The Bachelor Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  And responsibility was a thing she absolutely understood.

  The week managed to go by quickly, somehow. Her ankle sucked for a few days, but it felt better by the end of the week and she no longer limped everywhere. Work was busy—she had a client that had filed his W-2s for his employees twice in the same year (how the heck did that mistake not get caught?) and so Layla had to go back and amend his tax returns, quarterlies, and W-2s filed, along with letters to the employees explaining the mistakes. It was messy and time-consuming, but nothing she hadn’t fixed before. In a way, she was glad for the project, because it kept her from having to converse with her nosy office mates.

  The secretary sniffed every time she saw Layla, apparently deciding to treat her like the whore of Babylon. The other guys in the office smirked and asked how her weekend went so often that she knew they knew. And everywhere she went, people made little comments. When she got coffee at the bakery, Megan made a crack about the bathroom and asked if she was still seeing “the hot guy.” At yoga, well, no one gave her too much grief because she was flanked by Amy and Becca, but she still felt painfully obvious.

  “Ignore them,” Becca had said staunchly after class. “They’ll eventually find something new to talk about, and there are worse things for them to gossip about than whether or not you bought yourself a boyfriend.”

  Layla wasn’t sure if she agreed with that assessment, but she said nothing. It had been all over town for the longest time about how Becca had been left at the altar by her first fiancé. It had been a nightmare for Becca, but she’d gotten through it. Layla supposed she would, too.

  She just hated the smirks and the whispers.

  Even her mother was in on it. She texted Layla all week, at first crowing about how she’d gotten a bid on her land that was three times what she’d paid for it and that Janet Schmidt was about to be rich. Then her texts had changed in tone when Layla didn’t respond, becoming sweeter and more interested in Layla. How had her date gone? Was she still seeing that nice young man? Why didn’t she ever tell her mother what was going on? Janet texted her daily, until Layla was ready to scream.

  It was like the world had sensed that Layla had a vulnerable spot and was doing its best to poke her with a stick in said spot.

  Layla didn’t like being vulnerable. She hated it, actually. It made her feel out of control and ever so slightly angry, like she was when she was a child. She cross-stitched a few four-letter words onto a pink pillow, took a bubble bath while listening to calming music, and tried to ignore it all.

  The bright spot was Jack.

  When Jack was around, everything was ten times better. Layla knew she was absolutely head over heels for the man, but she didn’t care. Jack was just so . . . perfect. He was funny and sweet and charming, and he had an easygoing outlook on life. If she was working late, he’d bring her dinner. If her ankle was hurting, he’d swing by to pick up the dog—and kiss her for a good half hour. He ended up coming by most nights to see her, and when they weren’t together on the couch, making out like teenagers, they just enjoyed spending time in each other’s presence. Jack liked sports, so Layla watched the games with him, her crochet in her hands and her legs in his lap. Layla was a fan of board games, so they’d pull one of hers out and give it a go, and both of them were as bad at losing as they were at winning. They streamed movies and made dinner.

  It was everything Layla had ever wanted. Jack was perfect for her. He was just so easy to be with, so fun that she couldn’t imagine not being with him.

  And Layla wanted to give him everything.

  They’d seen each other so many times over the last week and had so many intense kissing sessions that Layla started getting aroused the moment Jack showed up. Just being around him made her start squirming, and it didn’t take long for her panties to get damp. Jack was determined to go slow, which was sweet . . . and was making her a little crazy. They kissed. They petted. They sent each other dirty texts. They fooled around for hours on the couch. She loved his hands on her breasts and the way he touched them. She loved his hand between her thighs even more, and he’d made her come on his hand several more times . . . but he didn’t want her to reciprocate.

  He’d wait, he said.

  Layla was beginning to feel like a pump that had been primed a few too many times, though. One more kiss, and she’d just start gushing everywhere, though the mental image made her grimace.

  She wanted to have sex with Jack. She wanted everything.

  And so when he asked her to come over on Saturday because he had something to show her, Layla decided she’d have a little something to show him, too. She’d wear her sexiest lingerie (that she’d had overnighted to her) and let him know exactly what she had in mind.

  After all, everyone was already talking about them. Why not give them something to discuss?

  * * *

  * * *

  Jack was nervous.

  It was a week of big moves for him. He’d let his uncle know that he was looking to buy a ranch, and if he did, he wouldn’t be available to help around Swinging C much at all. To his surprise, Uncle Ennis had not only been supportive, but also offered to help Jack get on his feet with a few calves from the herd and some extra equipment. His brothers had been equally supportive.

  He’d talked to his Realtor and put in a bid on the land, and it was accepted. It was a hell of a lot of money, but with bank loans and a down payment, he could make it work.

  And of course, there was Layla.

  Layla, with her eager kisses and even more eager hands. She was the one for him. It didn’t take the entire week for him to know that. He’d realized it when he’d showed up at her place, ready to play a board game with her, and she’d had football on instead, his favorite beer in the fridge, and hot wings in the air fryer. She didn’t mind watching the game with him because he rubbed her feet and she poked one of her projects with a needle, or cuddled Oscar and watched it with him. There was no drama over what one of them had wanted to do, no compromise . . . because they liked the same things. And if they didn’t, they found ways to enjoy the other person’s presence regardless.

  He’d looked over at her and realized just how easy it was to be with her, how much he looked forward to her smile.

  He was gonna marry that girl, Jack decided.

  Of course, it was too soon to push that sort of thing. Too soon for a lot of stuff, no matter how eager his Layla was. Jack was determined to go slow, to make the timing right. So he went home every night and took a lot of cold showers. He made sure Layla came, but took nothing for himself. He wanted to make a hundred percent sure she was comfortable before he pushed anything on her.

  And this weekend, he was going to show her his property. His pride and joy. His future ranch.

  He picked up dirty clothes off the floor of his small cabin, his mind already set on the future. He hoped she liked his land. He hoped she didn’t think it was a mistake, or that he was jumping into something foolish. Jack was so lost in thought as he straightened up that the buzzing of his phone with her text came as a complete surprise.

  LAYLA: I’m here. Where do I go?

  Right. She’d been to the ranch once before, but not to see his place. He quickly texted back.

  JACK: I’ll come get you.

  With one final shove of laundry under the bed, he smoothed a hand over the blankets and then jogged up to the front of the house. Layla was waiting there in dark stockings and heels, her knee-length coat covering everything else. She shivered as she waited by her car, the dog tucked under her arm.

  “Look at me, the worst boyfriend ever,” Jack joked. “Making you stand out in the cold.”

  “It’s okay,” she promised him with a smile as she handed off Oscar. “I didn’t realize it’d be so chilly out.”

  He eyed her nearly bare legs and completely ranch-inappropriate heels. Uh-oh. He hoped she wasn’t
expecting to go out on the town. He’d told her that he’d wanted to take her somewhere special, and it looked like she’d interpreted it as a fancy dinner. Shit. Maybe he could change plans on her, see if they could get a reservation somewhere. Not that she didn’t look fantastic in heels—boy, did she—but he’d wanted her to walk around the land with him, talk about his plans with her, show her what he saw when he looked at the flat, empty fields.

  “So you don’t live in the main house?” Layla asked, clutching her oversize purse against her chest as they walked the gravel path back to his cabin.

  “No. I can if I want to—Uncle Ennis would be happy to have company—but I like having a cabin. It makes me feel less like I’m living under my dad’s roof again.”

  Layla chuckled, and he glanced over at her. She seemed a little . . . anxious tonight? Was she nervous about something? He hoped not. He’d been waiting to see her all day . . . He hoped she wasn’t upset that he wasn’t dressed up. He was wearing jeans, boots, and an old T-shirt. Nothing fancy like her shoes.

  “So you live in a cabin behind the main house?” She held her coat tight against her frame, her steps quick to keep up with him. “Do all of your brothers?”

  He pointed at the row of small cabins. “Some of them are just used as storage right now. Caleb lives in that one there, but he spends a lot more time with Amy than here now. And before Hank married Becca, he lived in the big house with Uncle Ennis because he had his daughter, Libby, and needed more space.”

  “So this one’s yours?” Layla took a few steps forward and put her hand on the door to his cabin. “And you’re the only one out here?”

  Again, that nervous note entered her voice. “Well, yeah. Caleb spends the weekend attached at the hip with Amy. You know how they are. And it’s a little quiet, but I don’t mind it.” Funny how he actually had minded in the beginning. He’d been unhappy when Hank moved into the main house, even though it was best for Libby. And with Caleb dating Amy, he’d been feeling a mite abandoned by his brothers. He wanted them to be happy, but it was difficult when it made him feel miserable and forgotten.

  But he hadn’t been feeling either one lately. In fact, his thoughts had been so consumed with Layla and spending time with her that . . . he got it. He understood. It had nothing to do with Jack at all and everything to do with falling head over heels for a pretty smile and laughing eyes.

  She put a delicate finger on the door, grinning at him. “Can we go inside or are we just going to stand on your porch?”

  “Sorry. I was just distracted.” When she arched an eyebrow at him, he chuckled. “You know you’re distracting. And please, go on in.”

  Layla’s smile grew wider, and she opened the door, peeking inside before stepping through. Jack juggled Oscar under his arm, following his girlfriend into his place, and he hoped it wasn’t too messy. He wasn’t much of a housekeeper, so the bed wasn’t made all that neat, and there was probably a fair amount of dust on the shelves, but it was all right by his standards. He watched her face as he set Oscar on the corner of the bed, wondering what she thought.

  “Well?” When she remained silent, he couldn’t resist. “Too small? Too messy? You’re horrified and thinking up intricate ways to break off our relationship?”

  She snorted and shook her head, walking around his place slowly. Her heels thumped on the wooden floors. “I was just thinking, actually, that it doesn’t look like you.”

  “It doesn’t?” He glanced around. Sure, the rugs were some ugly pattern that his uncle had decorated with, and he didn’t fill his room with books like Caleb did. The art on the walls was the same pictures that had come with the room. He’d bought the TV and DVD player, though, and his laptop sat on the nightstand.

  “No. It actually looks more like a hotel room than the room of a guy under thirty.” She shrugged. “I don’t see a lot of . . . junk. No video games, no concert T-shirts thrown over furniture, no nothing.” She turned and gave him a curious look. “Are you sure you’re not some sort of android? A cowboy android pretending to be human?”

  He put his hands out. “Beep, boop, you figured me out.” When she laughed, he shook his head. “Nah, I just . . . I dunno. This is where I’m staying, but it’s not really home to me. Plus, I grew up in a one-bedroom cabin out in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. There wasn’t a lot of room for clutter.”

  Layla nodded, looking around thoughtfully. “No video games?”

  Jack pulled out his phone. “I play a mean Candy Crush.” She turned to face him, and he noticed she still kept her coat clutched to her chest. Was she cold? “Do you want me to turn up the heat?”

  “It’s fine.” She studied him for a moment, then moved to touch one of his cowboy hats hung on pegs near the door. “So is that why you took up ranching? Because you liked animals and being in the wild? Or did you always want to be a cowboy?”

  “I actually loved Alaska and didn’t want to move down here.” He was fascinated with the way her fingertips traced along the edge of his hat. Who would have thought a brim could be so damned erotic? “But Uncle Ennis needed help for a while, and we needed the money to repair some equipment, so it seemed like a good idea. The plan was to go back, but then Hank met Becca and Caleb met Amy and so here we are.” He shrugged. “My dad was a rancher until he moved to Alaska, and every calving season, he’d send us boys to go work the ranch with Uncle Ennis for a few months to help out. We’d be back before the first snow hit in the fall, and so it was just natural for us to show up and help out. I just didn’t realize it’d be permanent this time.”

  And it didn’t bother him like it used to. Not when he was looking at a gorgeous reason to stay.

  “And your parents? Are they still in Alaska?” She glanced over at him.

  “Dead. Dad died about seven years ago, Mom when I was real young.”

  Layla’s expression turned sympathetic. “Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right. He was happy right up until the end.” Jack shrugged and moved toward her. “You wanna give me your coat?”

  “I’m good.” She slid away from him, walking to the other side of the room. “I could tell you about my parents, but the less said about them, the better. My mother’s an awful person and my dad moved away when I was little because he couldn’t stand to be around her and didn’t care enough about me to ask for partial custody.” Her smile was light despite the painful words. “I actually became an accountant because it was something I knew I was good at—I’d been balancing my mother’s checkbook for her ever since I was ten. Also, I knew she’d hate for me to have such a stodgy career, so that made it extremely appealing.”

  “I’ll bet.” He moved toward her again and noticed she skirted wide, crossing the room, and it was almost like she was avoiding him. “Is . . . everything okay?”

  Layla turned a wide-eyed gaze to him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You seem a little . . . on edge.”

  Her smile was a little overbright. “It’s totally fine. I’m just distracted, thinking about our date today.”

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, about that. I didn’t realize you were gonna dress up, baby. I mentioned someplace special, but . . . I don’t think you’re going to think it’s that kind of special and I hope you’re not disappointed. Now I feel bad that you got all pretty for just a car ride.”

  Her eyes widened, and she put a hand to the neck of her tightly buttoned coat. “Oh. The shoes? I’m not wearing them for our date. I don’t care where we go . . . or if we go anywhere at all.” She fidgeted with her coat for a moment longer and then gave him a tremulous smile. “I just . . . wanted to do this.”

  And she opened the neck of her coat and let go of the belt at her waist. He realized the coat wasn’t buttoned all the way up after all, that it was held closed by a sash, and when she let it free, the entire coat fell open.

  Layla was wearing nothin
g but lingerie underneath her coat.

  His jaw dropped. Jack stared at Layla, fascinated that she was bold enough to do this . . . and loving that she did this for him. She wore black and red lingerie, the bra with two bright red hearts over the nipples and black mesh for the cups. The panties were similar, heart-shaped and with bright red cutouts through the black mesh. She wore black garters that kept her stockings up and they were patterned with little red hearts. When she turned around, her underwear looked like a heart-shaped package, a present just for him with a bow right over her backside.

  “Well, well,” Jack murmured. “Is it my birthday already?”

  She finished twirling and gave him a look that was half sass, half shy. “It’s my way of saying Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Valentine’s Day was earlier this month,” he pointed out. “You won me at an auction.”

  “I did,” she agreed, and sauntered toward him. “But we really didn’t get a chance to celebrate, and I thought we should.”

  “I like the way you’re thinking,” he murmured, and put his hands on her hips. “What did you have in mind?”

  “His and hers orgasms?” she said lightly, putting her arms around his neck. She bit her lip and looked up at him. “I thought maybe we’d go a little further today, because I was thinking about it and I really want to put my mouth on you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  He was in heaven. His girlfriend had come to his place in lingerie and demanded to blow him? Surely there was nothing better than this. Ever. “I think that sounds like an amazing idea, but only if I get to reciprocate.”