pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the window and back again, she wondered if she would completely lose her mind. How could she stay in here and listen to the goats and horses cry for food and not do anything about it? Jameson would be livid if she went out there, and who knows what kind of trouble could be waiting for her.

  “Agh!” she screamed, albeit quietly, in frustration.

  Mr. Paws looked up at her, jumped off the chair, and ran down the hall. She followed him. He curled up on her bed and she lay next to him, letting her hand stroke his silky fur. It calmed them both. The sound of his purr drowned out the incessant pleas from outside.

  Sydney had almost lulled herself into sleep when she heard the three taps on the window.

  “Syd, it’s me.” Jameson’s whisper cut through her peace as reality hit her full force once again.

  At least he was safe. She quickly unlocked the window and stood back as he clambered in.

  Once he was in and the window re-locked, he faced her with a scowl. A smudge of dirt crossed his forehead and cheek. She fought the urge to wipe it off.

  “They’re keeping surveillance at the end of the driveway. Is going through to Homer’s the only other way out?”

  “Unless you feel like a ride out the twenty thousand acre BLM land behind my property.” She shrugged. It seemed like an option to her. Across the BLM land they would end up in the next county. Sure it could take all day, or longer depending on the horse and the rider, but it would get them out of here.

  A few painful cries from the goat barn traveled through the open window. “The milking goats!”

  “I did sneak in and feed as much as I could while I was out. Can’t the milking wait?”

  “No! It’s very painful for them and their milk will dry up, along with my major source of income.”

  Jameson sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. His hands now sported calluses that had started to form over the last few days. “Well, if they were to make a move today it seems like they would have already. It might be better if we acted like all was normal.”

  He didn’t sound too sure, but Sydney wasn’t going to argue.

  “I do think it’s time you made a call though.” He lowered his head until it almost rested on his chest.

  She had never seen someone look so defeated.

  “I wish I was confident I could take them all.” He sighed.

  “Vigilantism is not going to solve this problem, Jameson,” she soothed and placed a hand softly on his arm.

  “I just don’t know where that call is going to take us...me.” He allowed his brilliant green eyes to meet hers. “What if I’m not on the right side?”

  “I can’t imagine that. You’re too moral, and too, well, professional.”

  His eyes seemed to look deep into her thoughts. “Well, being in a drug gang doesn’t seem to fit, but I just can’t remember...” He raked his hand across his face, obvious frustration getting a hold of him. “It doesn’t matter though. All that is important now is your safety, so the call has to be made.”

  “To whom though? You may be right about Wil.” The thought that Wil could be involved in a crazy crime circle hurt more than she would have thought.

  “Well, the sheriff has absolute control in this county. We would have to indicate he’s involved with this gang and bring in the Bureau.”

  “The FBI?” Her heart clenched. This whole situation was too much! How did she get stuck in the middle of some drug gang holdup and needing to call the FBI? She rubbed her forehead and collapsed on the bed.

  “You could try the DEA, but what if this really isn’t about drugs? We can’t trust your sheriff’s intel.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her heart hammered at the thought of calling the FBI. How did one even go about doing that? It’s not like they are listed in the white pages. “Maybe the SUV wouldn’t try to stop us from driving out, and we could make it into the next county?”

  The expression that covered Jameson’s face made her feel quite naïve. “Syd, there’s no way around this.” He sat next to her on the bed and held his head in his hands. “More memories keep flashing in about that suspect, the one who showed up this morning.” He shook his head, pushed himself back up, and began pacing again. “I can’t seem to collect them enough to make sense of them.”

  “It will come.” She tried to soothe his distress in order to keep hers at bay.

  “Syd, this guy... He’s ruthless. Each memory only confirms it.” Jameson turned to lock eyes with her, an intense expression filling them. “He won’t let us leave.”

  “Why just sit there? I don’t understand.”

  “They must be waiting for orders...or someone.” A horrified expression took over his face.

  Her heart raced. Seeing Jameson nervous scared her more than anything else had. Who knew for sure what Jameson did for a living, but his experience in situations like this was clear. He had seemed calm before. Now, his pacing, head rubbing, and sighs made it all too clear: he was nervous.

  The goats increased their wailing. The pain lining their cries reminded her of her friend when her baby decided to stop nursing all at once. Her swollen breasts had looked rock hard. She had said it was the worst pain. Those poor goats.

  “Is there any long term solution for your milking goats?” Jameson asked, sitting back on the bed.

  “Not really. I could see if the kids would nurse from the others, but there really are too many milking goats for the kids to get to them all.”

  “You will do what I tell you? Immediately, no matter what?” His intense eyes met hers, pulling her into him.

  She scooted to the edge of the bed until they sat next to each other, legs touching. “Yes.”

  He nodded, checked the shotgun, and handed it to her. “Don’t leave this out of your reach.”

  She took the cold steel into her hand. The coolness crept into her skin, crawled up her arm, and sank into the pit of her stomach. Goat farming had always been hard work, but she never knew it would ever be this dangerous.

  They walked out to the living room, and Jameson surreptitiously looked out the curtains. When he nodded, she met him at the door.

  “Act normal, but stay alert.”

  Sydney took a deep breath and shook out her hands, before looking up into his green eyes.
When he lowered his forehead to hers, a different type of nervousness filled her.

  “I’m sorry I brought you into this.” His whispered words had hardly left his mouth before he opened the door and greeted Guardian. “Hey boy!” he said as if he had no care in the world.

  Guardian jumped around and wagged his tail like he hadn’t seen them for a week. She knew the dog sensed the tension going on, but she loved how he could be in the moment. She wished she could follow his lead. He bounded ahead of them, heading straight towards the barn.

  With their movement the milking goats rushed over to the fence, bleating their need. Guilt ripped through Sydney. The poor goats had no idea what was going on. They were hurting and in pain because of her, because of her soft spot for a stranger with startling green eyes, large hands, and a physique that left her heart pitter-pattering.

  Jameson’s eyes scanned the area constantly. Every once in a while they would connect with hers and a softness seemed to reflect there. He opened the gate into the milking corral, and as she entered he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

  “Sorry we made you wait so long ladies!” Then he set his lips so close to her neck his whispered words caused her body to erupt in waves of electricity. “How can I help?”

  “You want to learn how to milk?” she teased, not having to fake a smile.

  “If it will help this go quicker, absolutely.” He nodded, though a corner of his mouth dropped and his eyebrows furrowed.

  “Well then, I’ll help you get started with Bess here.” She handed him a bucket and led him to a brown and white nanny goat. “Okay, first thing we get this girl up on the stand.”

  She wrapped her arms around the goat and hefted her onto the milking stand. After dumping some grain into the feeding bucket, she handed Jameson the wipes kept in the storage compartment on the side of the stand.

  “You have to clean your hands and her teats,” she instructed.

  “Clean teats, got it,” he said with enough amusement that she had to turn to see the glint in his eye she knew would be there.

  “Next you place the bucket below her. This bucket is sanitized, and we use a new one for every goat.”

  He nodded.

  “Now, to milk, you wrap your thumb and finger around here.” She showed him how to wrap where the teat met the udder. “Then you squeeze. Don’t pull.” Two squirts of milk sounded in the pail. She looked at the milk and then preceded to show him again. “Got it?”

  “I think so. Why’d you look at the milk?”

  “To see if there were any impurities like bacteria or other infections.”

  “Oh,” he said, and shifted his weight back and forth, continuing his scan of the land.

  “You ready to give it a go?” Sydney asked as she stepped back from the stand.

  “Sure,” he said, but sounding anything but confident.

  Sydney couldn’t suppress a smile as she led him to the stand and into position. She took his hand and put it in the correct form. Her hand wrapped around Jameson’s felt like touching fire. It shot through her and left her breathless. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. This man had so much trouble following him. How could she let myself fall like this? She let go of Jameson’s hand and backed away from him as if he had burnt her.

  “Am I doing it right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, great,” she said quickly, pushing the feelings down. “Keep that up until she’s about dry. You can kind of push here a bit to make sure there isn’t more milk in there.” She showed him how to put pressure on the utter and then escaped the intensity that being near him caused. Yet it seemed to follow like tendrils teasing her soul. Focus, Sydney. Focus on milking the goats.

  She tucked back inside the barn to grab another bucket. Coming back out, she ran right into the hard muscled chest of Jameson.

  “Oh, sorry,” she murmured, her free hand still on his rock hard stomach.

  “I told you not to leave this behind,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

  “I, I forgot.” Heat burned her cheeks and fire seemed to scorch her hand. She dropped it rapidly from his hard muscles.

  “This isn’t a game or something you can forget about.” His tone softened somewhat, but still held the hard undertones of anger and fear.

  “I know.” She blew the hair out her face. How dare he boss her around! “I’m not used to having to protect myself on my own property.” She snatched the gun out of his hand and strode off to the next bleating goat.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jameson stand there, back facing her for another moment before slowly making his way back to Bess. She glared in his direction while milking Faun as quickly as possible. Her life was peaceful before he showed up. She had her schedule, her ranch, and her animals. She was fine. She may have been lonely once the nights rolled around, but at least she didn’t have to worry about her life or that of her animals.

  “Mleah!” Faun looked back at her, protesting the rough treatment.

  “Sorry, girl,” Sydney soothed and slowed her hands to a normal rhythm.

  She took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of Faun and the other goats—the smell of good memories, of times of peace, and love-filled moments. A sigh escaped her as her shoulders slumped. She missed Aunt Mag and Uncle Joe.

  Faun’s milk ceased and Sydney sent the goat on her way. While traveling to the next nanny, she stopped beside Jameson still fumbling with poor Bess. He tugged gently, too gently, on her teats as droplets of milk dribbled down his large hands.

  “Squeeze, don’t pull,” she directed. “Use those man-hands of yours.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt her, though?” His eyes met hers.

  She laughed at his concern over possibly hurting the goat. “No more than getting suckled by a kid.”

  His brows furrowed even more.

  “If you keep that dainty pull up, it’ll take you all day to milk her, and make her sore in the process.”

  “Point taken.” He turned his attention back to Bess. “Sorry Bess. Squeeze, don’t pull.” His new method squirted a good size amount into the bucket. He turned to Sydney with a half-sided grin.

  How could she be angry at him when he smiled like that? Her insides turned to mush. She nodded and moved on to the next goat before losing herself in him again.

  ~*~

  Jameson brought the last two buckets into the cheese making room and set them with the others. He stood there, watching Sydney. She moved with such grace even as her arms bulged with the heaviness of the full cans she poured into the cheese making containers.

  “I never realized how much work you did every morning,” Jameson said as he stretched his hands. “Nothing like a couple of hours of milking to make a guy feel like a weakling.”

  “It takes a while to build the grip strength.” She smiled at him. He loved that smile, so trusting and innocent.

  “I guess.” He chuckled and shook out his hands. “I sure wouldn’t want to play mercy with you.”

  She looked over her shoulder to peer at him. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  His brow furrowed. “As a compliment.”

  “Not exactly the most feminine quality.” She shrugged and picked up another bucket to dump.

  “Well, I guess weak women aren’t my thing.” Somehow he knew that. A pattering of memories flashed through him. Beautiful, flirty women with too much makeup. The emotion that came with the memories were ones of annoyance and lack of connection.

  She didn’t turn back towards him, but with satisfaction he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. He could get used to a life like this one of hard work and good companionship, with someone like Syd. Who was he kidding? He didn’t want a woman like Syd, he wanted her. Should he tell her now, before things went south?

  He took two steps toward her, his hand barely grazed her shoulder when he heard it.

  The barn door squeaked.

  Jameson reacted instantly, his instincts kicking into overdrive. He cocked his gun and pulled Sydney to stand
against the wall beside the door. She yanked the shotgun with her and cocked it as well. Admiration for the woman filled him, but he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. He took in even breaths as he waited for the door to fully open.

  With his gun squared and ready to fire a chest shot at whoever entered, a familiarity washed over him. This was something he was used to. Something that made him feel at home with who he was. That knowing filled him with confidence as he firmly stood on planted feet.

  The first thing to show through the door was a hand, a wrinkled, winter-roughed hand. Jameson’s body eased. He lowered the gun slightly and put a steadying hand on the barrel of the shotgun Sydney held aimed at the same spot. She questioned him with her eyes.

  “Miss Syd?” Homer whispered as he stuck his head in the door. His eyes went wide when his gaze landed on the guns still loosely pointed at him. “What in tarnation!” he exclaimed.

  “What are you doing here?” Sydney ran up and embraced him. “Jameson told you to stay.”

  “Well, no offense, Hotshot.” He eyed Jameson. “I don’t know you from a can of beans, even if we have been working together. I needed to know that Syd was safe.”

  “I respect that.” Jameson nodded. “We didn’t hear the quad.”

  “I snuck out the back and walked over.” He looked back and forth between the two of them. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or you going to leave the old man in the dark?”

  Jameson shoved the handgun into the back of his pants and did his best to read the old man. Sydney gave him a nod, so he took a breath and blew it out. “Well, I woke up on the side of the road the night before we, uh, met. I had no memory of who I was or how I came to be beat up in the bushes. This place here was the closest house, and Syd was kind enough to let me sleep in the barn.”

  “You let a strange man stay here?” Homer turned a sharp expression to Syd.

  She only shrugged and went back to pouring milk. The lady amazed Jameson. She never stopped working and didn’t back down or make excuses.