Cocky in a Cowboy Hat (Crossroads Book 3)

by Em Petrova

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  Cocky in a Cowboy Hat

  Crossroads

  Book 3

  Copyright Em Petrova 2020

  Ebook Edition

  Electronic book publication 2020

  Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

  SUBSCRIBE to Em Petrova’s Newsletter to keep up to date and for special reader features.

  More in this series:

  BAD IN BOOTS

  CONFIDENT IN CHAPS

  COCKY IN A COWBOY HAT

  SAVAGE IN A STETSON

  SHOW-OFF IN SPURS

  A ranch on the auction block. Two bidders. Only one can win.

  Liberty Baker’s dream to raise horses and settle in the small town of Crossroads all comes down to an auction bid. Within heartbeats, her dreams crash and burn as Mr. Bulging Pockets steps in and swipes the ranch out from under her. The fact he’s a hunky bachelor—with an icy blue stare so direct she feels it in places no woman ever should—only makes things worse when he proposes that she should become his ranch hand.

  She has an idea of the kind of hand he needs, and washing his dishes and picking up his dirty socks isn’t her thing. Then she remembers why she wanted the ranch in the first place…it’s a safe haven after her bitter divorce.

  With a bigger cattle herd and more land, Aidan Bellamy really could use Liberty’s help. Sharing a house is just a living arrangement, right? Convincing himself will be difficult when she parades around with her toned thighs peeking out of her nightshirt and he discovers her in his Jacuzzi more than once. A self-proclaimed bachelor isn’t blind to the fact that women Liberty’s age are lookin’ for a big man to take care of them, and while he might have invited her into this deal, nobody’s sinking her hooks into him.

  At least until he learns of the threats against her. No matter how hard he tries to resist, the solution’s staring him in the face.

  There’s only one answer left.

  It’s marry her and save her from losing it all or let her burn.

  Only one look from Liberty sets him aflame. And one touch from Aidan might start a wildfire of emotions neither want to face.

  Cocky

  In a

  Cowboy hat

  by

  Em Petrova

  Chapter One

  Thirty-six-year-old divorcee buys horse ranch via silent auction. At least Liberty Baker hoped that would be the headline about her day.

  She paused on the steps of the wide porch and looked at the other bidders already seated. Her nerves snapped, rubber bands being pulled taut and released to shock her into action. She stepped forward and slipped into one of the chairs lined up in pairs on the worn porch floor.

  The man already sitting there glanced up from the auction catalog he was browsing. A quick peek at the page he stared at revealed he had an interest in the farm equipment up for auction. Good—she didn’t want any more competition than she might already have for this chunk of God’s beautiful green country in Crossroads, Georgia.

  As a child, she visited the small town. Her grandpa bought her ice creams in the little shop that still stood on the corner, bearing a pink and white striped awning and a twenty-foot wooden cutout of a twist cone. Then they’d take a drive to see how many horses she could count in the fields.

  If luck was on her side today, she’d have a horse ranch to call her own.

  The man next to her didn’t appear to be a chit-chatter, thank goodness. Nothing sounded worse than telling someone she wasn’t able to focus on him during the auction because she was too keyed up.

  Liberty clutched her fingers in her lap and looked ahead of her where a woman stood behind a card table. “We’re going to begin the auction now,” she announced.

  A string seemed to yank inside Liberty’s stomach, making it both tight and loose at the same time. The organ wobbled like Jell-O at a country picnic.

  Swallowing hard, she centered her attention on the auctioneer. Everything here on this foreclosed ranch, from the grain feeders to the tools left behind in the shed, was by silent bid in a sealed envelope. She wasn’t interested in those items—she was here for the property.

  A bitter divorce battle against her ex, and a decade of being controlled by him before that, had given her the guts to be here today. Fighting Redding over household items such as the Cuisinart toaster and their joint CD collection had taught her to stand up for what she wanted, and right now, there was nothing she wanted more than this land.

  The sign at the gates said Windswept Ranch. After sneaking onto the abandoned property to nose around, she understood how it earned the name. A constant breeze seemed to wash across the land and tickle everything in its path.

  She raised a hand to fight back a tendril of hair that caught on that breeze now, and she tucked it behind her ear. The man beside her cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  She studied him for a moment, taking note of how worn his jeans were and how faded his blue plaid shirt was. The edges of his cowboy hat appeared to be softened from touching it on the side she could see. But his boots cost enough to show where he put his money. A good, solid pair of boots was everything on a ranch.

  He took up the entire chair, and only the legs sticking out the bottom were visible. As she looked on, he closed the catalog and tucked it into his breast pocket.

  With a smile, the auctioneer looked over the crowd of about twelve people gathered on the porch. “Let’s start with the smalls, shall we? Lot number one is a leather saddle in good condition. Some wear.”

  Beside the auctioneer, another woman had the sealed envelopes open and the winning bid on top. She passed this to the auctioneer, who read the number aloud. “Lot one goes to bidder number twelve for a hundred dollars.”

  Bidder twelve smiled and nodded from a few seats in front of Liberty. She cut a glance sideways at the man next to her, wondering what number he was.

  When she consulted the local real estate agent regarding the starting bid for the ranch, she felt confident she put in a competitive figure, on the higher edge of her budget, but life was all a risk, wasn’t it? It was time for her to start taking more of those.

  She began by leaving Redding. Thank God that chapter of her life had finally ended. The divorce was final, and he couldn’t send his lawyer after her anymore for half of this or that.

  As the auction went on to boxes full of horse tack and heat lamps for chickens, she let her mind wander over those fields. Soon her dream of raising horses would come true. Since she was a little girl and Grandpa Craig drove through this countryside, her dream was locked in.

  At eight she received her first pony and riding lessons. At twelve she broke her leg and wondered if she’d ever ride again, but after she healed, she climbed on again and never looked back.

  When it came to adulthood, her hopes of ranching vanished when she met Redding. The man disliked horses, looked down his nose at anything labeled country. But she liked the way he talked and the confidence of having brains—something her other boyfriends didn’t possess much of. He swept her up in his excitement of wanting her for a wife. And after the past year of therapy, she could declare that she was a soft touch, a
people pleaser, and she rolled along with his proposal because she didn’t want to stop his dreams from coming true.

  The man beside her glanced over, and she realized she’d issued a sigh at the dark turn her thoughts had taken. He offered her a tip of his lips as a friendly smile and returned his attention to the auction.

  Three lots in a row went to the same man seated in the front. “Hot damn!” he exclaimed as they announced his number a third time, and everyone chuckled.

  Redding would roll his eyes at such a reaction and language.

  Get lost, Redding. I’m through giving you space in my thoughts.

  An hour later, the auction arrived at the bigger items—tractors, mowers, a hay wagon. Technically, she’d need these things if she owned the ranch, and she wished she had the money to bid on it all. But her small inheritance from her Grandpa Craig’s recent passing would cover the ranch and a few extras to get her started on her dream.

  She was doing this the bargain basement way, beginning with a ranch and little else, but she could rely on her research and knowledge of starting a business to see her through. After all, she’d helped Redding build his empire of computer stores throughout the South.

  Go. Away. Dickhead.

  She crossed her legs, and the man beside her glanced over at her movement. She offered him a polite smile reserved for strangers.

  As the minutes ticked by, and the big-ticket items continued to be auctioned off, she saw him sit forward. His muscular shoulders tensed as he waited, obviously for something he bid on. When he let out a rough sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face, she knew he lost.

  He sat back again.

  “Tough break,” she said.

  “Yeah. I really needed that tractor.”

  The auctioneer lifted her head and looked at the small crowd. “The final item is the ranch. Two hundred and two acres of woodland and pasture. Water and mineral rights. The house, barn and two sheds are all part of this lot. And now for the bids.”

  A dramatic pause followed, and Liberty sat forward, elbows on knees and heels bouncing with nerves. The man next to her gave her an appraising look but said nothing.

  Liberty might puke. Or jump up and scream. No—she’d do that when they called her number as the highest bidder. She’d have the real estate agent to thank for her guidance, of course. A fruit basket was in order, along with a handwritten note.

  She tightened her clasped hands and held her breath.

  “The highest bid on the final lot, the ranch, including two hundred and two acres of woodland and pasture…”

  Get on with it! Liberty bounced her heel faster as the auctioneer insisted on dragging out the final, heart-throbbing moment and effectively spiking Liberty’s adrenaline to an all-time high.

  “Is number eight.”

  The number passed through her ears without meaning. She leaned back, blinking. Number eight? But her assigned number was six.

  “Hell yeahhhh,” the man next to her drawled out and stood.

  She tipped her head up to look at his big old smile plastered over his face. Two men seated in front of them stood and extended their hands to him. “Congratulations, Bellamy. You’ve been gunning for it long enough that you deserve to own this land.”

  Her heart pulsed in her throat as she gaped at them. But…her bid was high. Competitive.

  Not competitive enough.

  Somehow, she stumbled to her feet and held onto the chair in front of her to steady herself as she reeled with the realization that her dreams had been stomped into the ground by that high-priced size twelve beside her.

  She lost. No ranch to call her own. No horses to raise and care for, and no safe haven from the world that hadn’t been the kindest to her over the last year during her bloody, bitter, soul-sucking divorce.

  I’m sorry, Grandpa.

  She started down the porch steps and made it a few paces before she had to stop and gulp down some air to stave off her impending tears. Once she let that floodgate open, there wouldn’t be any stopping it for a long time, and she wanted to be alone when that happened.

  Someone stopped beside her. She glanced from those familiar boots, up a long pair of legs to the faded blue plaid shirt and finally a set of ice blue eyes so piercing she nearly forgot she should hate this man for stealing her ranch out from under her.

  He nudged his hat upward, and a few strands of brown hair slid with the felt. “You all right?” he drawled out in a voice pitched on the quiet side.

  “I…” She wanted to stomp on his boot and slap his face. Composing herself, she dragged in a deep breath of the country air she should right now be celebrating the ownership of. “Congratulations…on your…win.” Two hot, fat, horrible tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She twisted from him and hurried away as fast as her feet would go. She didn’t remember how she crossed the yard or crunched her way across the gravel drive to her old truck, also inherited from Grandpa Craig, parked in what had been shade hours ago. Now she wouldn’t only be sobbing before she climbed behind the wheel, but she’d be doing it in a smoldering hot vehicle.

  Suddenly, she realized someone walked beside her. A glance from the corner of her eye showed those boots that were becoming a source of rage and a pit of busted dreams.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Just leave me alone.” Tears poured down her face now, and her nose was running too. She felt the tickle of snot reach her upper lip and dived for her truck. She whipped open the door and grabbed for her purse under the seat to pull out a wad of tissues. As she scrambled up and into the smoking-hot vinyl seat, she smashed the wad of tissue to her nose.

  The man braced himself in the door.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I need to go,” she muttered, trying to reach around his thick, muscled body for the door handle.

  He didn’t budge, standing there like an old dog who couldn’t make up his mind whether to go in or out.

  Out. Definitely out.

  “What’s your name?” His low tone only made her cry harder. She didn’t need his pity—he beat her fair and square. What she’d like to know was by how much. Dollars? Thousands?

  He waited for her answer, and she saw he wouldn’t let her drive away without telling him. Of course, she could back out and he could either jump out of the way or get run over.

  She snorted a snot bubble, which she quickly slapped with an already soggy tissue. “Liberty Baker.”

  He didn’t move or speak. She chanced a look at his face and saw those blue eyes fixed on her. Under any other circumstance, she’d want this man staring at her, but not right now when she was such a freakin’ mess.

  “Look, I own the ranch next door to the Windswept.”

  She stared at him through watery vision. “So?”

  He made a huffing sound and the corner of his lips twitched. “So I have a hundred head of cattle and two hundred more acres of property now that are too much for one guy.”

  “Congratulations,” she snapped, reaching around him. Her fingers brushed over the hard steel of his torso before landing on the arm rest she could use to pull the door closed.

  “Wait…Miss Baker.”

  “Ms.”

  His icy blue stare lit on her face, making her wish she didn’t look like a drowned puppy.

  “Ms. Baker, I could use a hand around here. It’s clear you wanted this land—you’re pretty broken up over it, and I feel bad about that.”

  “You think you feel bad?” She opened her eyes wide at him.

  With a sigh through his nostrils, he continued, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I could use a ranch hand if you’re not afraid of hard work.”

  The wellspring of tears residing in her chest emptied—and was replaced by anger.

  “Why would I try to buy a ranch if I was afraid of hard work?” She gripped the steering wheel, prepared to back over this man if he didn’t get out of her way soon.

  He nodded. “I see that. Again, I’m sorry about the bid, but I’d like your h
elp around here if you’re up for it.”

  Unable to think about anything but the pain hollowing out her chest, she turned to the steering wheel and lay her head on it. It was dramatic, she knew. But right this minute, she deserved to take a moment for herself and not think about pleasing yet another man or making anybody happy but her.

  She wasn’t happy.

  Not only had she lost her hopes and dreams, but she had no home. She’d closed down her life in Raleigh and driven straight to Crossroads two nights ago, which she spent at the bed and breakfast outside town. She thought to take residence of the ranch house at once, not caring if she had to sleep on the floor because she didn’t have any furniture. Meanwhile, Redding lived in cozy luxury in their five-bedroom home with a sunroom and swimming pool and all the furniture she’d painstakingly picked out only so he could somehow fight it all away from her. What little she’d taken from the divorce, she’d sold to keep afloat.

  Starting over was a bitch, and now it seemed crueler than ever.

  “Liberty.” He drawled her name, and she realized she didn’t even know his.

  Taking a deep breath, she eyed him, still hunched over the wheel. “A job?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “On this ranch?”

  “Well,” he looked around, “this place could use some improvements before I can put cattle or horses on it.”

  She perked up. “Horses?”

  He nodded again, hat tipping in a way that it shaded his eyes and stopped them from sparkling in the sun like two bright gems.

  She laid her head down again. What options did she have? She needed a job anyway. And a place to live. Ranch hands typically lived on the land they worked.

  “Fine.” She could hardly believe the word left her lips.

  Lifting a hand, he tugged his hat brim. She could see why that side was so worn compared to the other—he was left handed.