by Taylor McKay
Two months ago Brock Ward kicked Preston Keese off his ranch, but nothing can get the hot cowboy out of his head. Damn Preston for lying and cheating…and throwing away his love.
Preston fucked up. In his need to prove Brock cared, he lost the man he needed most. There’s nothing left for him in Copper Creek…except Brock. If only he could prove he wants to be a cowboy tamed.
One phone call is all Preston has…one chance to try to rein in the man he wants.
Cowboy Tamed
By
Taylor McKay
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cowboy Tamed
COPYRIGHT © 2011 by Taylor McKay
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Demanding Romance except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Demanding Romance
Publishing History
First Demanding Romance Edition, April 2011
Cover art by Morgan Lee
Published in the United States of America
Cowboy Tamed
Steam from his cup of coffee misted in the chilly April evening. Brock Ward closed his palms around the heavy ceramic mug and sipped the hot strong brew. The last rays of daylight colored the Montana skyline in pinks, oranges and violets. His favorite mare, swollen and ready to foal, plodded around the pen, her giant belly swaying with each step.
“Should be any time,” Kenny, one of his ranch hands stated, leaning against the post and taking a cigarette from his pack. “I’m bettin’ by morning.” The horse nipped at her hind end. She was sweating and restless.
Brock squinted against a gust of cold air and hunched into the woolen warmth of his coat. “Her first foal.” He’d kept her isolated, had the vet out this morning and yet couldn’t stop worrying. There were times when Avril was his best friend. He could talk to the majestic black Morgan, tell her the secrets he couldn’t share with anyone else. She bore his burdens and was always there. Together they’d covered every acre of the Ward ranch.
The chirp of Brock’s phone broke the stillness. He took the phone from the deep pocket of his coat and checked the number. “Zeb.” The local sheriff.
“Wonder if he’s found that mountain lion? Got folks ‘round here upset.” Kenny struck a match. Sulfur sizzled. He held the flame to the tip of his cigarette and inhaled.
Brock took the call. “Good news, I hope.” He worried about his stock and about the foal. “Did you catch the cougar?”
“Hi, Brock. Don’t hang up. I only have one phone call.” There was silence. “I think I’m in trouble.”
Brock’s throat tightened and his gut clenched. The voice he never expected to hear again, but one that still played in his mind, floated on the canyon breezes when he rode Avril and haunted his dreams at night. He ached for Preston Keese in ways he’d never admit to anyone. In ways he’d only shared with Avril. Brock longed for Preston’s hard, lean body, sweating beneath him as he slid his cock into Preston’s tight ass. He missed the quiet conversations and long nights of loving.
Preston sighed into the phone and quietly spoke. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
Brock hated the desperation in Preston’s voice. He wanted to break, to ask what was wrong, but what would it matter? Preston was Preston, and Brock didn’t have the energy for his drama anymore. “You should’ve called someone who gives a shit.”
Brock ended the call. His heart raced and his fingers trembled.
“I’d guess by the smile on your face,” Kenny said sarcastically, “that wasn’t the sheriff.”
Brock glanced to Kenny. He was a good man. Couldn’t be more than thirty-five. Clean cut, pretty blue eyes and sandy brown hair. He might not carry the brawn of some of the men, rather his build was long and wiry. But Kenny had a gentle patience with the animals. He’d worked for Brock a few years, was a good man to have around. Most wandering men that ended up on the ranch were running from something. Brock didn’t pry and expected the same.
Kenny was one of the ranch hands Brock considered a friend. A good friend. He trusted Kenny, but Kenny wasn’t a man Brock was interested in personally. Brock had made it a point to avoid complicated situations. That’s why he didn’t get involved with those who worked on Ward land. He’d broken that rule with Preston. And didn’t that end well?
“Seems the sheriff has company.” Brock rolled his shoulders and hid the discomfort in his voice. “Preston’s in town.”
Kenny raised a brow and took a drag off his cigarette. “Guess hell must have frozen over.”
Brock gave a snort and took another sip of coffee. “He’s obviously still getting into trouble.” Because Preston had called from the sheriff’s office, Brock assumed Preston had been arrested. Wouldn’t have been the first time he’d found more trouble than he could handle. There was a time Brock had loved Preston’s wild untamed ways. Not anymore.
Kenny chuckled. “He was always ballsy, but I didn’t think he’d have the cojones to call you for shit. Not after the way he left.”
Brock wasn’t about to become gossip for the town again. Whatever he might have done in the past, he wasn’t about to repeat.
“What does he want?”
“Fuck if I know. And I don’t care. Said he had one phone call I told him he should’ve called someone who gave a damn.” Emotions roiled in his stomach. Brock refused to give a damn, regardless of how much it hurt to hear Preston’s voice.
“Has to be serious if he called you.”
“Preston has run out of people who care.”
Kenny shrugged.
“What? If you have something to say, say it.”
“I just think you ought to find out what happened. If he called you…” He let the rest unsaid, but Brock still heard the words. When a man reached the end of his rope, he had to tie a knot and hang on. If Preston had called him, he was at the end of his rope.
“Fuck.” Brock turned back to the mare. “I can’t leave. She’s about to foal, and I need to be here.”
“She’s close, but not that close. She’ll be in labor all night. Maybe even into the morning. And I’ll be here.” He flicked ash to the ground.
“Preston isn’t my problem.” Brock set his cup on top of the post and pushed away from the fence. He didn’t owe Preston Keese anything…except maybe an ass kicking. Two months wasn’t long enough to forget the hell he’d been through or the pain of Preston’s betrayal. “I have to check on Avril’s stall.” He stomped away and headed into the stables.
The scent of horse and fresh hay permeated the room. He’d had two stalls modified to accommodate Avril and her foal. Fresh straw covered the ground. Emergency supplies were on the shelf, and Doc Maple was at the ready in case there were complications Brock and Kenny couldn’t handle.
Brock leaned against the beam…and thought about Preston. Preston was cowboy from the tip of his hat to the Montana dirt crusted on his boots. He was country—all man and mischief. His mischief had gone too far. But as for the man…Strong thighs, trim hips, big cock and a nice ass.
Anxiety fired through Brock. He had hated to think about how he’d feel if he ever saw or heard from Preston again. Thinking about him at all brought back too many memories. He closed his eyes, aching for everything they’d been…everything they’d lost.
>
Fuck that. Preston had fucked up, pissed away all they could have shared. Brock couldn’t get the image of Preston’s lips wrapped around another cowboy’s cock out of his head. Brock had refused to hear explanations or apologies, and Preston hadn’t put up much of a fight. What would be the point? He’d cheated. Brock had kicked him out of his house, collected Preston’s shit from their room, asked Kenny and another one of the hands to find Preston and dump his belongings into the bed of his truck. Finding Preston hadn’t taken long. That night, he’d left with his lover. Now, two months later, Brock guessed that love affair hadn’t lasted either since Preston had called the Brock.
Brock growled and jammed his hands into his pockets.
Kenny stepped into the barn. “I’m heading out.”
Brock turned to Kenny. “Thought you were going to hang around here.” Brock would need Kenny’s help with Avril and her foal.
“I won’t be gone long.” He jangled a set of keys in his hand. “Just need to check on a few things.”
“Like what?” Brock straightened. “Where’re you going, Kenny?” Although, he had a pretty good idea what Kenny had planned. Something like getting into business where he didn’t belong—seeing an old friend in town—in the jail.
“I don’t think you want to know.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to know if you think you’re going into town to see a certain cowboy who didn’t call you to come bail his ass out of jail.”
“It’s none of your business what I do. I’m not asking permission nor am I asking you to get involved. But if Preston called you, then he’s in trouble.”
Brock slid his palms into his pockets to keep from ringing Kenny’s damn neck. “I don’t need this shit. Stay out of it.”
Kenny shifted from one foot to the other. “Sorry, boss, but I can’t do that.”
“So you’re rushing off to bail him out?”
“Yep. Right or wrong, he’s practically family. I’m not saying he didn’t fuck up when he fucked you over. And it isn’t up to me to forgive him. I’m not trying to get between you and Preston because whatever went wrong between you two has nothing to do with me going to the jail.” He straightened his hat. “Even if I do think you’re being a stubborn jackass.”
“What the hell did I do? I wasn’t the one on my knees sucking some cowboy’s dick. I was the one who found my lover in my house fucking one of my ranch hands.” Technically Brock had no idea if Preston fucked the other man. He didn’t care. Shit. He’d cared too much. He’d let Preston get under his skin and into his heart. He’d thought they were partners.
“Yeah, I heard the details.”
Brock didn’t think there was a person within a fifty mile radius who hadn’t heard the juicy details. It’s all anyone could talk about for weeks. “And you’re still going to get him?”
Kenny nodded.
“Suit yourself,” he snapped. “But make it fast. You still have a job and I need you here.”
“Not sure how long it will take. Not sure he has somewhere to go. So after I bail him out, I might have to swing him by my place. He’ll need a place to crash.” Kenny strode from the barn.
Brock bristled. His gut twisted and piercing pain knifed through his temple. His mind screamed to forget about Preston and focus on Avril, but his heart couldn’t. Damn it. He rushed after Kenny, jogging across the hard packed dirt. Just hearing Preston’s voice had caused anxiety to fire his blood, what would seeing him in person do?
Kenny had his truck engine idling. He sat behind the wheel with the door open.
“You stay here with Avril and I’ll go.”
“About time you pulled your head out of your ass.”
Brock shook his head. “Just because I’m going doesn’t mean I’ll bail him out. He might just deserve to spend some time with the sheriff.”
Kenny smiled, his damn face splitting with happiness.
“What do you think is going to happen when I get to the jail?”
“Hopefully seeing him again will remind you what you both lost. Brock, don’t let your pride keep you from something you need.” He slid from the truck. “You need Preston. Everyone around here can see what you refuse to. Preston made you happy. When he left, part of you went with him. Maybe if you bring him around, you’ll figure out what’s missing.”
Brock pushed him out of the door. “You sound like Dr. Phil.”
“Better than Dr. Ruth who would tell you to go get laid. You’ve turned into an asshole, and the rest of us are about sick of it.”
Brock slammed the truck door without responding. Gunning the gas, he left a cloud of dust for Kenny to choke on.
* * * * *
Brock drove down the deserted highway. Inside, he was a jumbled mess. When he kicked Preston out, he’d decided he would never take him back. Because when he was with him, he wanted to be with him. Wanted him in bed with his knees bent toward his ears, his feet braced against Brock’s shoulders. Brock easily remembered the heated pressure of Preston’s ass as he drove his cock deep inside of Preston. Preston liked dick—sadly he’d wanted more than just Brock’s.
However, nothing would change the fact there had always been a spark, a smoldering heat between them fueled by more than lust. Together, in bed, they’d been intense lovers. Brock ached for more than the loss of their sexual connection. Preston had made Brock laugh, made him feel and that’s why his betrayal had cut so deeply.
The drive into Copper Creek took about twenty minutes. Plenty of time for Brock to change his mind, turn around and head back to the ranch, but he didn’t. He pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse and jail and parked next to Zeb’s marked SUV. Brock rested his wrists on the steering wheel and sighed. His gut was in knots. Nerves were getting the best of him. Why should he be worried? He had all the power in this situation. He could walk in, find out what kind of trouble Preston had gotten himself into and then, if he wanted, he could leave Preston’s ass to rot in jail.
Feeling more in control of his emotions, he keyed off the ignition, opened the door and slammed it closed. Gravel crunched under his boots as he crossed to the glass door leading into the lobby of the small courthouse. Bells above the door jingled when he opened it.
Zeb, sitting at his desk, glanced over. “Hi, Brock, good to see you.”
“Well, if it isn’t Brock Ward coming to claim one of his boys.” Pamela, Zeb’s dispatcher—and girlfriend—came from the back room with two cups of coffee.
Brock unbuttoned his coat as he crossed the room. The small county courthouse had a rustic feel, just like the community. Pinewood desks, braided rugs and an elk’s head mounted on the wall. “So what’s he done?”
Pamela set the coffee on the desk in front of Zeb. “I’m going to leave you two alone.” Her uneasy smile caused Brock’s stomach to turn over. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“I’m good.” He sat in the chair across from Zeb. “Thanks.” He glanced to Zeb. “So what’s he done?”
Zeb waved her off. The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back and waited. Pamela shut her office door. In the large glass windows separating the offices, Brock could still see her sitting behind her desk and turning on her computer.
“How serious is it?” How much was it going to cost to get Preston out?
Zeb scratched his whiskered face. “Preston’s in trouble, but it ain’t with the law.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on the lip of the desk. “Things have been bad since he quit working for you.”
Brock took a deep breath. “Preston didn’t quit working for me. He was fired. We both know why he isn’t welcome on Ward land.” Brock was gay. He never hid it. Never hid from it. He wasn’t out trying to score with cowboys. Like every other rancher in these parts trying to make a living in a tough industry, Brock was surviving—thriving actually. He was a member of the community, helped his neighbors, and he was gay. No one cared who he fucked any more than he cared that the sheriff was screwing Pamela.
“Preston
’s lived here all his life.” And when his parents lost their ranch, he stayed on and worked for Brock.
“I never asked him to leave town, just to get off my land.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t know he was still in town. Thought he’d left.”
“He’s living in his truck, Brock. He was working out at Thompson’s place for a couple weeks. But Ron had to cut back, can’t keep the hands he has and Preston was the new hire. I figured at least here he’d have a cot and three squares.”
“No, you figured I’d come collect his ass and put him back to work.” Brock groaned and adjusted in the chair. “I don’t want to see any man down on his luck, but Zeb, you’re asking too much.”
“That son of a bitch he’d gotten mixed up with hasn’t been around since that night. I’m not asking you to take him back.” Zeb cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “Well, you know what I’m saying.” He plucked at a pencil on his desk. “I’m not saying you have to ask him to move back in, but you got work and he needs a job.”
