Cowboy Strong

by Stacy Finz

  “A tabloid photographer is outside my window,” she whispered.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  She repeated herself, raising her voice just a fraction, afraid the person outside would hear her. Which was ridiculous. He’d seen her. He knew she was here.

  “On my way,” he said. “Until then, don’t go outside.”

  She considered crawling out of the tub back to her bedroom. Still in sleep shorts and a tank top, she’d like to at least put on a bra. Run a comb through her tangles. But she didn’t budge, fearful that the man would capture her on camera, streaking down the hallway like a lunatic. She could already see the headlines: Insane Celebrity Chef Lives in Old Unabomber Cabin.

  How the hell had he found her?

  She shot Wendy a text, giving her a heads-up. At some point today, there’d be pictures of her with crazy hair all over the internet. Outside, she heard a commotion and climbed out of the clawfoot to see what was going on.

  She stood on the toilet seat to peer outside the window. Cash had the photographer pinned against a tree. Sawyer must’ve called him.

  A short time later, Sawyer joined Cash. She hadn’t heard his Range Rover and suddenly remembered that it was still at the mechanic’s. He must’ve run the whole way.

  She dashed to her bedroom, changed into a bra and T-shirt, slipped on her new cowboy boots, and flew out the back door.

  “Who the hell do you think you are—?”

  Sawyer cut her off at the pass. “We’ve got it under control.” He held up the memory card from the digital camera, which was currently in Cash’s hand. “Jace is on his way.”

  “You hurt my camera and I’ll sue you,” the man bellowed. “You don’t have a right to take people’s equipment.”

  Sawyer looked up at the sky as if he was praying for patience. Then he turned to the man and in a voice that was surprisingly calm said, “Come on, you were trespassing and staring into a woman’s window like a freaking Peeping Tom.”

  “I’m just trying to make a living.” The photographer stared at Gina and started to say something, but Sawyer held up his hand.

  “Don’t even think about it. The sheriff is on his way to deal with you.” He looked at Cash and said, “Give him his camera.”

  “I need my goddamn memory card back, that’s what I need,” the photographer yelled. “It’s my property. You have no right to keep it. If you don’t give it back you’ll hear from my lawyers.”

  “By all means, tell them to give us a call.” Sawyer grasped Gina’s shoulders, turned her around, and told her to go back inside the cabin.

  “Not until he tells me how he found me.” She put her hands on her hips. “Who told you where I was?”

  “I’m not divulging my sources.” He jutted his chin at her.

  Gina hoped that Laney or Jimmy Ray hadn’t sold her out. But someone had. How else had he found her?

  “You want a story? An exclusive? Then tell me who your source is,” she demanded.

  Sawyer took her by the arm and dragged her to the front of the cabin. “The guy’s a bottom-feeder. Don’t bargain with him. When you have an exclusive to tell, you’ll give it to a reputable news organization. This guy is a stringer. He’ll sell whatever you give him to the highest bidder.”

  She let out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If he found me, others will too.” She’d have to leave and find a new place to hide. She didn’t want to go. Not now. Not when she…she just didn’t want to have to leave.

  “We’ll lock the gate,” Sawyer said.

  A locked gate was the last thing they needed while they were trying to get Charlie and Aubrey’s business off the ground. A business that relied on visitors.

  They looked up as Jace’s sheriff’s SUV bounced along the rutted road, stopping short of the front porch.

  He stuck his head out the window and let his Oakleys slip down his nose. “Where is he?”

  “Around back,” Sawyer said.

  Jace hopped out of the cab in full sheriff’s gear: badge, holster, gun, the whole nine yards. Gina had never seen him in uniform before. He was hot in jeans and a flannel shirt. In the uniform, he was smoking. Not as good-looking as Sawyer, but Charlie was a lucky woman. Aubrey too.

  “Is he mad at me?” Gina whispered as Jace crossed the yard to the rear of the house. She’d brought this upon them. Besides having someone invade his private ranch, Jace had better things to do with his time than chasing some jackass with a camera off his property.

  “Nah, that’s his cop scowl. He reserves it for trespassers.” Sawyer maneuvered her onto the porch. “What did the photographer say to you?”

  “Nothing really. He pounded on the door first, then came to the window. I opened the blinds to see who it was and he started snapping pictures.” She scanned the area, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t seen a car. “How did he get here?”

  “Probably parked on Dry Creek Road and hiked in.”

  “Oh God, you don’t think he was here all night?” The idea of a stranger creeping around in the trees while she was in the cabin alone gave her the willies.

  “I doubt it. Why wait until morning to knock? Better to hit-and-run before he got caught and thrown off the property.”

  Sawyer made a good point. “Is that how you do it?” she asked just to be snarky. It was kind of a rotten thing to say, especially after he’d flown to her rescue.

  “I call ahead, make an appointment.” His lips ticked up. “And if that doesn’t work I go in for an ambush.”

  She didn’t know whether he was joking. But somehow she didn’t see Sawyer skulking around someone’s house, hiding in their azalea bushes. He was more Robert Redford in All the President’s Men, following the money. Not some skeevy guy with a paunch and suspenders, stalking celebrities with a big-ass camera lens while they slept.

  Jace brought the skeevo around front and started to load him into the back seat of his vehicle.

  “Last chance to give your side of the story,” the photographer told Gina, then nudged his cuffed hands at Jace. “Here, give her my business card.”

  “No can do,” Jace said and pushed the camera guy’s head down so he wouldn’t hit it on the door.

  After Jace drove away, Cash went home.

  “You want coffee?” she asked Sawyer, who looked like he’d been up for hours: clean-shaven and dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, Stetson, cowboy boots.

  “Yep.” He led the way into the cabin and hung his hat on a wall hook that had been there before she’d moved in.

  “I guess Candace is going through with it…She’s really divorcing Danny.”

  “You already knew that. Why? Did the photographer say something? Because you know divorce filings are public record, right?”

  “I know. Candace also put out a statement.” Just the same, hearing the prowler yell it at her with such vitriol… well, she felt guilty, like it was her fault. “I’d hoped to talk to her, convince her that this whole thing is ridiculous. I’m really tempted to call Danny. Maybe there’s still time to fix this.”

  Sawyer put his hand on her shoulder. “If her own husband can’t convince her of his innocence, how do you expect to? I don’t know anything about the state of their marriage, but let’s put it this way: I believed you and we’ve only known each other a few weeks. What does that say about the Clays? As far as talking to them: Like I said yesterday, nothing good can come of it.”

  Gina let out a frustrated sigh. “I want my life back, Sawyer. I want the Clays to have their lives back. And him”—she nudged her head outside to where the intruder had been driven off by Jace—“he won’t be the last member of the paparazzi to show up at Dry Creek Ranch. Mark my words. They’re like roaches. There’s never just one.”

  He rubbed his chin and sat at the kitchen peninsula. It was really too narrow for stools but Gina had stu
ck two she’d picked up on Amazon there anyway. She flicked the switch on her fancy new coffee grinder.

  When the noise from the grinder stopped, Sawyer said, “You need to call my mom today. Fill her in on your morning visitor.”

  She’d already planned to, though it left a sour feeling in her stomach. Wendy would undoubtedly find Gina new accommodations. For everyone involved, including Gina, it was the right thing to do. But leaving Dry Creek Ranch…she had friends here.

  And there was Sawyer, also a friend. But something more complicated than that.

  “I texted her as soon as I found the bloodsucker in my yard. But you’re right, I should tell her everything that happened.”

  “You can call her while we go to pick up my Range Rover,” he said.

  “Okay.” She scooped the ground coffee into the machine, filled the reservoir with water, and turned on the switch. “You want breakfast?”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer, just grabbed the basket of fresh eggs from the fridge that Aubrey had brought over the other day and started making an omelet. There was a bell pepper in what passed for her pantry and she began dicing it. The familiar task, along with the sound of the knife clicking on the wooden board, instantly helped to calm her nerves.

  Sawyer watched as a companionable silence fell over them. It was as if sitting in her kitchen, the simple domesticity of it, was the most natural thing in the world between them.

  “Maybe you should stay at my place for the next few days,” Sawyer blurted.

  She suspected he was as surprised by his offer as she was. On the heels of sleeping together, a woman less realistic than Gina might misconstrue the invitation. But she knew it for what it was. He was offering safety from the paparazzi, nothing more.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, though the offer was tempting on many levels, least of all escaping the press.

  “If you change your mind, you’re welcome to stay.”

  Gina noted that he hadn’t insisted and wondered if he was relieved that she had declined his invitation.

  She found the omelet pan in one of the cupboards and popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. Throughout breakfast, both of them steered clear of mentioning their night together. What was there to say about it, anyway, besides the fact that it was probably the best sex Gina had ever had? Which really wasn’t saying much. She’d never been that into it. Now that she’d had a taste of Sawyer, she was probably ruined for all time.

  “What are you thinking about?” He reached for the butter and spread his toast with it.

  “Nothing.”

  He looked at her for a few seconds. Really looked, but didn’t say anything. She suspected he’d also returned to their night together. Whether it had been as transcendental for him as it had been for her was another story. Doubtful. She was pretty sure he’d been with a lot of women, more than she wanted to think about. She’d merely been another notch in his belt, so to speak.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said when the quiet grew awkward, unable to remember whether she’d properly expressed her gratitude.

  “Not a problem.” He took his plate to the sink, poured himself a second cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and sipped.

  She rose from her stool. “I’ll just clean up real fast and we can go.”

  He let his gaze drift down her body until it rested on her cowboy boots.

  She looked down at herself, still in her pajamas. “Yeah, I guess I better shower and change first.”

  “I’ll do the dishes. You go get ready.”

  But as she started to leave, he followed her into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and pried off her right boot.

  “Remind me to get you a bootjack.” He lifted her left foot and finished the job, leaving her barefoot.

  She’d put the boots on so fast when she’d spotted the photographer outside her window that she’d forgotten socks. He played with her foot, running his fingers over her red toenail polish. Then he reached for her arms and tugged her up from the bed. In a flash, his mouth covered hers.

  “We’re not doing this again,” he said against her lips.

  “Okay.” But it seemed to her that they were.

  “Last night was a mistake.”

  If he hadn’t snaked his tongue into her mouth right after he’d said it, she would’ve been offended.

  “We can’t let it happen again,” he said as he reached under her T-shirt and unhooked her bra.

  “Why not?” she whispered, though she could think of a dozen reasons off the top of her head, starting with the fact that sleeping with her crisis manager’s son, while breaking up the marriage of her former colleagues, was probably in poor taste.

  “Colossally bad idea.” He slipped her bra off, leaving her in nothing but her sleep shorts.

  “Agreed,” she said, and began undoing his belt.

  She was taking too long because he shooed her hand away and undid the buckle and the buttons on his fly by himself. He didn’t even wait to get his pants all the way down, just tugged her shorts off, pushed her against the dresser, spread her legs wide, and entered her from behind.

  She let out a sort of scream-moan and he froze.

  “Ah, jeez, did I hurt you?” He started to pull out.

  “No, no.” She pushed her bottom against him in a wanton plea for more.

  He moved inside her. Slow at first, which drove Gina crazy. It was good—wonderful—but not enough. The need inside her had grown to fever pitch. She ground her butt against him in a not-so-subtle message to pick up the pace.

  Sawyer moved her to the bed, bent her over the footboard, and took her harder. Deeper. Faster. It was the most adventurous she’d ever been with a man, but Sawyer made her feel safe. And uninhibited. Sexy.

  Despite the way she’d been branded on television—the chef with the abbondanza cleavage who made tasting her own dishes look like oral sex—she’d never felt particularly sensual.

  Not until Sawyer.

  He reached around and worked her with his fingers. With the other hand, he fondled her breasts while continuing to thrust inside her. He did it over and over again until a multitude of sensations washed through her like a tidal wave, making her body shudder and clench with exquisite pleasure.

  A few more strokes and she felt a subtle change in Sawyer’s body. He jerked, threw his head back, and shouted out her name.

  Afterward, he wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing. She could hear him breathing hard behind her. He kissed her softly on her neck and led her to the clawfoot tub.

  Only under the hot spray of the showerhead did it occur to her that they hadn’t used a condom.

  Chapter 13

  “Go ahead and call her,” Sawyer said. It was the first words he’d spoken since they’d left the cabin.

  He’d taken her keys and deemed himself the designated driver, mostly because he liked driving her car. But partly because she had a lousy sense of direction and he wasn’t in the mood for getting lost on the way to Mama’s.

  He only half-listened to Gina tell his mother the details of their morning trespasser. He was too busy revisiting his and Gina’s bedroom scene. Clearly, there was something seriously wrong with him. It was bad enough that he was having sex with his mother’s client and a woman with enough issues to fill the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Sawyer didn’t do issues. He didn’t do anything that required even a modicum of complications. He got enough of that from his work.

  And then to add to his stupidity, he forgot to wear a damn condom. It wasn’t like he never fucked up. He did, more than he’d like to admit. But forgetting protection…That had never happened. Ever. Then again, he’d never been this sexually caught up. It wasn’t to say he didn’t like sex. He liked it. A lot. Had it as often as he could. But this was…different.


  Ever since that morning he’d come home to find her hunkered over her computer in his bed, there’d been this charged electricity between them. She pushed his buttons, even though he wasn’t the kind of guy to rouse easily. It was sort of a love/hate thing, though that was a little strong. More like an admire/you-bug-the-shit-out-of-me thing. What it had proven to definitely be, though, was a I-have-to-have-you thing.

  Which had disaster written all over it. And now he had to worry about…babies. He had nothing against them per se as long as they were someone else’s.

  “We didn’t use a condom, you know,” he said the second she hung up with his mother.

  “I know.”

  He waited, hoping she’d say she was on another form of birth control. But she said nothing.

  “We’ll have to monitor the situation,” he said and realized he’d made it sound like he was talking about North Korea and its nuclear weapons cache.

  “Yep,” was all she said.

  At the last minute, he decided to ditch the highway and take a circuitous route of back roads to Mama’s. Traffic, he told himself. But it was eleven o’clock and it was freaking Dry Creek, not the 405 at rush hour.

  “What did my mom say?” He’d circle back to the condom dilemma in a few minutes. Give her time to absorb how irresponsible he’d been.

  “That she heard through the grapevine that Candace is pitching a new show to FoodFlicks.”

  “Yeah, so?” It hardly seemed newsworthy. “Stands to reason that without her husband in the picture, she’d want a new gig.”

  “It just seems kind of soon, don’t you think?”

  “Not if it’s her livelihood.”

  Gina let out a breath. “I guess.”

  “What? It seems opportunistic to you?”

  “No, you’re right. What is she supposed to do? Sit home and collect unemployment?”

  “Did my mother think it was odd?”

  “No, just interesting. She’s meeting with my manager next week to strategize how to deal with ChefAid.”