It's All About That Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Carol Pavliska

  Preview of Cowboy Come Home © 2020 by Carol Pavliska

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10104

  read-forever.com

  twitter.com/readforeverpub

  First Edition: January 2020

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBN 978-1-5387-1610-6

  E3-20191216-DANF-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Discover More

  A Preview of COWBOY COME HOME

  About the Author

  Look for more Carly Bloom books!

  Also by Carly Bloom

  To everyone who’s ever lived in a single-stoplight town (and tried to keep a secret in it)

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  Acknowledgments

  This was my first novella, and I admit to having been a bit nervous about it. I’m not really known for being a short-winded girl, and conversations with me almost always require pulling up a chair. I honestly wasn’t sure I could write a complete story in under thirty thousand words, but with the help of a few of my usual suspects (and some new unsuspecting innocents), I was able to pull it off.

  You might think there’d be fewer people to thank with a shorter book, but you’d be wrong.

  As usual, thank you to Alison Bliss for always believing in me and telling me I could do it, and to Sam Tschida for telling me Quit yer bitchin’, Sylvia Plath. Y’all don’t realize it, but you’re Good Cop and Bad Cop, and I need you both desperately. And thank you to Jessica Snyder for being the voice of reason, and to Amy Bearce (hugely!!) for reading every single scene on Facebook Messenger. That had to be a special kind of hell.

  Thank you to SARA members Molly Mirren, Jolene Navarro, Frances Trilone, Makenna Lee, and Sasha Summers for helping me plot this puppy (with cocktails).

  And thank you to my agent, Paige Wheeler, for always having my back; and to my editor, Madeleine Colavita, whose feedback gave me confidence and brought out the best in Casey and Jessica.

  Last but not least, thank you to my readers for always being ready to pull up a chair.

  Now let me tell you a story.

  Chapter One

  Jessica Acosta sat alone at Big Verde’s single stoplight, fingers gripping the steering wheel of the bright red Porsche, feeling conspicuous as hell. Her sensible crossover SUV was in the shop for scheduled maintenance, so yesterday she; her eleven-year-old sister, Hope; and her boss, Carmen, had driven all the way from Houston in Carmen’s tiny red attention whore of a car. As if Carmen, with her bright blue hair and multiple piercings and tattoos, needed it.

  It had been cramped but fun. They’d jammed to all the girl jams, talked all the girl talk, and squealed all the girl squeals when they’d hit the 130 toll road outside of Seguin with its eighty-five-miles-per-hour speed limit.

  Hope had loved it. Like Carmen, she was an adrenaline junkie. Jessica was more of a white-knuckled party pooper. But somebody had to be the grown-up of the trio, and it was usually her.

  They’d checked into the Big Verde Motor Inn last night, only to check right back out. Carmen hadn’t liked the way the room smelled. Or the way it looked. She said the duvets had probably never been washed. She looked at a speck of something and insisted it was a bedbug.

  Jessica hadn’t been able to detect the smell—or bedbugs—and she knew Carmen’s criticisms were only meant to land them in the nearby Village Château, a fancy hotel with a really great restaurant Carmen was dying to try.

  Since Hope had asthma, allergies, and was getting over a cold, Jessica couldn’t risk the chance that Carmen’s delicate nose really had detected mold. So, now they had a suite at the Village Château, where Hope and Carmen were probably living it up in luxury this very moment.

  It was just as well. It would be easier for Carmen to entertain Hope there while Jessica was at the funeral.

  Jessica looked up and down Main Street. Big Verde was her hometown, but she might as well be a stranger here. She and her mom had left the morning after high school graduation, and she’d never been back.

  Until now.

  She was here for Mavis Long’s funeral and what she assumed to be a reading of her will. The lawyer hadn’t called it that, but what else could it be? If you could be at my office on Monday at 9:00, we have some items to discuss at the request of Miss Mavis.

  It was no surprise to Jessica that Hope would be mentioned in the will. Mavis had promised, and she kept her promises. But if word of it got out—and it would—the folks in Big Verde would be extremely surprised. Perplexed. Titillated. Other words that indicated excitement over gossip fodder.

  Whispers.

  Scandal.

  Drama.

  Welcome Home!

  Jessica shuddered and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  Her goal had been to get in and out of the funeral like a ninja, not to roll in like a drag queen firing a glitter bomb. Not that drag queens necessarily drove red Porsches, but both would draw about the same amount of attention in downtown Big Verde, Texas.

  She slunk down in her seat. Change, light. Change.

  The town hadn’t even had a stoplight when she’d grown up here. And since nobody had driven through the intersection during the approximately eleventy billion hours she’d been sitting at it, Big Verde still shouldn’t have one.

  It had to be broken. And if it was, everybody in town knew it, and they were probably watching through their storefront windows to see how long it would take the stranger—her!—to figure it out.

  She tapped the gas pedal in frustration, which resulted in inadvertent engine-revving. A sideways glance at the boutique called Cathy’s Closet confirmed she had drawn some attention. A face peeked through the green shoe polish letters on the window—FE FI FO FUM…KEEP THOSE BADGERS ON THE RUN!—to stare at her.

  It was Friday, and the Big Verde Giant
s would apparently be battling the Smithtown Badgers at the football field later tonight. The band would play, the cheerleaders would cheer, and unless they’d hired a new coach since Jessica’s cheerleading days, the Giants would lose.

  Cathy’s Closet was new. Cute clothes in the window. It had been a hardware store back in the day. A woman who was probably Cathy came out to sweep the pristine sidewalk and covertly stare at Jessica.

  Jessica squinted back from behind her big sunglasses. Was that Cathy Schneider? Holy cow! It was! Cathy had hardly changed at all. Not only was she still rocking her seventh-grade hairdo, but she wore enough accessory items to sink a ship. Thankfully, Jessica’s dark sunglasses shielded her eyes from the glare of Cathy’s bangle bracelets.

  Jessica nearly waved. She and Cathy had been friends once. But Cathy didn’t seem to recognize her now, and anyway, Jessica wasn’t here for reunions. She was here to pay her respects to Mavis Long quickly, quietly, and without fanfare.

  In a bright red Porsche.

  Jessica swallowed a lump the size of Texas. Cathy wasn’t going to be the only person from her past she’d see this weekend. In a town the size of Big Verde, literally everyone was someone from her past, but it was Casey Long who had her concerned. She’d prepared a little speech—Hey, Casey. How have you been? Remember how you took my virginity and tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage?—but hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. Who knew? Maybe Casey wasn’t even in Big Verde anymore. Maybe he’d hit it big in the rodeo world, just like he’d always dreamed, and was halfway across the country trying not to fall off a bull.

  She imagined him being tossed across an arena by an angry black bull with flaring nostrils and cartoon smoke coming out of its ears. And then she realized she’d accidentally revved the Porsche’s engine again. Getting ready to charge.

  She sighed. Even if Casey didn’t live in Big Verde anymore, he’d come home for his great-aunt’s funeral. He was a Long, so there would be no getting out of it.

  This was ridiculous. How long could a woman sit at an intersection? There was nothing coming as far as the eye could see, so when Cathy turned her back, Jessica eased into the intersection, and then hurried across. The tires squealed just a little, because she wasn’t used to so much power.

  And that’s when she heard the siren.

  Her body broke out in a sweat. Her skin felt like it was being poked by a million needles. A rush of adrenaline and pure, white-hot panic overtook her.

  Breathe. At worst, it’s a traffic ticket. Just breathe.

  * * *

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

  Casey was going to be late for his great-aunt’s funeral. Some dumbass in a red Porsche had run the light just as he’d turned onto Main Street.

  He’d have been happy to ignore it—pretend he hadn’t seen it—except he couldn’t because (a) you couldn’t pretend not to see a red Porsche in Big Verde, and (b) there was an audience. He had no choice but to pull the guy over and provide some much-needed excitement for Big Verde’s downtown business district.

  Cathy Schneider held up a…broom? as he drove by, and Danny Moreno, the pharmacist at the Rite Aid, waved and smiled in approval when Casey turned the cruiser’s lights on.

  The idiot pulled over in front of the Pump ’n’ Go, so at least Casey wouldn’t have to chase him. Four old ranchers, who’d probably been talking shit at the coffee bar, came out to the sidewalk, ready to watch the show.

  Casey pulled up behind the Porsche. Big Verde was a small town of locals, but the pretty Texas Hill Country views and green, clear waters of the Rio Verde attracted tourists and city folks looking for country homes. Most of them were nice families who pumped much-needed revenue into the town during the summer. But a few of them were assholes.

  He squinted at the Porsche and ran the plates.

  It was registered to Carmen Foraccio. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He got out of his cruiser and waved at the sidewalk gawkers before adopting his most menacing scowl.

  “Go get ’em, tiger!” one of the ranchers yelled.

  Casey couldn’t let a grin ruin the scowl he’d perfected, so he ignored the fan club. He’d give the lady a warning and be done with it.

  The car’s window was rolled halfway down, but he couldn’t see inside. At six feet four inches tall, he towered over the car, which seemed like a damn toy next to him. The top of it barely passed his belt buckle. “Good morning,” he said, in the general direction of the window beneath him. “You just blew through a red light.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer. I think that light must be broken.”

  It wasn’t broken. But it did tend to have a mind of its own. Casey had sneaked through it a few times himself, although never while on duty.

  “License and proof of insurance, please,” Casey responded. He didn’t have time to stand here socializing.

  “Okay, hold on a sec.”

  Casey sighed and tapped his foot.

  The voice, like the name, sounded familiar. It stirred up a feeling of nostalgia, which was weird, because when he tried to locate Carmen Foraccio in his memory banks, he came up blank.

  He backed up a bit and peeked through the window. And what he saw was a very nice, round ass in a tight black skirt as the woman dug around in the glove compartment. The skirt crawled up her thighs as she struggled, and Casey straightened quickly, feeling as if he’d sneaked a peek on purpose, which he absolutely had not.

  “I’m trying to find the insurance card,” the woman said with a muffled voice.

  Casey shifted from foot to foot as he experienced…Irritation? Excitement?

  He’d definitely heard that voice before.

  “Still looking!” she called.

  Casey looked at his watch. “Ma’am, that’s fine. Just your license please. I’ll look up the insurance.”

  “Um, okay. Hold on…”

  He glanced in the window again. Got an eyeful of curvy thigh as Ms. Foraccio switched course to dig behind the passenger seat.

  “It’s in my purse.”

  Casey stared up at the blue sky. Whistled. Tried not to look back into the car or at the sidewalk Pump ’n’ Go gawkers who were by now hoping to witness a pat down.

  “Oh…” the woman said with a shaky voice that made Casey wonder what was coming next.

  “My…”

  He glanced back inside the car to see the woman frantically patting herself down and squirming in the seat.

  “God.”

  She looked up at him. Big movie star glasses concealed nearly the entire upper half of her heart-shaped face. Below the glasses were pouty lips, pink and shiny from something that probably tasted like bubble gum, not that he was thinking about what her lips tasted like.

  A part of him was definitely thinking about what her lips tasted like. And another part of him, for some stupid reason, felt like it already knew.

  “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

  He hoped his voice sounded firmer than he felt, because for some damn reason his legs were shaky.

  “I think I left my purse at the hotel.”

  Casey stood up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Ms. Foraccio, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.”

  He sighed and cracked his knuckles.

  Shit.

  Chapter Two

  Jessica couldn’t believe she’d left her purse at the hotel. The car was registered to Carmen, so this should be interesting.

  She lowered the window the rest of the way. She couldn’t see his badge. Just his waist, which was bedazzled by a huge silver belt buckle. HILL COUNTRY TRI-COUNTY RODEO CHAMP.

  Not surprising in Big Verde. And she didn’t doubt his cop status, since in addition to the belt buckle, he also had a nightstick and a holstered gun.

  “Please step out of the vehicle,” the officer repeated.

  “Am I going to be arrested?”

  “Not if you do what I ask and exit the vehicle. Unless
you’re wanted for murder or have a shit ton of parking tickets.”

  Jesus. Would this guy back up or bend down? She really didn’t want to continue talking to the belt buckle. She was nervous, and that made her want to do things like lean out the window, put her lips right up to that ridiculous chunk of rodeo metal, and yell, “I’ll take a burger and fries! And supersize it!”

  She swallowed those words right down and instead said, “I need to make a phone call.” Dang! Her phone was in her purse.

  “We’re not at the part where you get to make a phone call yet,” the smart-ass said. “Now I need you to get out of the car, nice and slow.”

  The man took a couple of steps back and bent down to peer in the window. It was a relief to put some distance between her and the belt buckle.

  Aviator cop glasses rested on a long Roman nose, over lips drawn into a tight, straight line. And below those lips, which were full and promising despite being pursed like they’d just sucked on a lemon, was a very familiar chin. With a cleft.

  Jessica gripped the steering wheel as her body went into fight-or-flight mode.

  Fight: Hey, Casey. How have you been? Remember how you took my virginity and tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage?

  Or

  Flight: This Porsche could outrun a cop, right?

  Also: Casey was a cop? What the hell?

  Without thinking—because thoughts were impossible once your lizard brain took over—she revved the engine.

  “Ma’am—”

  That voice! It was lower than she remembered, but it was definitely the voice of Casey Long.

  What was he doing in law enforcement? She never would have seen that coming. In high school, Casey had been the town’s rebel teen, and they’d been such a dumb cliché—Good Girl falls for Bad Boy—before Casey had gotten what he’d wanted and then forgotten her.

  She’d never forgotten him though. And even in her terrified rage, something softened inside her. Dang it. That was what made him dangerous.

  The engine raced again. She must have depressed the pedal without realizing it.