Rob blinked.
She must have caught his expression, because she rushed to add, “But pretty. You’re real pretty, ain’t you, Rob?”
“Fuck off.” He stood up, slapped some cash on the bar and stalked toward the door, weaving a little before he got his bearings. Guess he was a little drunk after all.
Cab cut him off before he made it halfway across the room. He hadn’t even seen the man enter the Boot.
“Tell me you’re not driving,” Cab said.
Rob pushed past him, into the still-warm Montana evening. Cab followed him outdoors. Aside from the music spilling out of the Boot with them, Chance Creek was already quiet. Most folks were tucked in for the night. Past nine o’clock this town shut down.
“Can’t let you do that, buddy. Give me the keys.”
Hell.
With a sigh, Rob handed them over, but instead of heading toward his Chevy, he struck out on foot.
“Where you going?” Cab called after him.
“Nowhere.”
Nowhere at all.
The Cowboys of Chance Creek series continues with The Cowboy Imports a Bride.
Be the first to know about Cora Seton’s new releases! Sign up for her Newsletter here.
Other books in the Cowboys of Chance Creek series:
The Cowboy’s E-mail Order Bride (Volume 1)
The Cowboy Imports a Bride (Volume 3)
The Cowgirl Ropes a Billionaire (Volume 4)
The Sheriff Catches a Bride (Volume 5)
The Cowboy Lassos a Bride (Volume 6)
The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Volume 7)
The Cowboy Earns a Bride (Volume 8)
About the Author
Cora Seton loves cowboys, country life, gardening, bike-riding, and lazing around with a good book. Mother of four, wife to a computer programmer/eco-farmer, she ditched her California lifestyle nine years ago and moved to a remote logging town in northwestern British Columbia.
Like the characters in her novels, Cora enjoys old-fashioned pursuits and modern technology, spending mornings transforming an ordinary one-acre lot into a paradise of orchards, berry bushes and market gardens, and afternoons writing the latest Chance Creek romance novel on her iPad mini. Visit www.coraseton.com to read about new releases, locate your favorite characters on the Chance Creek map, and learn about contests and other cool events!
The Harder They Fall
Beth Williamson
‡
Published by Beth Williamson
Copyright © 2014 Beth Williamson
Edited by Catherine Wayne
Cover Design and Interior format by The Killion Group
http://thekilliongroupinc.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see www.bethwilliamson.com.
Chapter One
‡
TJ MAGUIRE SLAMMED the door of her fire-engine red Silverado and cursed under her breath as the heat slapped into her like a sauna. It was hot in Southern California in November. No, it was more than hot; it was hell on a hot day in July on the surface of the sun. She was sweating buckets and feeling like all she wanted to do was find a pool, a cold beer and a float. However, that wasn’t about to happen. She had two weeks’ worth of haul-ass work to do to pull off the Mission Viejo Rodeo Days event in Santa Estrella.
She slid her keys into her jeans pocket and clipped her cell phone to her belt, then headed for the trailer.
It was the last rodeo of the season for Bar T Rodeos, owned by her father, Big Tom Maguire, and run by TJ since she was eighteen—more than twelve years now.
When she was little, she’d thought she’d be married by now with a few kids, living on the ranch up in Sacramento. Well, that little fantasy never had panned out. Especially the husband part. Most men TJ dealt with were put off by her bright red hair, her size (she hadn’t seen a size twelve since puberty hit), or the fact that she ran a huge operation like Bar T Rodeos, organizing, planning and executing rodeo events.
She was intimidating, smart and outspoken. There wasn’t much TJ wouldn’t say to anybody, especially a cowboy. She’d spent most of her life around rodeos and cowboys, and she knew how they operated.
TJ headed for the Bar T trailer, intent on getting into the air conditioning and finding a Diet Coke. She glanced at her watch expecting to see two o’clock or thereabouts. It was two forty-five.
“Shit!”
She was supposed to call Charlotte at the High Impact PR firm at two thirty to discuss the flyers for the rodeo. TJ hated more than anything to be late. She started running for the trailer. She couldn’t even make the phone call without her notes, which were on her desk in the trailer, of course.
TJ came around the corner of the trailer and ran straight into a wall that somehow had grown up in the middle of the grass. Except, it wasn’t a wall. She’d slammed into a hard, warm body. A body that was toppling like a tree in the forest, and unfortunately, she was going down with it. She had the crazy notion to yell, “Timber!”
She landed on top of him—it was definitely a him—with all of her not-inconsiderable body weight. Whoever it was that she had walloped fell on his ass in the grass with a loud “oomph” that gusted past her ear.
She looked down, and her tongue forgot how to work. Ye Gods, but that was a specimen of a man! He had to be six and a half feet tall and made of solid muscle. An incredibly handsome face framed with wavy golden hair that sparkled in the California sunshine, a matching mustache that rode his lip, and shoulders as wide as the Grand Canyon. And beautiful blue eyes.
She was lying flush against him, from her DD cups down to her size-nine feet. Laid out flat on a man who felt like a pine tree with a very large branch growing in the middle.
Holy Mary, this was a man and a half!
HANK BELTANE HAD the wind knocked out of him, something that didn’t happen very often, even when a bull threw him. He was pretty agile, landing on his feet most of the time. However, this was a knockdown, flat-out slam onto the hard-packed ground that had completely stolen his breath.
The culprit was definitely a woman, because she was soft, with large breasts that flattened against his chest quite nicely. All he could see was bright red hair, and he could smell the scent of Tic Tacs.
She sat up and straddled him. Oh, damn, now his dick decided it was time to react to having a woman sit on his lap as if she were riding him. It started to pulse in a rhythm to match his heart. As he sucked the air back into his lungs, he looked at her tits—very nice—then at her face.
He saw shoulder-length flaming-red hair down to her shoulders, tucked behind two cute little ears, and a pair of deep green eyes like forest moss, staring at him with a mixture of embarrassment, curiosity and downright sassiness. She had beautiful cream-colored skin with smatterings of freckles on her nose and forehead. Full, pink lips, although the bottom lip was slightly larger than the top, just the way he liked it so he could suck it into his mouth. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and cowboy boots, with a concert T-shirt from Rascal Flatts.
Who was this woman? More than likely a buckle bunny.
“Oh hell, I am so sorry, mister!”
She tried to regain her footing and stand. Her voice was like fine whiskey, deep and satisfying.
“No problem, little miss.” He enjoyed her wiggling her sweet self all over his crotch. It was like a free lap dance.
She finally got her feet planted
and stood, looking down at him. She wasn’t a small woman, but round in all the right places, enough to hold onto when going for a ride. He sure as hell would give her more than eight seconds’ worth.
Stepping back, she offered him her arm. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He was too big for most men to hoist up, much less any woman.
“Don’t worry about me. I can get myself up.”
She withdrew her hand and sneaked a glance at the gold watch on her wrist. He noticed the freckles also liberally sprinkled over her arms. Were there any other places on her with that cinnamon coloring? Damn, why hadn’t he seen this one before at another rodeo? She was a luscious morsel he’d like to taste.
He stood and brushed off his ass, regaining his balance and trying to will away the semi-hard-on before she saw.
Uh, hello, she’d been sitting on his dick; obviously she had already noticed it.
“Really, I am so sorry. I’m running late, and I didn’t look where I was going.”
He smiled, expecting that the full force of his pearly whites would make her flush and stutter. It didn’t.
He tried concern instead. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
She snorted. “Not much damages this chassis. I’ve got to run. Sorry!”
She turned and hightailed it toward the Bar T trailer. Hank appreciated the view of her ass for a moment before he realized her destination.
“Hey!”
She stopped at the door and looked at him expectantly.
“I need to talk to TJ Maguire. He and I need to have a talk about something.”
She glanced at her watch again. “Sorry, I’ve really got to make this phone call. Can you come back around four?”
She yanked open the door and started to step through.
“Hey, wait!” he called. “What about TJ? Can I talk to him?”
She frowned. “I’m TJ Maguire. You’ll have to wait until later.”
The door slammed behind her.
*
TJ WAS LOOKING for Charlotte’s number when the door to the trailer opened with enough force to practically rip it off the hinges. The huge man she’d knocked over filled the doorway, literally, as he ducked to enter.
She’d always thought it was a good-size trailer, but this man made it seem really, really small. There was fire coming out of those beautiful blue eyes and she had a sneaking suspicion he was pretty pissed. At her.
“Look, mister, I said I was sorry. How about I give you a couple of free tickets to the rodeo?”
That apparently just pissed him off even more. She was surprised smoke wasn’t coming out of his ears.
“You’re TJ Maguire?”
“Yes, I said that already. I’m TJ Maguire.”
He reached into his back pocket for something. His shirt stretched across one of the most incredible chests she’d ever laid eyes on. She could actually see the outline of his muscles through his shirt. All muscle, all lines, all delicious. My, oh, my.
“You sent me this disqualification letter for the calf roping event. You need to un-disqualify me. Now.”
He opened the paper up, then threw the letter down on her desk with a flick of one mighty hand.
TJ’s perusal of his chest ended abruptly. She looked down at the familiar-looking letter and decided that perhaps he needed a lesson in manners. He had obviously forgotten how to speak to a lady.
She rose to her full height of five feet eleven inches and gave him her famous icy glare. More than one cowboy had turned tail and run at the sight of it.
“Look, whoever you are, you can’t just barge in here—”
“The name is Hank. Hank Beltane.”
He’d interrupted her! A crime at the top of her list of pet peeves.
“Okay, Hank. You can’t just barge in here and demand I remove a disqualification. There is always a reason for a disqualification, and I follow the rules. To. The. Letter. I will not change my mind simply because you want me to.”
She poked her manicured pink fingernail into his rock-hard chest. The wisps of blond hair sticking out the top of his shirt seemed to be calling her, waving in the breeze from the air conditioner.
Was the damn A/C actually working?
One of those large, callused hands closed over her finger. Suddenly Mr. Bully was gone and Mr. Suave took his place.
“Hey, little darlin’, no need to get in an uproar. We can settle this friendly like. How about we go out to dinner and talk about it? There’s a great Italian place in Santa Estrella.”
Then he smiled and holy shit and crackers. Those pearly whites, that tanned skin. Good thing she was immune to cowboys’ charms because this one could do her in.
“Sorry, I’m busy.” She waved one hand toward the door. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
She sat back down and tried to ignore him. It wasn’t an easy task. It became even harder when she realized that, after she sat down, she was eye level with his crotch. Unless he was stuffing socks in his tighty-whities, he had one large package to deliver. She remembered her first reaction—a man and a half. Easily. Perhaps even a man and three-quarters.
While she tried to take her eyes off his fabulous accouterments, he leaned down and planted his hands on her desk. They nearly covered the blotter. They must be the size of dinner plates. Was there anything on him that wasn’t super-sized?
“We have a problem, TJ. What kind of a name is that for a girl, anyway?”
“None of your business. Now get out.”
He shook his head. That’s when she realized he had a ponytail. A long, blond ponytail that reached his ass. She had a sudden mental image of his hair sliding down her nipples as he kissed his way to her…
“Are you listening to me?”
No, she hadn’t been. “Are you still here?”
“I am going to stick to you like flypaper for the next two weeks or until you remove the disqualification. I can’t compete in the nationals without this all-around cowboy event and I can’t compete in the all-around if I can’t do the calf roping. That’s the timed event I need.”
His blue eyes locked on hers and his jaw clenched tightly. Damn, he was serious.
“You can try, Hank. But I am not going to change my mind. You jumped the buzzer in calf roping in your last three rodeos. Three strikes and you’re out in my rodeo. We don’t let people like you compete or we’d lose our reputation.”
Then he smiled again. “I give you two days. You’ll be begging me to compete in the calf roping.”
Nothing got her blood up like a challenge. One thrown at her by an arrogant ass of a cowboy, even one built like a Greek god, was enough to really piss her off. A mixture of arousal and anger was a dangerous combination.
“Go gallop back to your pony, cowboy. You are setting yourself up for another fall. And you’ll fall pretty hard, based on the size of you.”
He sat down heavily in the chair next to the desk. “Don’t let me bother you. Keep right on working. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
*
HANK SAT IN the chair, waiting for her to give in and lift the disqualification. He had his arms crossed over his chest and stared at her unceasingly. He could have been Casper for all the attention she paid to him. It was as if he wasn’t even there.
So that was her game. Ignore him and he’ll go away. Humph. Not likely. He started humming to himself.
She was on the phone for at least half an hour talking to somebody named Charlotte about the rodeo posters and handouts. They talked on and on about the color of the damn heading. Who really gave a shit about that?
It seemed important to them though. TJ seemed like a nitpicky kind of person. She had folders lined up like little soldiers in some kind of accordion thing. Her damn cell phone kept beeping to remind her of something every ten minutes. She was constantly typing on her laptop. He couldn’t possibly imagine enough things that were important enough in his life to ding him that often.
Why would anyone want to have that much going
on?
“You can leave anytime, Mr. Beltane.”
Hank smiled easily. “I’ve never been called Mr. Beltane before. How about you just keep calling me Hank?”
TJ glanced at the letter sitting on her blotter that he had tossed there. An evil-looking grin split her pretty face.
“Or I can call you Henry.”
If there was one thing Hank hated, it was being called Henry. He could see by the twinkle in her green eyes that she was counting on that. She certainly knew how to play dirty. So did he.
Tamping down his annoyance at her, he simply smiled. “Sure thing. What do I call you? Mr. Maguire?”
The smirk was off her face in a minute.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Am I not feminine enough for you?”
“You are a hell of a woman on the outside, you just don’t act like one.”
Her eyes narrowed on him and he noticed her hand had curled around his disqualification letter like a claw. Oh, yeah. It was working. Ten more minutes and she’d give in.
“Why don’t you haul your ass out of here?”
“I’ve got nowhere to go and nothing better to do.”
He stretched out his legs and got a little more comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could on a tiny chair.
“Listen, Henry, you’re bugging me. And I’m trying to get some work done, so why don’t you go find someone else to bother.”
“But I’m having so much fun bothering you.”
She stood and stomped to the door as he admired the view of her ass again. She threw the door open and gestured for him to leave.
“This isn’t a public place to loiter. Soon you’ll have a skateboard and your pants will be down around your ass. So do me a favor and take a hike.”
Hank didn’t want to push too hard, so he shrugged and stood. He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned hugely. He finished with a neck stretch. He could see her out of the corner of his eye tapping her booted foot.
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