How To Rope A Wild Cowboy (Silver Springs Ranch Book 1)

by Anya Summers

  Mav checked in on him in the morning. All the friends and fellow Doms did—Mav, Duncan, Noah, Tanner, Lincoln, and Colt again. Around noon, the indomitable Mrs. Gregory, who did the bulk of the cooking for the ranch, and looked like she weighed a hundred pounds dripping wet with her silver-flecked brunette hair, stopped in with a chicken enchilada casserole and a breakfast casserole, assuring Emmett she would keep him fed, take care of his laundry, and that he need not worry about a thing.

  Emmett hated being an invalid. He detested having to rely on others for something as simple as changing his pants.

  But Christ, his body ached. Even when lying perfectly still, his ribs and shoulder felt like he had gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion, which the nearly six-hundred-pound thoroughbred stallion could certainly be likened to.

  Still, he didn’t want to take the painkiller. His dad had been an addict; first with women, then horses, and eventually the bottle. It was one of the things that had attracted Emmett to the BDSM lifestyle—the absolute control over one’s environment—because he would never allow himself to head down the same path as his father. Not to mention it was hot as hell feeling a woman surrender herself body and soul beneath his hands.

  As the day progressed, and his visitors became less frequent, Emmett grew frustrated with the jogging pants. Any time he padded into the bathroom to take a piss, he struggled with the waistband. It was warm enough out with spring in full bloom, so he finally stripped them off, figuring he was done with visitors for the day and could relax in his boxer briefs with no one caring.

  He nodded off on the couch with the replay of a classic professional football game playing on the television screen.

  3

  Emmett jerked awake, and swore when the movement sent razor sharp, debilitating pain through his body.

  What the fuck?

  The furious pounding on the front door was what had woken him. If that was Colt, he was a dead man. Why the hell wasn’t he using his key? Not to mention, Emmett had explicitly told the man in no uncertain terms not to return that night, that he would get along fine without anyone.

  “Just a damn minute,” he snarled. It took him a moment, breathing through the pain, to get off the stupid couch. Once he was vertical on his feet, he trod the short distance to the front door. Emmett felt older than dirt as he shuffled along in his bruised state.

  With a curse, he yanked the door open with a scowl, ready to give Colt a piece of his mind. “What the fuck, dude? Did you forget your—”

  His words died on his tongue.

  On his wooden front porch, fresh as a mountain spring, stood Doctor O’Neal, clutching a black medical bag in one hand. Honey blonde hair styled in a thick braid spilled over one delicate shoulder. She had high, delicate cheekbones in an angular, pixie face that was unpainted, and doe eyes the color of warm cinnamon which assessed him from head to toe. Her full, generous lips were pursed, and she had consternation stamped over her pretty features.

  Gone was the lab coat and demure slacks hiding her body from sight. On display were slender curves, and a generous swell of cleavage, part of the smooth globes peeping over the top of her form-fitting pink tank top. She had a slim waist that he could easily fit his hands around, and long, trim legs in jeans that displayed every womanly curve. The doctor was a fucking knockout. His cock twitched at the picture she made on his doorstep, and the distinct image he imagined in a blink—of her on her knees before him—that flash fried his brain. Emmett fought the rising onslaught of need for the little doc. She was a tiny thing, likely a foot shorter than his six foot one frame.

  She didn’t look like a doctor, or at least his image of what a doctor was supposed to look like. Doctors were old, more bookish, pale like they hadn’t seen the sun in forever, whereas the sultry, golden-skinned vixen with big doe eyes he could drown in, looked too delicate and breakable.

  The audacious woman cocked a delicate golden brow, and said, “That’s last year’s fashion line, but it works. Are you going to invite me in so I can check on your injuries, or are we going to do the exam out here?”

  He grunted. It was the only sound he could make because his tongue was tied. He retreated enough to allow her inside.

  At the invite, she sailed in past him, smelling like fresh wildflowers. “If you want to have a seat at the kitchen table, I think one of those chairs will work for the examination.”

  “I’ll just go put some pants on first.” Closing the front door, he headed for his bedroom. Emmett was by no means a prude, but he also didn’t fancy being at a disadvantage with the doctor. Being in his boxers would leave him exposed and vulnerable, when he was used to projecting strength.

  “I don’t mind, Emmett. Your manner of clothing—or lack thereof—won’t bother me. Trust me when I say that I’ve seen it all.”

  Oh, she was a cool one, all right. A man answered the door in his underwear and the woman didn’t even bat an eye.

  “Just stay there,” he grumbled. Her controlled demeanor made him want to see what it would take to get a rise out of her, and ruffle her cool composure.

  He didn’t wait for a response but plodded into his bedroom and pulled out a fresh pair of sweatpants. Dressing one handed, when it hurt to breathe when you bent over, was not an activity he would recommend. Being incapacitated for the next few weeks was going to drive him insane.

  He wrestled with the stupid pants, wobbling on his feet as he inserted one foot through the leg and then couldn’t seem to get the second one in. Sweat rolled down his back. Silently cursing up a blue streak that would even make the devil sit up and take notice, he fought to get his foot down the right pant leg. Pissed at the pain, at the situation, at the doc for being too damn pretty for her own good, he jabbed his foot inside, and shoved it down the wrong hole. Jerking his leg back, he tried to remove it in time before he lost his balance.

  Emmett teetered on one foot, reached toward the footboard on the poster bed to stabilize himself, and toppled over before he could stop gravity. He slammed into the hardwood floor with a loud, hard thud. Agony exploded from his shoulder, radiating to every fiber of his being.

  “Shit.” He couldn’t stop the agonized moan from escaping.

  Holy fuck, that hurt!

  Emmett rolled off his injured shoulder, and blinked in an attempt to see past the pain clouding his vision. Like an angel, she was there, kneeling at his side, concern marring her brow. A few wisps of golden hair had escaped her braid and framed her beguiling face. “That’s what you get for being hardheaded and not letting me help you, silly man. Don’t move. Let me make sure you didn’t hurt yourself further, like re-dislocating your shoulder.”

  Emmett wanted to protest the order. As a Dom, he was much more familiar with issuing commands than receiving them. Except the pain—Christ, the pain—flooded every corner of his body and left the words of refusal clogged in his throat.

  The doc’s hands, those delicate fingers, roved over his shoulder, her touch steady. And they elicited pleasured sparks of unwelcome lust. The desire competed with the pain. While he lay supine, the doc’s fingers caressed the bare skin of his chest, and his flesh lower south stirred. He knew her touch was purely non-sexual, yet the sensors in his body didn’t seem to care, and were misfiring. His damn dick responded to her touch and was about to salute her efforts. The wisps of hair framing her face softened her features, making her seem more accessible, and the combination created an image in his mind of the doctor straddling his waist and riding him cowgirl style.

  And hell, his dick seemed to think that was a mighty fine idea—in fact, the best idea he’d had in weeks.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like you re-injured yourself. Likely just jostled everything. Let’s get you up. Why don’t you put your… um… put your good arm around my shoulders and I will help you stand,” she murmured and unconsciously licked her lips, her gaze darting away from his crotch.

  Through his hooded gaze, he noticed a pink flush had spread over her chest and up into h
er cheeks. This close to her, he could see some gold flecks around the irises of her doe-eyed gaze, which kept dropping to his waist. The pulse in the slim column of her neck fluttered rapidly.

  Well, well, well. The little doc was aroused at the sight of his hard cock. Would wonders never cease?

  Emmett thrilled at the fact. Her arousal caused fantasies to run rampant, and made him wonder if he could seduce the prim doctor into more illicit, exciting activities. “Sure thing, doc.”

  She helped him up until he was in a sitting position. He panted at the exertion. It was a Greek tragedy, that’s what this was, that he was battling pain and arousal. It must be similar to how a submissive felt while getting her sweet ass flogged. The fact that deep down, as aroused as he was, he didn’t have the strength to do anything about it pissed him off. Unless the doc took pity on him and decided to take him for a test drive while he lay there.

  “When was the last time you took a painkiller and muscle relaxer?”

  “I haven’t taken those, just the ibuprofen,” he replied, putting his uninjured arm around her slim shoulders. She really was a tiny thing. And her skin was softer than silk.

  “Stubborn idiot. I didn’t give you that script so you could look at it, Emmett. You need to take them so you can get some deep, restful sleep; it’s the best thing to help heal your body. Now, let’s get on your feet, put some new bandages on, and into bed with you.”

  With the doc’s aid, he got his feet underneath him and stood.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  He couldn’t remember being this worn out just from getting up off the floor. At least it took the focus off the need thrumming in his veins long enough for his erection to deflate a tad. He swayed on his feet, his good arm still circling the doc.

  She put her hands on him to steady him. “Whoa, there. Easy now. Why don’t we have you sit on the bed? You rest here, and I’ll get my medical bag from the other room.”

  She ushered him over to his bed. The doc and his bed in close proximity caused all sorts of naughty fantasies to flash through Emmett’s brain. The kinkier and dirtier the better. They made him wonder if she had ever been tied up and fucked.

  He lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed without releasing her which caused her to fall into him, her palms against his pecs, and brought her face within an inch of his. It would be easy to close the distance and claim her mouth, to see how she would react. Their breaths mingled.

  The doctor jerked back. His fingers grazed her cleavage unintentionally at the movement, but it was enough for her nipple to bead beneath the tank top. He zeroed in on that taut point and hungered to suck her into his mouth, nip it with his teeth and feel her writhe against him. She retreated with her hands up. “Just stay here.”

  The doc fled the bedroom. He watched the gentle sway of her hips, almost whimpering at her perfectly formed, heart-shaped bottom. His fingers itched to feel the globes. And here he’d thought his time at home was going to be dull and boring. Not if the doc was going to be making house calls. Perhaps he should consider seducing her. It would certainly make life interesting.

  He adjusted himself and winced, then started doing calculations in his head to deflate the damn thing. He almost succeeded. But then she re-entered his bedroom, all sleek golden curves, and his pecker acted like a dowsing rod, pointing toward what it wanted.

  She approached and stood beside him, setting her medical bag on the bed next to him. She withdrew some bandages and laid them on the mattress before she turned his way. “I’m going to check the shoulder first, okay? I have this black brace for it that I didn’t have at the office yesterday. This should make it easier to keep the shoulder immobile for the next three weeks. It’s important that this shoulder remain immobilized during that time, otherwise you risk the joint dislocating again, which could lead to surgery.”

  “You think I will need surgery on it?” If there was a god, he wouldn’t. That would be weeks more of doing nothing but twiddling his thumb—or worse, working with people in the stable offices.

  She unbuckled the sling and gently removed it from his arm. Her hands were soft as they prodded the shoulder. He hissed at the sharp stab of pain that made the room spin.

  “Sorry. I know it must hurt like hell. I promise to go as fast as I can without injuring you further,” she murmured in a soothing voice. The doctor had a good bedside manner: calm, and kind. She spent a few moments checking the shoulder, both front and back. “Well, you did jostle it some with your fall. No more getting dressed or undressed without help for the next few days. The swelling is still bad. We will need to reassess in a few days. I might want to send you to an orthopedic surgeon and have them do an MRI just to be on the safe side, to make sure there’s nothing more that is damaged. But we’re just going to have to play it by ear and see.”

  “All right.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get this brace on you, it will help keep the shoulder immobile. You will need someone’s help to remove it to bathe, but I would suggest not worrying about a bath for a day or two. Any washing right now can be done in the sink as best you can. In a few days, you should be able to take a bath. But again, you will need help getting in and out.”

  She slid the black material up his left arm. There was a strap that wrapped around his chest and beneath his right arm, before it was secured. She studied the fit. “If you need to adjust it, you can a bit here, in front. Before we put the sling back on to immobilize that arm completely again, I want to check your ribs.”

  With care and concentration marring her features, she unwrapped the ace bandage material. He kept his gaze on her, wincing at every movement.

  “Boy, those look awful and really painful. Stay there,” she said when she’d finished removing the bandages. “I’ll be right back.”

  Emmett studied the damage. The entire lower right quadrant was marred with dark, angry, purplish black bruising. Wildfire had stomped him good, that was for sure.

  The doctor returned with a determined gleam in her eyes, carting a glass of water and holding something in her other hand. “I want you to take these. It’s the painkiller and muscle relaxer.”

  He glanced at the pills and shook his head in the negative. “I’d rather not.”

  “It’s not a suggestion. Do you have any addiction problems? Is that why you don’t want to take it?”

  “No. I don’t like the loss of control,” he admitted. It had been his dad who had the addiction issues. Emmett had worked hard not to take after the old man in that regard.

  Understanding flickered in her eyes. “Be that as it may, those ribs and that shoulder aren’t going to heal unless you get a ton of rest. You can’t do that when you are in this much pain. And going by the dark circles under your eyes, I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night. You need to take both, the painkiller and the muscle relaxer. They will help. I would take the ibuprofen with your dinner tonight so it doesn’t mess up your stomach in any way.”

  The doctor really was a bossy little thing. He had no clue why his blood surged and his body hungered for her. The women he usually picked knew the rules, and were more than willing to kneel with their mouths open and their legs spread.

  An idea popped into his head. “I’ll take them both on one condition.”

  “And what’s the condition?”

  “A kiss, on the lips, freely given,” he said. It was a dare. The proper little doctor would balk, he was sure of it.

  She studied him with an unreadable expression. “You take them now without complaint, let me wrap your ribs back up, and you have a deal. And I consider my word my bond.”

  He was shocked that she had called his bluff and risen to his challenge. He couldn’t back down now, even if he wanted to—which, weirdly enough, he didn’t. He wanted to taste her. Emmett studied her face, absorbing the sincerity in her eyes. He nodded. “Fair enough. Agreed.”

  He took the first pill from her hand and popped it in his mouth, then washed it down with the water. He repeated
the move with the other.

  The doctor removed the glass of water from his hand, placing it on his nightstand. Then she picked up the new bandage and started wrapping it around his torso. He winced and hissed. Movement of his midsection of any kind felt like liquid fire being poured into his veins. To distract himself, he watched her—Doc—and realized he didn’t know her first name.

  “Hey, what’s your first name?”

  “Grace,” she replied without stopping. Her name suited her, it described the way she moved. But it also left him wondering if her cool and collected attitude would change with pleasure. Would she scream out her ecstasy?

  Her nearness, her scent, the way her breasts swayed as she moved—all went straight to his dick. She wrapped his ribs up tight to help keep him from moving and ignored his erection. Though he hated to admit it, the bandages did help keep his body from moving too much, and the pain level manageable.

  When she had finished and stepped back, he said, “Now, about that kiss…”

  4

  Grace studied the cowboy. The man had a wildness about him, untamed and reckless. Unpredictable as a thunderstorm and just as feral. He was rough. His body was forged from hard work outdoors, not a gym, and it showed in the corded lines of hard muscles, from his shoulders all the way to his calves.

  Her belly quivered at the thought of kissing him, of being pressed against two hundred pounds of alpha. Of that part of him beneath the gray boxer briefs that she kept trying to ignore, but her gaze kept returning to as if it were a heat-seeking missile.

  As a doctor, she had seen her fair share of penises. It came with the territory when you were prepping a patient for the OR after stabilizing them in the emergency room. You were moving fast to save them, and not worrying about modesty. But she had to admit that his wide ridge of engorged flesh was impressive.

  It had been a while since she had done the horizontal tango with anyone. And Emmett was like a prize stallion: all sleek, hard muscle dusted with short black hair, including the dark trail that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.