The hottest cowboy in Coldwater is about to steal her heart a second time...
Too fast, too young—that sums up Ryland Ross’s marriage to Nova Carson. Ten years after their divorce, Ryland has his own horse ranch and an uncomplicated life...until the past blows everything up. Risqué photos of Ryland and Nova taken years ago resurface. And while Ryland is willing to help his ex smooth over the situation, he’s blindsided by the desire that springs back to life.
If her boss’s weaselly son makes the photos public, Nova could lost the photography job she loves. But reconnecting with Ryland is a risk. The hot, charming cowboy has always known how to get under skin...and into her bed. Maybe it’s the lure of ex sex. Or maybe it’s time to admit that when a cowboy lassos your heart, there’s no escape...
Delores Fossen
Texas at Dusk
USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen has had more than one hundred novels published, with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She’s received the Booksellers’ Best Award and the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and was a finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award. In addition, she’s had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines. Married to an air force colonel, Delores is the mother of four children and has lived in England and all over the United States. She’s had a variety of careers and jobs: an air force captain, a special-ed teacher and a rehab counselor. None was as fun or challenging as the time she spent as a stay-at-home mom. You can get updates about Delores’s books or contact her through her website at www.deloresfossen.com.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
EXCERPT FROM SWEET SUMMER SUNSET BY DELORES FOSSEN
CHAPTER ONE
RYLAND ROSS KNEW it qualified as a bad day when you had to see your ex-wife about dirty pictures. But since these particular dirty pictures could come back to bite him in the butt, the visit was necessary.
Considering he and his ex, Nova Carson, had been divorced for nearly a decade, Ryland didn’t feel the need to make a good impression, so he didn’t clean up after he finished working out his new quarter horse, Pepper. Ryland just brushed Pepper down, made a quick check on his other horses and headed for his truck.
Yep, the very truck he’d owned when Nova and he had been together.
As a general rule, he preferred to fix things when they broke. Unlike Nova. She’d tossed away their marriage at the first sign of trouble. Not that Ryland was still bitter about that.
Not much, anyway.
He figured a smidgen of bitterness was normal. After all, Nova and he had been childhood sweethearts. Had lost their virginities to each other. And then had gotten married when they’d barely been twenty-one.
After things had gone to hell in a big-assed handbasket less than a year after their wedding, there’d been hurt, and Ryland suspected that the hurt had felt even deeper because they’d been hardly more than kids. Too young and too stupid to know better.
Well, they sure as heck weren’t kids now, and Ryland could certainly put their past and that remaining smidgen of bitterness behind him. Or at least he could once he resolved the whole dirty-picture problem. Maybe that wouldn’t turn into some big ordeal like their brief marriage, but Ryland didn’t intend to leave this meeting with Nova until he had the answer to one very important question.
What the hell?
And Ryland hoped Nova had an explanation as to why these photos had surfaced now.
He drove from his small horse ranch and through his hometown of Coldwater, Texas. Main Street—such that it was—had an “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” kind of feel to it. Which, of course, fit right in with his own philosophy of life. The street, like the rest of the town, was laid-back and easy, where most folks only hurried if they were about to miss the half-priced “pitcher o’ beer” special at the Gray Mare Saloon or the latest gossip at the This and That Café.
Like Ryland, the shops and businesses didn’t put on appearances. No need to impress with showy displays and fussy exteriors. Everything here had remained pretty much the same as it had for as long as Ryland could remember.
Despite his foul mood, Ryland flashed a smile and gave a tip-of-his-hat greeting to several townsfolk who waved at him. Jaylene Winters, who owned the bakery, and Roy Eccleston, the town’s only lawyer. Ryland’s smile wasn’t quite so big when he drove past Silla Sweeny. Beautiful, rich and nowhere near his type. He didn’t feel the least bit tempted when Silla winked at him and gave him the call-me gesture.
The drive down Main Street took less than a minute, and it was only another two minutes before Nova’s childhood home came into view. Of course, it had also been where Nova and he had lived when they’d been married. By then, her grandmother had passed, and they’d had the place to themselves.
Situated in the middle of a pasture, it was a small yellow house. Not an ordinary yellow, either. This was more a radioactive-canary color with algae-green shutters and a red tin roof. The window boxes had an array of mutant-looking, gnarly-shaped cacti growing in them.
Ryland rarely came this way, so it had been a while since he’d seen the place, but it was about as “unique” as he’d expected, considering that Nova’s oddball great-aunt, Liddy Jean Carswell, now lived there. Even though the woman was in her eighties, she was still a champion of many causes, including ones that were as strange as her choices in exterior colors and plants.
He didn’t see Liddy Jean’s powder blue VW bug, but there was a small silver car parked out front. Probably Nova’s, but there was no sign of her. However, the front door was open. That meant she was not only there but also on time for their two o’clock meeting.
Ryland parked his truck next to the car, got out and had a look around. With all the crazy colors, it was plenty different from when it’d belonged to Betty Fay Carson, Nova’s grandmother and the woman who’d raised Nova after her parents had been killed in a car wreck.
Unless Ryland had missed some gossip, which was nearly impossible to do in Coldwater, then the house and the acreage still belonged to Nova, but Liddy Jean had made it her home after Nova and he had moved out. Nova hadn’t stayed around long to deal with, well, anything, and Ryland had used his savings to put a down payment on his own place.
Ryland made his way up the walkway where Liddy Jean or someone had painted fairies and such on the flat stones. He tried not to remember how many other times he’d come here, but he got a jolt of the memories anyway. Hard not to get that considering this was also where he used to pick Nova up for dates.
And he’d slipped into her bedroom window more than a couple of times.
Betty Fay had been as deaf as a fence post, which had allowed them to explore the whole notion of teenage messing around and sex in a bed rather than a truck seat.
Even before Ryland stepped into the house, he could smell the granny scent that seemed only thicker because of the already too-warm April temperatures. But there was another odor in the air. Bug spray. Either that or Nova had unusual perfume choices.
The living room was jammed with an assortment of brightly painted furniture against equally brightly painted walls and floors. The clashing colors made it seem as if a kaleidoscope had thrown up in there. Part of the clutter and chaos were Liddy Jean’s protest signs that were propped in every corner and leaning against anything that could have something leaned against it.
Equality for Heifers, one read. It sported a picture of a very large Holstein. Another read—Allow Heifers in Rodeos.
&nb
sp; Since the signs looked recent, he guessed that this was Liddy Jean’s current “beef,” but there were other bent and frayed ones. Stop Being Mean to Snakes. Spiders Are Our Friends. He was betting none of those causes put her on friendly terms with the townsfolk.
Ryland continued to look around. No Nova, but when he heard something moving around in what used to be her bedroom, he headed in that direction. And he found her, all right.
Nova was on all fours, or rather all threes, since she was using her right hand to rake something out from beneath the bed. Apparently, she’d done some other raking, since there were old opened boxes scattered around the room. One of them had their high school yearbook on top. There was also a huge can of—he’d pegged it right—Raid bug spray. Judging from the heavy scent, Nova had doused the room with it.
Since Ryland hadn’t exactly been quiet, he figured Nova would get up and explain what the heck she was looking for under her old bed. But she stayed on the floor, her butt right in front of him. A butt covered by a denim skirt that showed plenty of bare leg. Ryland made sure he didn’t feel a punch of old lust, and he was doing just fine managing that.
Until Nova shifted, her legs moving apart.
Her butt lifted higher while her torso lowered to go in deeper under the bed. He caught sight of white lace panties. And he got no mere punch of lust this time. This was like a damn Mack truck of it.
Oh, man.
He didn’t need this. He was here about those dirty pictures, not to remember that he’d once had sex with her in just that very position. Right there on the floor.
When he felt an erection coming on, Ryland cleared his throat to let Nova know he was there. She jolted, slamming her head, shoulder and arm on the bed.
“Shit,” she growled. “I mean, crap.”
Ryland nearly laughed. Her grandmother had had a strict rule about no cussing in the house, and apparently that had become ingrained in Nova.
Nova got to her feet, not easily. Even though she was wearing flat sandals, she teetered, tottered and clamped her hand onto the mattress until she managed to stand and face him.
“Ryland,” she said on a rise of breath. Of course, that breath made it into her voice, making his name come out in a whisper. The way it had when he’d had her on that floor about thirteen or so years ago.
Remembering that wasn’t going to soften him.
Thankfully, he had something to distract him. Something other than the fact that her once lanky body now had some nice curves. Curves that sure weren’t going to stave off an erection. Nope, the distraction came in the form of a spider.
There was dust, cobwebs...and, yes, a spider in her shoulder-length brown hair. It wasn’t poisonous, but Nova hated spiders, and it would likely cause her to scream. Since he wanted to avoid that, Ryland went closer and gave it a flick with his thumb and middle finger. She blinked, her blue eyes widening in confusion until she saw the critter land and then scurry across the floor.
And then she screamed.
It wasn’t an actual honest-to-goodness scream, though. More like a very loud garbled mix of ewww, crap and some other curse words, all belted out with a shudder and shiver that accompanied Nova running to get behind him.
“Squish it,” she insisted, adding more shuddering and shivering. He was aware of this because Nova was now plastered against him. Specifically, her trembling breasts were against his back and he felt every delicious inch of her.
Ryland would have welcomed the distraction of squishing a spider, but it wisely scurried into Nova’s closet, where there were yet more boxes. He didn’t want to go on a scavenger hunt to find it, especially since there were likely dozens more inside. Not when he wanted to keep this meeting short and on point. Of course, the on point was shot to hell, what with the wrong part of him stirring with heat and old lust.
“The spider’s gone,” Ryland told her. “It went in your closet.”
With her breath ragged now, she peered over his shoulder, and after a few seconds, Nova hurried to the can of Raid, grabbed it and gave the closet a dousing. “I brought my own can, since Aunt Liddy Jean doesn’t use bug spray.”
Considering her protest signs, that wasn’t a surprise.
“I hope you didn’t need anything right away from that closet,” he remarked. Because it was going to take a while for the fumes to die down, Ryland went to the window and jimmied it open.
“I do.” Her breath was steadier now, but she still had the Raid pointed at the closet. “Before Aunt Liddy Jean gets back from her protest planning meeting, I need to make sure there aren’t any hard-copy prints of the naked pictures in there.”
When he heard her say that, Ryland experienced two things. Confusion as to why there’d be such pictures in her closet and relief that Nova knew what this meeting was about.
Ryland hadn’t given her a lot of details when he’d left her a voice mail early that morning. Only that he’d received something in a “troubling” email that they needed to discuss. Less than a minute later, Nova had texted him with the time and place for them to get together. She hadn’t asked why he wanted to see her, hadn’t even hinted that she was curious about what he wanted to discuss. So clearly, she knew why. He hoped that would make this conversation speed right along.
He took out his phone and showed her the first of the photos that someone had emailed him the night before. A photo of Ryland wearing only a Stetson and a pair of snug gray boxer briefs that showed every inch of his junk.
Which had been the intention.
Nova had taken the photo nearly fifteen years ago when Ryland had been just eighteen. First, she’d snapped the shot for fun and play on the digital camera he’d given her for her birthday, but then she’d submitted the photo to the Hunky Cowboy Competition. He’d won, too, and it had led to something else that Ryland would carry to the grave.
An underwear modeling contract.
Since at the time he was working as a ranch hand, Ryland had kept that secret. No way had he wanted the ribbing or getting his butt kicked on a regular basis by the other hands who would think modeling was a candy-ass thing to do. Plus, he hadn’t exactly cared for the notion of people he knew staring at his crotch. Still, the contract had earned him enough money to buy Nova a big, fat engagement ring.
Nova looked at the photo on his phone, then sighed. “How many pictures did you get?” she asked.
With his phone still held so that she could see, Ryland stayed quiet and scrolled through all fifteen of them. The first was tame compared to the others. By picture six, Nova and he had moved on to couple selfies. Those hadn’t been meant for the competition but for their eyes only.
The photo shoot had worked them both up, so by picture eight, she’d had her hand in his boxers, but she’d still been dressed. By picture ten, Ryland had had her skirt hiked up, and his hand had been in her panties.
But it was pictures eleven through fifteen that were the dirtiest.
Nova, who’d been really into photography back then, had used a tripod and timer that had freed up both of her hands. Ryland’s hands had been free, too, so her bra had been gone by picture eleven. In the last three, there were no clothes of any kind. Both were bare-assed naked.
In hindsight, Ryland could see that Nova had attempted to keep the shots “modest.” There was no full-frontal nudity. Instead, they were face-to-face, body to body in the pictures, and they were kissing as if their lives had depended on it. And in a way they had. The moment the picture taking had stopped, they’d been hotter than a cheap toaster oven on high, and they’d had very fast and very furious sex. It had been so intense that it’d become the benchmark for all their future orgasms.
“I see,” Nova said, her face now flushed pink.
Ryland had expected a tad more, especially since she didn’t seem surprised by any of this. “The photos came in an email with a message that said Do you want friends, famil
y and business associates to see these?” he explained.
He paused in case Nova needed time to let that sink in. Judging from her groan, that would be no. Ryland had had the same response. No way did he want his folks, his friends or anyone else to get a look at the photos.
“They came from an email account that no longer works,” he added. He knew that because he’d sent a WTF? reply after he’d gotten them, and the email had bounced. “Any idea who sent these?” he asked.
“Barry Waterman,” she said without hesitation.
He’d figured that hearing the answer would clear things up for him some. It didn’t. “Who?”
Nova gave another sigh and sank down on the foot of the bed, the motion poofing up the feather mattress around her butt. Since Ryland didn’t want to delay any info she was about to give him, he didn’t tell her about the spider that sprinted about a foot behind her, but he did move closer in case squashing duty would be required.
“Barry Waterman,” Nova repeated. “My ex-boyfriend.”
Ryland felt a quick jolt of jealousy that she had an ex other than him, but he reined it in and instead focused on the “ex” part and those answers he needed. “I think you should start explaining,” he said. And it wasn’t a request.
Nova nodded, pushed her hair from her face and then looked up at him. “Ryland, I’m so sorry you got dragged into this mess. I had no idea Barry would do anything like this.”
“What exactly did he do? Or better yet, what’s he trying to do?” Ryland asked.
Nova dragged in a long, weary breath, but when she stood, there wasn’t a down-and-out look in her eyes. It was anger. “Barry and I started dating about a year ago, but when I realized things weren’t going to work out, I broke up with him. He was furious, and now he’s trying to blackmail me into getting back with him by using those pictures.”
Well, hell. Ryland was sure that put some anger in his own eyes. “Why would he push to get back with you when you broke up with him? Is he obsessed with you?”
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