Must Love Cowboys: This steamy and heart-warming cowboy rom-com is a must-read! (Once Upon A Time In Texas)

by Carly Bloom

  Lacy. Red. Tiny.

  So tiny that they left quite a bit of curvy ass cheek exposed.

  He’d looked away quickly, but the image was seared into his brain. And now he could pull it up whenever he wanted, like when Alice was blathering on about—he glanced over his shoulder and listened—deer ticks.

  Lacy. Red. Tiny.

  Did she always wear tiny little panties? Probably. Except for maybe when she wore none at all. Like maybe for dressy occasions when she didn’t want those pesky visible lines some women were all concerned about. He remembered her at the Boots and Ball Gowns library gala a couple of years ago. That dress had been skin-tight.

  Light peachy color. Lots of sparkly beads. Only covered one shoulder. And this was way more detail than a cowboy should be able to recall about a ball gown.

  Beau shook his head, but his brain hopped right back on the track. Maybe she didn’t wear panties when she slept. Or maybe she didn’t wear anything at all while she slept.

  “Beau! Did you hear me?”

  She probably talked in her sleep. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I asked if we’re almost there. I think Sofie is tired.”

  Beau snickered. Sofie wasn’t tired, but he bet Alice’s butt and thighs were getting sore. Not to mention her mouth.

  “Actually, we’re here,” Beau said, bringing his horse to a stop at the bluff overlooking the dam.

  He climbed down and grabbed Alice’s stuff, which he’d placed in the saddlebag. Then he helped Alice down, inadvertently catching another glimpse of her sweet little butt cheeks.

  “Are your legs sore?” he asked.

  “No. But I admit they’re a bit shaky.”

  “Tomorrow, they’ll be sore.”

  “You ride every day. Do yours get sore?”

  “Nah. I’m used to it. My thigh and butt muscles get daily workouts.” Riding a horse was better than a gym membership.

  Alice’s eyes flitted below his belt, as if checking out his thigh muscles, and he remembered how he’d gotten to her that night at the hotel. He’d been shirtless then, but it appeared she also enjoyed seeing him in chaps.

  Most women did.

  “How do we get to the river?”

  Beau pointed at the bluff. “Down that trail. And you need to stick close. Maybe grab hold of me. Because those sandals weren’t made for trails.”

  Alice looked at her feet with a frown. “Do you think they’ll get ruined?”

  “Just be careful. But next time, wear boots. You don’t wear sandals to ride a horse.”

  Why was he thinking about a next time at the dam with Alice?

  “I don’t have boots.”

  “Then we’ll have to get you some.”

  And now he was talking about boot shopping. With Alice.

  He started down the steep trail with Alice on his heels. They hadn’t gone very far when her sandal slid on some rocks, and she crashed right into his back with a dainty grunt. He was big and sure-footed, so he barely budged.

  “Settle down back there, Allie Cat,” he said. And then, because he felt like he had no option—Alice wore shitty shoes and was clumsy on top of it—he reached back for her hand. Without a word, she took it, and the two of them continued down the trail without further incident.

  After they got to the riverbank, they picked their way over rocks and roots to get to the picnic table. He let go of her hand to set the bag on the bench, and for a moment they just stared at each other while his hand tingled.

  The river flowed gently over the top of the dam, and the soothing sound calmed his nerves. It was so peaceful and quiet—

  “Did you know that it’s the limestone bottom that makes the water so clear? And there’s a subterranean river here. We can’t see it, but if it weren’t for the dam, we’d probably be able to hear it if we got super quiet.”

  Beau snorted. “You’d have to stop talking for a minute, Allie Cat.”

  Alice crossed her arms. “What?”

  Beau shrugged. “Nothing. You just talk a lot, is all.”

  Her foot started tapping, and Beau couldn’t help but notice her little toes had gotten dusty on the trail. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then she promptly shut it and stared at the ground.

  Oh shit. He’d hurt her feelings. The silence was heavy. Oppressive. Guilt-inducing. And he swore he could hear that damn subterranean river, just like Alice said. It, along with the water trickling over the dam, was babbling away, saying, Beau is an asshole Beau is an asshole Beau is an asshole.

  Beau cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Alice leaned over and brushed the dust off her toes with her fingers. The pink toenails caught the sun and sparkled. Every second that she didn’t speak was a second that made Beau feel worse.

  Maybe he could get her chattering again. “The river is so low up by the highway that we’ve had cattle crossing it.”

  Alice straightened. Looked at him. Shrugged.

  “And to think,” Beau continued. “Just two years ago we had the biggest flood in our town’s history.”

  Alice nodded. Silently.

  “The weather is definitely becoming more extreme,” Beau said. “There’s a conference on how climate change is affecting ranching in Texas coming up next month.”

  Alice’s eyebrows shot up. Her lips trembled. Her pink toes tapped. It was obvious she had climate change facts lined up, and they were banging their fists around in attempts to get Alice to open up her mouth.

  “It sounds really interesting,” Beau said.

  Alice was now biting her lower lip. Clearly dying to say something. She probably had some pretty strong opinions about climate change.

  “Of course, I don’t know anything about it,” he said. Because saying you didn’t know something was like dangling a juicy peach in front of Alice.

  Her eyes were big and round. She was probably holding her breath or biting her tongue.

  Time to put her out of her misery. “Do you know anything about climate change and how it’s affecting ranching?”

  Alice let out a big breath, and Beau had to try very hard not to smile.

  She searched his eyes, brows drawn together, as if trying to figure out if she was being played. Beau tried hard to appear earnest and sincere, because he was. Not only did he feel like shit about hurting Alice’s feelings, he also actually wanted to hear what she had to say. And since she was the smartest person he’d ever known besides Gerome Kowalski, there was no doubt that she was a good source of information.

  The little wrinkle in Allie’s forehead disappeared and she took a deep breath.

  Beau sat and leaned back against the picnic table, crossing his arms.

  Alice started talking, and even though it was interesting . . . something about the difference between extreme drought and desertification . . . he couldn’t stop noticing how pretty she was. The sweet spot at the base of her throat pulsed softly with excitement.

  Damn. He’d drifted. He had no idea what this lecture was about anymore, but he was enthralled, nonetheless.

  Alice was having a hard time staying on topic with Beau’s long legs stretched out like that. For one thing, the chaps were distracting. So was the hat, which he’d pushed back on his head, presumably in order to see her better. His arms were crossed over his chest, an area she’d already spent way too much time ruminating about, and he had a silly little grin on his face that made her feel even more self-conscious.

  She imagined the words pouring out of her mouth like soft-serve ice cream from the broken dispenser at the Chuckwagon Buffet—she had personal experience with that—and she wasn’t even sure if she was spouting actual facts or total nonsense. Overgrazing, water tables, and changing climate zones. She was projectile vomiting all of it.

  Occasionally, Beau’s eyes drifted down to her neck and shoulders, where she was having a hard time keeping the straps of her overalls up. Oh God. Maybe his eyes weren’t drifting. What if he was
falling asleep? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caused someone to slip quietly into a coma. She paused, and Beau raised his hand.

  “Um, Alice?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is all very interesting—”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve probably bored you. As you said earlier, I talk too much.”

  “I never said you talk too much. I said you talk a lot, which you do. And that’s fine. You have plenty to say. But I’m getting seriously heated.”

  Alice’s pulse raced. Her skin prickled. She swallowed. “Heated?”

  “It’s hotter than Hades. Probably something to do with climate change. What do you say we move to the shade?”

  He was hot. As in he had heatstroke. Also, he was hot as in hubba-hubba, but that was neither here nor there, because Alice didn’t pay attention to such things. And somehow, she hadn’t paid attention to the fact that her back was drenched in sweat. She fanned her face. “You’re right. Can we drag this table underneath the oak tree?”

  Beau stood up. “Sure.”

  He grabbed the edge of the table, and Alice ran around to the other side to push, but she ended up just kind of touching the table and following along. Because Beau was freaking strong. She’d always assumed horseback riding was a passive activity, but it wasn’t. Her butt and thighs were definitely going to be sore tomorrow. No wonder Beau was in such good shape.

  Understatement. Beau was a cowboy Adonis.

  “I guess school is now in session,” Beau said, once the table was settled on a level spot. “What books did you bring?”

  Alice had a surprise for Beau. She dug in the bag and pulled out a paperback.

  Beau’s eyes widened, as if he were worried that he might be expected to pop it open and start reading.

  “Just focus on the title,” Alice said calmly.

  A smile broke out on Beau’s face. “Jax Angle. This is the book I listened to.”

  “Yep. Have you started the second one yet?”

  “I’m on the third one. Listened to it all morning while I was doing some mindless ranch chores.”

  “Wow. Good! Anyway, I just wanted you to have the actual book. And you don’t have to, but it might be good to listen to it again and see if you can follow along.”

  Beau took the book and opened it.

  “It has a large font and more white space on the page. It’s meant for people with poor vision, but it sometimes helps people with dyslexia, too.”

  “I see the word Jax all over the page,” Beau said.

  “Those are probably dialogue tags. They tell you who is speaking. And if you look carefully, you’ll notice a visual pattern of quotation marks and dialogue tags. Searching for those patterns will help you distinguish dialogue from narration.”

  Beau flipped through a few more pages. “Here’s the word Foster. He’s the bad guy. And here’s Liv. She’s Jax’s lady love.”

  “Don’t get too attached to her,” Alice said, and then she slapped her hand over her mouth. What had she just done?

  “You mean she fucking dies?” Beau asked.

  “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s put the book away now.”

  “She dies. Jesus. Which book? Does it happen in the third book?”

  Alice just stared at him. She’d said enough.

  Beau sighed. “Well, thanks anyway. When does this have to be back at the library?”

  “Never. It’s a gift.”

  Beau swallowed, loudly. “Thanks, Allie.”

  “You’re very welcome. Now, let’s get to work. We’re going to start with sensory exercises. Lots of touching and rubbing and feeling.”

  Beau looked up slowly and grinned. He’d clearly misunderstood—or maybe she was teasing—because they were going to be using some tactile methods that had absolutely nothing to do with . . . Whatever it was he was thinking about.

  Alice’s tummy fluttered annoyingly in response to that grin. Maybe it was adrenaline and cortisol—fight-or-flight hormones—because Beau Montgomery looked like a saber-toothed tiger eyeing a tasty little bunny.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  It hadn’t taken long for Beau’s optimistic mood to take a dive.

  He stared at the rock, leaf, and stick laid out on the table in front of him. He was trying not to be surly, but it was hard. Because this wasn’t a reading lesson. This was utter nonsense, and he’d expected more from a woman with multiple degrees who considered herself a reading expert.

  “You’re not even trying, Beau.”

  Beau sighed. And then he touched each inanimate object. “Rock, leaf, stick.”

  Alice matched his sigh with one of her own. “No. Remember? These represent sounds. Touch each one again, and say the sound it makes. We’re forming new pathways between objects and sounds, and then we’ll turn those objects into written symbols.”

  “I’m too old to form new pathways.”

  “That’s not true. It might take a bit more effort, but you’re more mature than when you were a child. You have more patience.”

  He didn’t feel like he had more patience. And he couldn’t shake the notion that it was too late. That he’d never learn.

  Alice pulled out a drawstring bag and opened it. Then she dumped a bunch of colored blocks out on the table. “Let’s use these instead of the natural objects. They don’t have a tactile element, but—”

  “Those are toys.” In bright primary colors. They looked like something you’d find in a kindergarten classroom. He yanked the brim of his hat down. “I’m not playing with children’s toys, Allie. And I don’t see how they’ll ever get me to where I can read a book like Jax Angle, much less function as a literate foreman of a ranch.”

  “They’re not toys. They’re manipulatives.”

  “You can call them whatever you want, but they’re blocks. For kids.”

  And I’m a fully grown man.

  Just in case she hadn’t noticed he was a fully grown man, he undid the top few buttons of his shirt. It was hot out, after all.

  Alice bit her lip. Cleared her throat.

  Got the message.

  She put the blocks back in the bag and returned to the rock, leaf, and stick. Then she began digging in the dirt with her toe.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Aha!” she said, leaning over and picking up an acorn. “We’re going to try this again. Pretend these are sounds.”

  She spoke gently, but instead of calming him, her words made him feel jittery and strange. Damn, it was a good thing it was hot outside. Otherwise the heat in his cheeks might be visible. He might spend all of his time outdoors, and he might have a five o’clock shadow by noon, but he’d always been an outrageous blusher, and embarrassment was a trigger.

  He yanked on his hat again. “I don’t need to play pretend games. Just teach me the way you’d teach anybody. Let’s do it the regular way.”

  “But Beau, the regular ways haven’t worked for you. And this is a process that helps a lot of people. Every time you see the acorn, think of the soft a sound. And this”—she picked up the leaf—“is going to be a hard c sound.”

  This was beyond ridiculous. Where were the books? The letters? The tablets? Acorns and leaves didn’t make sounds. Words weren’t made out of acorns and leaves. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for this lesson.

  He was hot.

  Hot from the sun. Hot from the frustration. Hot from watching a small bead of sweat drip down Alice’s chest and disappear between her breasts.

  He looked at the Rio Verde. It would feel fantastic to dive into its refreshing depths and disappear with a little sizzle and a puff of steam.

  He’d learned as a kid that when things got tough, it was time for a diversion. A distraction.

  A bit of fun.

  “Let’s go swimming.”

  “What?” Alice stammered.

  “Let’s go swimming. We can cool off a bit, and then it will be easier for me to focus.”

  Alice glanced at the rive
r. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit, and I doubt you did, either.”

  “Who needs swimsuits?”

  Alice raised her hand. “Me. I need one.”

  “Aw, come on. I think every kid in Big Verde had their first skinny-dipping experience right here at this dam.”

  Alice arranged the items. “This might look like a leaf, an acorn, and a twig. But together, they spell the word can.”

  It didn’t look like can to Beau. It looked like a damn leaf, acorn, and twig. “How old were you the first time you went skinny-dipping?”

  Alice moved the twig and replaced it with the rock. “Now it spells cat, and I’ve never been skinny-dipping.”

  Everybody had been skinny-dipping. She just didn’t want to admit it. “You’re fibbing.”

  Alice stared at the word she’d spelled. He glanced at it, too. She’d only changed out the last object—a twig for a rock—and that had changed the very last sound. Suddenly, he kind of had an inkling to see what would happen if he changed out the rock for something else.

  Leaves and twigs didn’t move around like letters.

  “I’ve never even been to the dam before,” Alice said softy. “Believe me, I was not at any of the parties held here, or anywhere, for that matter.”

  Beau thought back to when he was twelve and Alice was sixteen. He remembered that ponytail, and how it bounced around like it had a mind of its own. Alice swatted at a gnat, and he realized, with a grin, that her ponytail still seemed to have a mind of its own.

  He remembered how she’d laughed at his and Bryce’s jokes, and how it had made him want to do tricks and show off and be royally obnoxious, just to hear that sound. And he also remembered how much he’d wanted to impress her by being able to do his homework quickly and correctly. By talking about books and whatnot, like Bryce did.

  “Seriously, Allie? You’ve never been swimming here? Not even once? Not even on senior skip day?”

  Alice had been pretty and smart, and his twelve-year-old mind had assumed she’d been popular. Was it possible he was wrong, and that maybe she’d sat at home while other kids were out having fun? It was hard for Beau to wrap his mind around. To him, Alice had been beautiful and sophisticated. Smart and talented. To him, she’d been . . .