Smokin' Cowboys: A Contemporary, Reverse Harem Western (Loved By Three Book 1)

by Poppy Flynn

  Smokin’ Cowboys

  by

  Poppy Flynn

  Join Poppy Flynn’s newsletter for news, new releases and freebies:

  https://sendfox.com/poppyflynnbooks

  Chapter One

  Ellie shuffled into the coffee shop for the fifth day in a row, head down, surveying everything around her from the corner of her eye.

  It was early morning, their busiest time, and the woman behind the counter was engrossed in taking and making up orders.

  Ellie made a beeline for the bathroom, guilt chasing at her heels. She gave a sigh of relief when she found the small room empty and locked the door behind her.

  It was probably stupid to feel guilty; she was planning to buy coffee before she left, but she simply couldn’t help it. She’d been moved on before.

  Sighing tiredly, she lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror.

  Wisps of hair had escaped from the loose plait she wore her hair in to sleep, not that she’d got much. Dark shadows of exhaustion underlined the pain that was etched into the grey eyes that looked back at her.

  How had her life come to this?

  Shaking her head, Ellie sucked in a breath and straightened her spine. Nothing screamed down and out as much as that look of defeat.

  Rummaging about in her oversized shoulder bag, she dug out a small wash kit and hurriedly washed her face, cleaned her teeth and sprayed deodorant. Shimmying out of the leggings and tee-shirt, she quickly changed into a pair of capris that she’d rolled carefully to prevent creasing and a cropped blouse which had received the same treatment. They’d stayed pretty neat, thank goodness, she thought critically, as she eyed her reflection.

  She folded her discarded clothing and put it into a carrier bag. She’d been changing conscientiously every day, no matter what, determined to maintain some small amount of normality. Even if it meant wearing her sleepwear for a little longer than she might like. But she couldn’t afford to use the launderette until she had a full load, so there wasn’t any choice. This really was a case of ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’!

  Dragging a brush through her hair, she re-plaited its long length before deciding makeup was going to be a necessity. She needed to look her best if she had any chance of finding a job and digging herself out of the deep hole she’d recently fallen into through no real fault of her own.

  It was time to get back on her feet.

  Eight hours later, she sat in the same cafe, thirty minutes before closing, and all she had achieved were blistered heels, disillusionment and a rather shady offer of work in a strip club.

  Jeez! Was that really the best she could do?

  Carefully counting out what little change she had, Ellie ordered herself the hot special which had been reduced down to half-price to finish out the day and grabbed the complimentary newspaper so she could scan the job vacancies.

  The sad truth was, that with every night that slid by, a job at one of those sleazy meat markets seemed like the only one she was going to get.

  What scared her the most was that she was starting to wonder if she actually was that desperate… and she didn’t like the answer.

  Ellie’s stomach growled embarrassingly just as the waitress brought over her tray of food, reminding her it was twenty-four hours since she’d eaten. The special wasn’t one of her favorite dishes, but it was hot, cheap and nutritious and, the way things were, she really couldn’t afford to be that picky. She’d checked out two different homeless shelters, but they had both been full. One of them did, at least, allow her to use their shower facilities a couple of times a week. She hadn’t been forced to sleep rough, so she could at least maintain some sort of standards. She knew she could tip up earlier in the day to book a place, but her conscience wouldn’t let her take a bed from someone with a greater need.

  She was better off than some people, she could accept that.

  The job segment was woefully sparse. Nothing at all that didn’t require references. Ellie sighed as she tried her best not to bolt her food; tried to savor it. It was amazing how good something you didn’t particularly like tasted when you were starving.

  Her gaze dropped to the subsequent ‘wanted’ section and zeroed in on one particular ad.

  ‘Wives wanted for three hardworking cowboys. Must be able to cook, clean, and sew, and understand the basic workings of a ranch. Above all, must be prepared to live in a remote, off-grid area.’

  It almost seemed too good to be true. Wait a minute. It probably was too good to be true. They were probably mass murders. Except… would a murderer advertise for victims? Maybe not. But, well, what kind of men advertised for a wife in this day and age?

  Still, something about the plea called to her, and she surreptitiously tore out the small square of paper and popped it in her purse. Perhaps it was because the mere mention of ranch life brought back happy memories of the childhood she had adored before her parents died. Or maybe it was because the idea of being an old-fashioned wife, one who cooked and sewed, and maintained a home, appealed to her on a level she had never quite understood; something that was instilled into her by subsequently being brought up by an elderly Grandmother who had believed in a different set of values to contemporary women. She had taught Ellie to sew and knit, to darn and embroider, to pluck and gut and fillet as well as cook, bake and preserve. All of those old-fashioned lifestyle values which Ellie loved, but which the modern pace of life seemed too busy to bother with.

  She became aware that the waitress kept flicking impatient looks her way and realized she’d let the time get away from her. The woman wanted to close up and Ellie was keeping her from doing so. Damn! There was no way she could use the cafe’s bathroom now, without drawing unwanted attention to herself, which meant she’d have to chance her nightly routine to the public toilets, which were filthy. Damn, damn, damn. Ellie folded the paper and felt obliged to leave a bigger tip than she could afford before heading off down the street.

  Later that night as she tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position to lie in, in the cramped confines of her car, she wondered if she had the guts to reply to the advert which was becoming more and more appealing. It was that or the strip club. She couldn’t carry on like this much longer.

  It had been three months since her ailing Grandmother had died. As much as Ellie missed her, in some respects it had been a blessing; freeing the once proud woman from the pain and confusion brought on by severe dementia and acute arthritis.

  The last six years had been tough. Ellie had given up her own life in order to provide round-the-clock care for the woman who had taken her in when her parents had been killed in a car crash. Ellie had been twelve years old and her Grandmother gave her a home, without a second thought, despite already being in her seventies. She had given her love and care and taught her so very much as well as saving her from the foster system. There was no way Ellie wasn’t going to pay that back.

  There hadn’t been a huge amount of money, but enough for them to manage without Ellie having to go out and work. Well, until Gran had died, and the house had to be sold to pay off the medical bills. That’s when everything had started to fall apart.

  It had been two months since she received the eviction notice and she’d managed to pack a couple of large suitcases of clothes and personal items, some keepsakes that had belonged to her parents and what few pieces of her Gran’s which held sentimental value and hadn’t been tagged for sale along with the house. Those mostly consisted of photograph albums, ancient cookbooks and her Gran’s own scrapbooks
full of recipes and household tips.

  In the end all that was left was a savings account Gran had set up in Ellie’s name with just over a thousand dollars in it and the small car which was registered as her own, even though Gran had paid for it. The same car that she’d been sleeping in for the last four weeks.

  If she was lucky, there might be something left over when all the loose ends were tied up, but Ellie didn’t hold out much hope for anything substantial. Whatever wasn’t poured into the medical fee’s would undoubtedly be gobbled up by the legal costs.

  But things were getting more and more precarious. Initially, she’d continued to park the car in the driveway of Gran's house; gaining some small amount of comfort from being close by. She’d even kept herself busy in between job hunting by weeding the garden and caring for the flowers and veggies her Gran had been so proud of.

  Then, two weeks ago, new people moved in and she’d been forced to find somewhere else to hole up. She tried to keep out of sight, but it wasn’t so easy. She’d been moved on more than once because of complaints that her car appeared abandoned or because people didn’t want someone who was homeless parked too close that it might affect their trade or prickle their conscience and she knew the police were starting to recognize her vehicle. That didn’t bode well.

  Morning came, and the idea of repeating yesterday all over again, just like the day before, and no doubt tomorrow too, was beginning to wear her down. She ended up doing something that she would never have imagined in a million years.

  “You’re a bit skinny,” said the bald, tattooed owner of ‘The Strip Joint’.

  The club might be unimaginatively named and only a few steps up from a complete dive, but he was no less critical.

  Ellie could feel the color rising in her cheeks as he gave her the once over is some windowless backroom that seemed to double as both storage and a changing room.

  “Tall though, dudes like that. Good hair,” he muttered, almost to himself as he invaded her personal boundaries and released her plait. She tried not to cringe. She was twenty-six years old, not some shy virgin… not quite, anyway.

  So her experience was limited to one half-hearted college boyfriend and then fizzled to nothing during the years she’d cared for Gran, but she knew what was what. And she read a lot.

  It was true much of her practical understanding had been gained vicariously through books, but it was an education of sorts.

  “Right, strip off and let’s see the goods,” the guy demanded, and Ellie felt her mind go blank. The only thing that rang loud and clear in her head was Gran saying, ‘You know that’s a sin now, don’t you?’

  Seriously? Maybe she hadn’t thought this through. She certainly hadn’t considered that this might be part of the interview. But then again, she wasn’t at all sure what she had imagined.

  “I haven’t got all day doll. You gotta problem with this, then what the hell you doin’ here?”

  Ellie scrambled to undress, her whole face feeling like it was fire-engine red and Gran's voice ringing in her ears. There was no grace or seduction in her actions and, when she was down to her underwear, she felt another tide of embarrassment wash over her when she considered her old, plain cotton bra and boy shorts.

  She sucked in a shocked breath when tattoo man, whose name she thought was Frank, slapped her ass and followed it up by grabbing and squeezing one of her breasts.

  “Meh, bit lacking in the tittie department. Most of our clients like a lot more upstairs.” As he said it, he stretched his fingers wide in front of his own chest and crudely mimicked a large pair of breasts.

  “Ass is a bit flat too, but I guess it’s in keeping with the rest o’ you. We got some who like ‘em thin. Always good to have variety.”

  Ellie felt like a piece of meat. A prickly heat had risen up her neck and she had to force herself not to clench her hands into fists.

  “Let’s see if you got moves.”

  “Moves?” she repeated blankly.

  He nodded his head and spat the gum he was chewing in a nearby trashcan. Ellie tried not to focus on the glob of spit that now dribbled down the side. “You can call it an audition,” he said, pointing to the stage area where a lone pole glinted dully, picked out by a spotlight in the gloom.

  She followed him tentatively around the back and through some heavy, dusty drapes where Frank pressed a button that immediately had ear-splittingly loud heavy rock music thundering through a wall of speakers.

  Ellie jumped and moved away. Too bad Frank mistook that for enthusiasm and gestured for her to continue while he tapped his foot in time to the thumping beat.

  Dear heaven, what was she supposed to do? Did he want her to take the rest of her clothes off or just dance? And what about this pole?

  She moved her feet hesitantly and tried not to look out at the few unsavory looking characters who already sat drinking at a couple of the front row tables. Closing her eyes, she attempted to capture the beat in her mind and bind her movements to it.

  “Shake that ass, doll,” someone shouted. It might even have been Frank. And really, it wasn’t like she couldn’t dance, it was just that there was no real melody to follow. This was more your ‘pump and grind’ kind of music, which she guessed was probably the point. Suddenly that pole was looking more and more practical. At least it would give her something to hold onto.

  She did her best, she really did. She’d come here specifically looking for a job after all. A hip bop to the left and then right. What she hoped was a sexy ass jiggle but wasn’t wholly convinced from what she could see in the surrounding mirrors that threw her reflection everywhere. The bendy knee thing and raised arms. Thank goodness she’d attempted to shave her armpits that morning and not let things go.

  Grabbing the pole, she swung around it, and threw her head back, allowing her hair to cascade down to her ass cheeks in what may or may not have come off as a coy but sultry move.

  All the while her heart hammered, and she couldn’t help keeping one eye on the audience. She knew they were shouting, but whatever they said was blessedly drowned out by the din from the sound system.

  Ellie was actually thinking she might come through it all relatively unscathed. Until a drunken, greasy-haired man lumbered onto the stage with her and pinned her between the pole and his not inconsiderable bulk. She froze, knowing her face had taken on a ‘deer in the headlights’ look because she could see it in the lurid reflections that bounced back at her. The man started to grind his pelvis against her, groping for her boobs with meaty hands as she politely tried to sidestep him. Was there any kind of club protocol for this kind of thing?

  A banknote was jammed down the front of her bra and the guy brought his slobbering lips way too close to her face for her peace of mind. She managed to duck out of the way, but not evade the harsh pinch to her nipple.

  “C’mon babe,” he slurred, his hands everywhere. They grabbed at her butt and slithered around to cup her mons. She screamed for Frank before realizing it was pointless; the music was way too loud for anything to be heard above it. For several long seconds she thought she was going to have to watch herself being assaulted in the gruesome carnival mirrors as well as experience it, before a tattooed hand ripped the drunk away from her.

  “Enough of that, Vince. You know the stage is out of bounds.”

  The stage is out of bounds? Ellie thought wildly as the music wound down. What about her? Was being publicly mauled just part of the deal? No one had mentioned that to her!

  She gripped hold of the pole for a moment to gather her strength and get her racing heart under control. Then, realizing where she was, she scampered across the stage and blindly made her way back to the dressing room. Finding her clothes, she pulled them on as quickly as she could, then wrenched the long length of her hair into a crude ponytail before grabbing up her bag.

  Frank intercepted her before she made her escape. “Sorry about that, doll,” he drawled unapologetically. “There’s always some bum that gets a bit ca
rried away. Anyway, you handled it pretty well. Job’s yours. Come along at nine tomorrow night and I’ll have Candy show you the ropes.”

  Ellie couldn’t even speak. She just nodded, lifted a hand in a vague goodbye salute as she slipped out of the door. She walked, albeit at a fast clip, until she reached the corner. Then she broke into an all-out run and had never been so thankful that she’d decided to splurge on the fuel and drive her car over here.

  She couldn’t remember the drive back to the homeless shelter in her desperation to get a shower. The only thing she was aware of was Gran’s blunt voice babbling in her subconscious.

  ‘Well, what do you think goes on in those kinda places, girlie’, it’s a den for sinners and if you set foot in one, don’t you be surprised when some of it rubs off where you don’t want it to.’

  Not that Gran had ever actually said those words to her in real life, of course, but she shouted them now, loud and clear, from beyond the grave. The voice of her conscience, perhaps? Because really, what did she expect was going to happen? She wasn’t totally naïve. She knew taking a job as a stripper was going to come with a fair amount of hands on. Still, common sense didn’t alleviate the need Ella felt to scrub herself clean. Her hair stank of cigarette smoke and she felt dirty.

  Perhaps that was her conscience talking too. Or Gran’s idea of being herself appointed fairy godmother to stop her from doing the wrong thing.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning Ellie was awake at dawn. Hard not to be, sleeping in a car with nothing to black out the light and the noise. Still, it was something she was well used to from her formative years with her parents and life with Gran. It seemed almost normal now and since there was little else to do, given her current circumstances, she was well used to settling down for the night as soon as it got dark, no matter what the time was.

  Except last night she had mixed up her routine. When she’d gone to the shelter to shower the day’s embarrassment away, she had persuaded the manager to let her charge her laptop while she used the facilities and then use their Wi-Fi to send an email. She’d told them it was for a job, which she supposed was true in the loosest sense. She wasn’t so comfortable divulging the truth about the wife advertisement. They’d think she was certifiable. And maybe she was, but there was nothing left to lose.