Grumpy Cowboy: A Hot Single Dad, Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Max Monroe

  “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

  “So…” I pause, almost holding back from the current glaring question in my mind, but then I just can’t help myself. “What’s it feel like in there?”

  “Leah. Come on.” Rhett sighs, takes off his cowboy hat, and runs his hand through his hair, before putting his hat back on. “Are you really askin’ me that?”

  His eyes are wide with the words he won’t say. It feels like a cow pussy, Leah. That’s the whole point.

  “I just mean, is it wet? Dry? Cold? Warm? I’m suddenly in need of answers I never knew I had questions for.”

  Rhett chuckles. “It’s warm and wet, just like a man likes it. We put some lube in there and heat it to the right temperature to simulate the real thing, and they pretty much come as soon as they put it inside.”

  “One-pump chumps? All of them?”

  “Believe it or not, that’s actually what we’re lookin’ for here. The sooner we fill a vial with their semen, the better. We’ve got a hundred bulls to work through in a day, and that’s the kind of thing that takes time, even if they go quick.”

  “That so doesn’t apply to the human equivalent,” I say before thinking better of it, and once again, red spreads into my cheeks.

  Thankfully—surprisingly—Rhett doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he hobbles forward toward Ronald to take over.

  I jump into action without thinking then, because I know damn well he doesn’t need to be standing next to a full-grown, huge bull when he can’t get out of the way quickly if he needs to. At least, not without doing so much damage to his leg that it’ll be over for him here at Shaw Springs.

  I mean, these bulls appear pretty controlled and used to the hump schedule, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any risk involved.

  They’re fucking bulls. They’re giant beasts. They’re basically walking, grunting, “I’m a huge risk” billboards.

  “I’ll do it,” I nearly shout, the words just flying out of my mouth before I can stop them as I jump forward with a hand in the air to volunteer. “I’ll collect the sperm. I can do it.”

  Good God, what is happening to me right now?

  Ronald and Rhett glance between each other, and then do some sort of nod in private, manspeak communication. I wait for Ronald to move the bull who’s just finished back out of the way and return with another before stepping forward.

  Ronald nods in introduction, rather than sticking out a hand, but given where it’s been for the last few hours, I don’t object.

  “Hi there,” he says cordially.

  “Hi,” I respond. “I’m Leah.”

  “Nice to meet ya.”

  I smile nervously. I cannot believe I’m about to hold a cow Fleshlight for a bull while he blows his load.

  This is so crazy, it almost doesn’t seem real.

  I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. And suddenly, I’m working in the adult bovine industry, procuring sperm to be sold in the online marketplace.

  Yeah, and sadly, this is about to be the most action with a penis you’ve had in months…

  Oh my God. I roll my eyes at myself and try to keep my mind-set professional.

  I am a serious bull sperm collector. I’m just…doing my job here. Just helping bulls blow their loads in the name of the national cow population. It’s basically a patriotic duty. Like joining the military or running for president.

  Goodness. Even I’m having a hard time acting like that thought process is completely normal, but when Ronald starts to give me instructions on the hump-inducing device, I’m well aware time is officially up and I’m about to go where most women—most human beings—never thought they’d go.

  Right into the ring with a horny bull and a fake cow vagina in my hand.

  Holy shit.

  Rhett

  I watch as Ronald places the large tube in Leah’s now-gloved hand, and the enjoyment that I thought I would get out of putting her in this situation doesn’t come.

  If anything, I feel like I’m living up to what Tiny called me earlier—a real evil bastard.

  But despite my newfound reticence, the show goes on. Once Ronald is confident he has her all squared away with instructions, he offers a wave goodbye before he heads out, and Leah is locked and loaded and ready to begin her task of her first sperm collection.

  Fucking hell. This feels wrong.

  If my mama found out I put a woman like Leah Levee in this situation, she’d beat the shit out of me.

  And kindhearted Jenny Jameson isn’t exactly one for violence.

  Most women around here wouldn’t think twice about this shit, but I know for a woman who lives her life in bright dresses and six-inch heels, this kind of thing has to come as a hell of a culture shock.

  A part of me wants to tell Ronald to stop and finish the rest of the collections before he leaves, but I know he has plenty of other shit to get done today—plus, a whole other part of me feels vindicated in the choice.

  Leah’s known I haven’t wanted her help for well over a week now, and still, she’s insisted on inserting herself into my days anyway. She’s had an out—she’s had several, really—so in that sense, I feel like all’s fair in this kind of war.

  Eyes back toward the ring, I watch as Tilly, one of our younger ranch hands who’s apprenticing under Ronald, offers Leah an encouraging smile as he holds the female cow still.

  Leah licks her lips nervously and steps up to the bull, her eyes damn near bigger than the bull’s, and it all feels like a real kick to the fucking gut.

  Shit. I can’t let this continue.

  “Hold on!” I shout toward the two of them, and Leah pauses to glance at me over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything just yet,” I instruct, my words firm enough to get my point across.

  Both Leah and Tilly stay rooted to their spots, and I hold up one finger. “Give me a minute. I need to check on something before we proceed.”

  Without delay, I turn on my heel and hobble toward the truck where my bag sits inside the back seat. Handheld radio in my hand, I hit the button and signal over to my oldest and most reliable ranch hand.

  “Tiny, where are ya?”

  The speaker screeches and squeals, but within thirty seconds, he’s responding.

  “Still over at the stalls. Need somethin’?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Ronald had to leave. Need ya to take over bull sperm collection.”

  “No shit?” he retorts, and I don’t miss the amusement in his damn voice. “You finally realizin’ you gotta stop tryin’ to do everything?”

  Nosy bastard. I roll my eyes. “Just shut up and get over here, all right?”

  “Copy that.”

  After I slide the radio into the back pocket of my jeans, I head back toward Leah and Tilly. Thankfully, they’re both right where I left them—Tilly still keeping one of our females in place and Leah standing there with the fucking tube in her hand, only a few feet away from the next bull.

  “Tilly, take a ten-minute break,” I instruct. “Leah, follow me.”

  “What?” she asks, waving the tube around in confusion. “Where are we going?”

  “We got somewhere else to be.”

  She squints toward me. “But I didn’t collect any of the sperm…?”

  “Tiny’s gonna take over.”

  “Why?” she retorts, putting her free hand to her hip. “You don’t think I can do this?”

  “Never said that, darlin’. We just got somethin’ else we need to do.”

  “But you’re thinking it.” She narrows her eyes, and when I realize she isn’t going to budge from her spot, I step forward to get the process moving quicker.

  “I’m not thinkin’ anything,” I say and reach out to take the tube from her hand, but she yanks the damn thing away.

  “You don’t think I can handle this,” she spits. “What? You think I’m too girlie for this or something? That this is men’s work and the women should be back home in the kitchen cooking meals? That’s misogyny at its finest, R
hett.”

  Oh sweet Jesus. This situation has nothing to do with me being sexist. It has to do with me feeling badly for putting her in this situation in the first place, given her lack of experience with this sort of shit. If this is the thanks I get for calling it off, though, I’m not entirely sure why I’ve bothered.

  “Darlin’, I never said any of that.” I sigh and reach out to take the sleeve again, but she pulls it farther away from me.

  “It’s not the flipping fifties, you know,” she continues on her ramblin’ rampage. “Women can do everything men can do. If we want to jerk off bulls into a fake cow pussy, we can do it.”

  Tilly chokes on his own saliva when the word pussy falls from Leah’s lips.

  And here, I was worried I was going to traumatize her. Ha. This woman is so fucking stubborn that she’s now fighting me over collecting a bull’s sperm.

  If I weren’t so damn annoyed, I might actually be amused.

  “Leah, relax,” I state, and despite my rising irritation, I try my best to calm her down. “I’m well aware you can do this. Truly. No one is doubting that.” I glance at Tilly. “Right, Till?”

  But all he can offer is a manic nod with wide eyes. Poor kid is about to be the only one walking away from this situation traumatized.

  “Then let me do it,” she declares with that sassy free hand of hers on her hip again. “This bull wants to get his rocks off, and I want to help him get his rocks off. So, go away and let me collect the sperm.”

  Christ. Leah Levee might be more fucking obstinate than me.

  Never in a million years did I think I’d be arguing with a woman over something like this, but here I am.

  “What are y’all doin’ here?” Tiny’s voice fills my ears, and I glance over my shoulder to see him walking up toward us.

  I sigh.

  Tilly just stands there looking like a deer in headlights, confused as hell over what to do.

  But Leah? Oh, she’s confident in her task. “Just trying to collect sperm, but Rhett appears either insistent on slowing us all down, or he doesn’t think I can do it. I’m guessing it’s probably a little of both.”

  “Is that right?” Tiny smirks and glances between the two of us.

  We’re basically in a Wild-West-style standoff, and it’s all over the cow vagina sleeve still gripped tightly in Leah’s hand.

  “Yep,” she answers, glaring at me.

  But her words don’t stop Tiny. He strides right past me and directly to her, and without saying anything, he takes the tube out of her hand.

  “I’m sure ya’d do a fine job, Doc. But see, my mama—may she rest in peace—she’d spin in her grave if she knew I’d let a pretty woman like you be involved in a dirty task like this when I could’a done it for ya.”

  “But—” Leah starts to interject, but Tiny is having none of it.

  “You go on with Rhett now,” he says and takes her place near the bull.

  Leah scowls at me, her eyes showing that she knows full well I called Tiny to take over for her. But instead of offering another feisty response, she stomps away from all of us and heads toward the truck without another word.

  Tiny smirks at me.

  Tilly looks relieved.

  And I run a hand down my face on an exasperated sigh.

  How on earth did this situation end with her being the one mad at me?

  All because I stopped her from taking part in goddamn bull sperm collection.

  Son of a bitch.

  My first instincts about Leah Levee stand correct—she’s going to be a real pain in my ass.

  Leah

  Gravel crunches under my shoes as I stomp away from Rhett, and I don’t stop my fast pace until I reach the truck.

  “The fucking nerve of him,” I mutter to myself.

  It’s like he thinks I’m too delicate or something to handle the stupid task of collecting bull sperm. Like it’s a man’s job, and because I’m a woman, I’m not strong enough to do it.

  I was going to fucking do it!

  I could’ve easily done it, but then Rhett decided to step in and stop me before I could even get started on the first freaking bull.

  Seriously, what the hell is his problem?

  It’s like he wants to make everything as difficult and exasperating as possible for me.

  I roll my eyes and swing open the driver’s side door of the loaned F-150. Once I hop inside, I slam my hands against the steering wheel and let out a harsh exhale while I mentally curse Rhett Jameson.

  Mr. Know-It-All.

  Fucking jerk.

  Broody, asshole cowboy.

  If he isn’t acting like a pompous ass about his beloved ranch and all the responsibilities that come with it, he’s acting like he went to fucking medical school and knows how to handle his own knee injury.

  God, he’s infuriating.

  Maybe the most infuriating man I’ve ever met in my life.

  Which, considering my dad is a real piece of selfish, irresponsible work, I would’ve thought no one would be able to take his coveted top spot.

  Apparently, though, I was completely wrong.

  Rhett Jameson is—

  “Rhett Jameson is what?”

  The deep, husky voice startles me, and I look to my right to find the cowboy-devil himself standing there, the passenger side door wide open and his eyes directed at me.

  I have no idea how long he’s been standing there or how long I’ve been verbalizing my inner monologue out loud. Shit.

  “Go on,” he continues, and I don’t miss the way his lips crest up into a knowing, confident smirk. “Finish what you were saying, darlin’. I mean, with all that passion you had backing up them words of yours, it sounds like it’s somethin’ you need to get off your chest.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I retort and narrow my eyes toward him. “I’m going to keep my thoughts to myself.”

  “It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” he tosses back, and that stupid smirk only grows wider. “So, go on. Tell me how you really feel.”

  I glower at him, and he just continues to stare back at me, far too relaxed and amused for my liking. I should probably feel like a kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but if anything, I just feel more pissed.

  Like, infuriatingly pissed.

  The kind of anger that makes your blood boil and your reactions occur before your brain even has time to contemplate them.

  “I’m waitin’,” he says, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

  The combination of those two words and his smug expression is what pushes me over the edge.

  “Fine,” I spit, my words completely fueled by emotion rather than actual logic. “You want to know how I really feel?”

  “I’m all ears, darlin’.”

  “I think you’re being a real asshole, Rhett Jameson. And you’ve been nothing but a pompous, know-it-all prick to me since I stepped foot on this ranch,” I proclaim, and his response is the opposite of what I’d expect.

  Instead of getting offended or mad, he simply chuckles. “Considering I think you’re a real pain in my ass, then I’d say we’re pretty much even, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m a pain in your ass?” I question and scrunch up my nose in annoyance. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

  He eases himself into the passenger seat and shuts the door. “You remember how to get back to the lodge from here?” he asks, but I’m not ready to leave yet. Oh no. Pandora’s box of bullshit has been opened, and I have more to say.

  “I could’ve done it.”

  “Could’ve done what?”

  “With the bulls,” I explain. “Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I couldn’t handle it.”

  He lets out a deep, irritated sigh. “This had nothing to fuckin’ do with you being a woman.”

  “Then why’d you call Tiny over?”

  “Christ, darlin’. How long you gonna be pissed about this?” he retorts, completely avoiding the question.<
br />
  “As long as it takes to get a straight answer out of you.”

  “Because you looked fuckin’ uncomfortable.” He sighs, takes off his cowboy hat, and tosses it down onto the dashboard. “And even though I’m an asshole like you say, I don’t get enjoyment out of making people feel bad,” he finally answers and turns slightly to meet my eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need you to focus on the important shit, like driving us to the lodge so I can check on inventory for the guests arriving this weekend before I have to head to Barn Four to deal with the chicken coop.”

  “I wasn’t scared shitless. Or miserable,” I retort, and he shakes his head on a laugh.

  “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  “I would’ve done it.”

  He shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. “I’m well aware of that.”

  “And I would’ve done a damn good job.”

  “Of course,” he says, but his voice is all placating. “You’d be the best damn bull sperm collector this ranch has ever seen. Hell, Ronald would’ve started to get worried about job security.”

  I quirk a defiant brow at him. “I know you’re patronizing me, but I’m going to ignore that and tell you the facts…”

  “And what are those facts, darlin’?”

  “I wasn’t scared about collecting the stupid sperm, and I would’ve done a good job,” I declare. “So damn good, those bulls would’ve thought a fucking bovine hooker stepped on to this ranch and would’ve felt obliged to pay me commission. Or, at the very least, leave me a tip on the freaking nightstand.”

  A smile starts to spread itself over his mouth, and Rhett bites his bottom lip to try to fight it. But it’s no use. A big-ass grin followed by a hearty laugh transpires, and the whole time, he’s just looking at me with amusement in his eyes.

  “What?” I question. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re pretty fucking hilarious,” he comments. “Bovine hooker? Tips on the nightstand? I mean, hell, Leah.” A few more laughs jump from his lungs, but eventually, once they slow, his eyes switch from amused to serious. “Listen, I know you could’ve done it. There was never a question in that. I can see from the short time I’ve known you that you’re a strong, determined woman.”