Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

Claire Kowalski gazed across the table at Chad, her latest Sizzle match, and wished she’d swiped left instead of right. It wasn’t his looks, because he was tall and trim with a full head of thick, brown hair and a sexy Prince Charming cleft in his chin. It was literally everything else.

  “When you say rock climbing, you mean those walls in fitness centers, right?” He winked at her—gorgeous hazel eyes—and grinned. Why did he have a hard time believing she climbed? Maybe it was the Laurence Dacade heels or the shimmering silk shift she wore. It wasn’t like she could wear climbing gear on a dinner date, and besides, if scaling granite was her first love, fashion was her second. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “I use walls for training, but I climb real rocks. Big ones. I’m the president of the Hill Country Rock Climbers Association.”

  Chad raised his eyebrows and his fork paused on its way to his mouth. He apparently thought better of whatever it was he was going to say and took a bite of steak instead. They’d suffered through enough stilted and boring conversation during the appetizers.

  You sell respiratory equipment? How exciting!

  She’d worked hard at keeping her eyes from glazing over. He was equally unimpressed by her job at Petal Pushers, a nursery and garden center, but her rock climbing revelation seemed to pique his interest.

  “So, like, you climb up sheer rock walls and stuff? I thought you had to be pretty strong to do that.”

  Claire was aware she didn’t look as tough as she was. Tall and curvy, with what her mother referred to as a “shock” of red hair, she was easy to spot while scaling a cliff. She was easy to spot period. She took a bite of dry salmon and downed it with a substantial sip of merlot.

  “I’m no expert, but I’ve done some Class 5 climbs.”

  She waited for him to ask what qualified as a Class 5 climb. That’s how this worked. It’s your turn.

  “I’m a runner,” he said.

  They were back to Chad’s favorite subject: himself. That’s pretty much all he’d talked about for the past twenty minutes, and the few times he’d shown interest in anything she had to say, it was slightly demeaning.

  You didn’t go to college? That’s fine. Women don’t really need to.

  You’ve never been to Europe? Italy is the best. You should go.

  You haven’t tried sushi? How does that happen?

  The arrival of their entrées had been a relief because it meant the date was closer to being over. She just needed to scarf down her salmon, politely decline dessert, coffee, and if she was reading this guy right, fellatio. Then she could get back to her comfy little house in Big Verde, put on her PJ’s, and find the dog-eared page of the Scottish Highlander paperback she was reading with her book club. In the meantime, she’d do her part for polite conversation. She might be a Southern girl who rock climbed, but she was still a Southern girl. “I see a lot of trail runners when I’m out and about. Do you run on trails?”

  She placed her money on this guy being more of a city streets runner.

  “I run at the gym,” he said. “Where it’s air conditioned. And I do cross fit, of course.”

  “Of course.” She squinted over her wineglass, which had miraculously worked its way back to her lips, and concluded (a) he was everything she’d chalked him up to be; (b) his healthy glow came from a tanning bed; and (c) she might have to fake a text from her dying grandmother.

  “I don’t belong to a gym,” she said, setting her wineglass down. “Big Verde is too small to have one, and I’d rather be outdoors anyway.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re a small-town girl,” he said. “You sure don’t look like one.”

  What was one supposed to look like? Big Verde was only an hour from Austin and an hour and a half from San Antonio. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a mall. Her dress had come from Nordstrom.

  “This is Kobe beef, you know,” Chad said, pointing to his plate. “You should have gotten the steak instead of salmon.”

  “That’s not Kobe,” Claire said. Kobe was extremely rare and most places who claimed to sell it were outright lying. The reason they got away with it was because there were an awful lot of people willing to be duped if it made them feel special.

  “Well, I heard it was real Kobe. A guy from the gym told me they serve it here. And I’m pretty familiar with what constitutes a fine cut of beef.” Chad picked up his knife and poked at his steak. “Look at this beautiful marbling.”

  It was barely marbled—Chad wouldn’t know a good cut of meat if it bit him on the ass. “Marbling is just fat, and it’s usually the result of corn feeding, which might be tasty, but it’s not very good for the animal or the person consuming it. Have you ever been to a feed lot? Have you ever smelled one?”

  “You act like you grew up on a ranch.”

  “That’s because I did. My family owns Rancho Canada Verde.”

  Canada Verde meant green canyon in Spanish, and at twelve thousand acres, it was no small family farm. The Kowalskis had owned and operated it for three generations, but it had been Claire’s dad who turned it into a household name among the growing organic, grass-fed market.

  “Never heard of it,” Chad said. “Do you have cows and stuff?”

  Cows and stuff are what turned a chunk of land into a ranch. “Yes. And I typically don’t eat anything with four legs unless I knew it by name.”

  “That’s kind of…morbid, isn’t it?” Chad shuddered a little.

  “Yes. It’s why I’m a pescetarian.”

  “Your profile says you’re Baptist.” Chad cocked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they eat meat.”

  “True,” Claire said, although she doubted they ate Kobe. She lifted her wineglass. “It’s drinking they don’t do. And anyway, pescetarian means I eat fish.” She was surprised he didn’t know that. It must not be a fad anymore. Maybe pescetarianism had been replaced by fake Japanese beef consumption.

  “I bet you don’t get out like this very often,” Chad said, looking around the restaurant. “I hope it’s a treat, coming to the city and going to a nice place.”

  She wanted to point out that the restaurant was part of an overpriced chain, but why bother. Maybe she’d just have some fun instead. Then she was getting out of here. “Yes, thanks for giving me this opportunity to get dolled up and whatnot,” she said. She picked up a fork and pretended to marvel at it.

  “That’s a dessert fork,” Chad said.

  Claire rolled her eyes and put the fork down. At what point did Southern manners become ridiculous? She wasn’t going to go out with Chad again, and there was a Scottish Highlander waiting for her (in a kilt, no less) back in Big Verde. Did she really need to waste precious time with a cold fish? Chad, not the salmon.

  Chad cleared his throat. Maybe he would be the one to end the date early. “I was thinking we could go back to my place after dessert.”

  Nope. Claire pushed her chair back and stood. “This has been fun,” she said, because she couldn’t shake those manners entirely. “But I really need to be getting back—”

  “What for? What could possibly be happening in Big Little Town that you need to get back to?”

  Somebody really wanted his blowjob.

  “Listen, Chad. I can get a better steak for half the cost at the Corner Café in Big Verde. And speaking of Big Verde, people visit from all over to enjoy its scenic beauty and unique shops. Our mayor graduated from Harvard Divinity School, and I know that because she’s my aunt. We’re hardly a one-horse town, despite our single stoplight.”

  The only downside to Big Verde’s size was its distinct lack of available men. Claire had dated every single one of them. Only Ford Jarvis had tickled her fancy.

  In fact, he’d tickled it three times in one night.

  But he had no plans to ever settle down. He’d been cruelly clear about that. And just when Claire thought she’d finally gotten over him, he’d come back to Big Verde. It was why she’d upped her activity level on Sizzle.

  Chad stood abruptly, scraping h
is chair loudly across the floor. “You haven’t even finished your dinner. And that was an expensive entrée.”

  Claire dug in her purse and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills. She dropped them on the table, along with the dessert fork, and then slammed back the last of her wine. “Dang,” she said. “That’s a decent merlot.”

  * * *

  Thunder rumbled through the Texas Hill Country as Ford Jarvis leaned back in his kitchen chair, balancing on two legs. It had been raining on and off for three days. Nothing too hard, a light but steady shower, but the thunderstorm scheduled to hit this evening might be the straw breaking the camel’s back. The ground was saturated, the creeks were full, and if the sky opened and dumped on Big Verde, they could see some flash flooding.

  He pulled out his phone and checked the weather radar, letting out a low whistle that earned him a glare from Dwaine. “Things are about to get worse,” he said.

  Dwaine pulled his tiny ears tightly against his head. His beady eyes darted around the room, tail twitching while he looked for a place to hide. “Too bad you’re a mean, mite-riddled cat instead of a friendly dog a guy could relax with,” Ford said. Dwaine had shown up on a stormy night much like this one when Ford was living in a bunkhouse outside of Sonora. He hadn’t wanted to take the nasty creature with him when he’d left for Odessa, but he’d been afraid the other ranch hands would let the poor thing starve. Same story for when he’d moved to El Paso, and from El Paso to Big Verde.

  Four ranches in two years; five if you considered he’d hit Big Verde twice.

  Who knew how long he’d stay? He’d been very firm with Gerome Kowalski, the owner of the infamous Rancho Canada Verde, about this stint as ranch foreman being temporary. Although if Ford was forced to admit it, he’d been downright flattered when Gerome had personally called him and asked him to come back to the ranch. Most cowboys would move heaven and earth for Gerome Kowalski, and Ford was no exception.

  The radar showed a threatening cloud of red and hot pink just to the north, and it was headed straight for Big Verde. If they got a downpour, Wailing Woman Creek would swell, and the crossing would be under water. That meant he’d be cut off from the outside world until the water receded. He crossed his legs with a pleasant sigh. He and Dwaine had a thing or two in common.

  Of course, the other folks living this side of Wailing Woman would also be cut off. He’d have to check on that old hermit, Ruben, and goddammit, he’d also have to check on Claire.

  His right eye twitched. His thumb hovered over his phone. Don’t do it, dipshit.

  He did it. Clicked on the Sizzle dating app and logged in. Because yes, he had a fucking login for a fucking online dating site. Hell, he’d never used any form of social media. Had snubbed it, in fact. And here he was with a Sizzle profile. A password, username, the whole nine yards.

  He wasn’t even looking for a date. But Claire was. Buddy Moy had come across her profile last week, and he’d been all too happy to share the news.

  Ford hadn’t been able to see Claire’s profile unless he set up his own. He’d hoped that the username Ugly As Sin and the lack of a profile picture would serve as a deterrent to all the single ladies, but no such luck. He had twelve new messages.

  Ford ignored them and went straight to Claire’s profile. His heart stuttered, and he dropped his chair back to all four legs at the sight of Claire’s smiling face framed by that mass of red hair. A tiger’s eyes, brown like honey with specks of fiery orange, stared back at him. No, through him. He shook off the sensation that she knew he was looking, that he was doing something wrong or invading her privacy. Hell, she had put it out there. Obviously, she wanted people to see it.

  Username: Glass Slipper

  Age: 29

  On weekends you’ll find me: Shopping for ALL the shoes. Rock climbing by day, two-stepping by night, and enjoying everything the beautiful Texas Hill Country has to offer.

  Looking For: Prince Charming (NO PRESSURE LOL)

  Ford had read these words probably ten or thirty times (who was counting?), but they still settled in his stomach like a block of concrete. He’d never be Claire Kowalski’s ridiculous idea of Prince Charming. The boot didn’t fit.

  Claire’s Sizzle profile identified her as an “active” member. What the hell did that mean? He sure hoped it didn’t mean she was out on a night like this. Especially since she’d recently traded in her Range Rover for a bright red impractical chunk of low-clearance tin called a Mini Cooper. She’d said it was cute. Cute! Ford didn’t care if it had dimples and a lollipop, mini anythings were not safe. This was Texas. People went big in Texas, and that included vehicles. If a truck, or even a goddam deer, smacked into a mini-whatever, it was going to do some serious damage. That bit of obviousness, combined with the fact that Claire drove her car even faster than she ran her mouth, worried the shit out of him.

  He logged out of Sizzle and went back to the weather radar. The mass of thunder, wind, and rain would slam into Big Verde within the hour. He’d already checked on Coco, and the horse was settled snuggly in the stable. They’d weathered plenty a storm together, and Ford knew the Mustang would keep his wits about him. Nothing to do but ride it out. And try not to think about Claire.

  About the Author

  Carly Bloom began her writing career as a family humor columnist and blogger, a pursuit she abandoned when her children grew old enough to literally die from embarrassment. To save their delicate lives, Carly turned to penning steamy, contemporary romance. The kind with bare chests on the covers.

  Carly and her husband raise their mortified brood of offspring on a cattle ranch in South Texas. Also? Carly is vegan. The cows love her.

  Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.

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