Cowboy Karma (Cowboy Cocktail Book 4)

by Mia Hopkins

  Cowboy Karma

  A Cowboy Cocktail Book

  Mia Hopkins

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Preview

  Excerpt of Cowboy Rising

  Also by Mia Hopkins

  About the Author

  A Note to the Reader

  To Crissy, the sweetest, most creative girl/unicorn I’ve ever met. Thank you for your unwavering encouragement and support. P.S. Your mom is really hot.

  To Jennifer Haymore. This series simply would not exist without you. Thank you for believing in me. I’m sending Lucky and the MacKinnon boys to your house for a group hug. Be ready.

  To Rebekah Weatherspoon, Becky Condit and all the amazing reviewers, authors and bloggers who’ve helped spread the word about my books. You do so much for the romance community. You’ve done so much for me. A million thanks. A special high five to Tiffany at Read All the Romance and Amber at Wicked Good Reads. I hope you both enjoy Harmony’s story!

  To my husband, Brent, who tells me I don’t snore even though I’m pretty sure I do. I love you.

  And most of all…to every girl who just wants to get lucky and isn’t afraid to admit it. This one’s for you.

  Chapter 1

  The Nod

  Sometimes the thing you throw away becomes the thing you most desire.

  ―GABRIELLE HAMILTON

  Harmony Santos put down her fork with a clink. “Wait a second. Are you breaking up with me? On my birthday?”

  Dr. Franklin Walker Vallejo Lockwood had so many names, she couldn’t keep track of them. He was Dr. Lockwood to their patients at Bakersfield General Hospital. To the other surgical nurses in their ward, he was Dr. Dreamboat. To his wealthy, doting parents, he was Franklin, beloved only child. To Harmony, he was simply Frank, her boyfriend of almost a year.

  In the candlelight, Frank looked up at her with those bright green eyes and said, “I don’t think this is working out, Harm.”

  “What do you mean?” She was genuinely confused. “We’re working out great.”

  “Just hear me out.”

  He had prepared a list of vague reasons, but Harmony was too tied up in her shock to understand anything coming out of his mouth.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  When Dr. Dreamboat finally asked her out after she’d crushed on him for months, Harmony believed her love life had come to a happy crescendo. Cue rainbows. Puppies. Blue skies. They’d been together almost a year. In good time, Harmony Santos, R.N. was certain she’d become Mrs. Harmony Santos-Lockwood, wife of the crown prince of Bakersfield.

  This was no daydream. Over the last year, she’d worked her ass off to become the kind of woman worthy of this relationship. Taking her cues from Frank, she’d stopped partying and raising Cain. She learned to curb her impulsive temper, something that often got her in trouble when she was younger. Frank had complimented her on her improvements. These days, far as Harmony could see, they were the perfect couple. Doctor and nurse. Proper prince and princess. Happily ever after, forever and ever.

  But now?

  Still unable to grasp the meaning of his words, Harmony watched his face as he spoke. He looked sorry—the quintessential sorry person, sweet and sincere. Dr. Dreamboat made even awkward things like dumping his girlfriend on her birthday appear easy.

  Rage. Confusion. Hurt. Heartache. Too many emotions to keep bottled up at once—Harmony panicked. She had to get the hell out of here.

  While he was in midsentence, she stood up, opened her purse, and dropped some money on the table.

  “Baby, don’t do that.” Frank glanced down at the bills and back up at her. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. I’m going home.” Keeping her face still, Harmony turned and walked out of the fancy restaurant.

  Trembling, she called her older sister from the highway. Melody picked up right away. “Hey, birthday girl. What’s up?”

  The words came out on their own. “I’m coming down.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Tears welled in Harmony’s eyes, but she forced herself not to cry. No blubbering. She made her voice hard and clear. “Frank—he dumped me. Tonight.”

  “Oh, crap.” Melody fell quiet. Harmony heard the muffled voice of her brother-in-law asking a question. “My sister’s boyfriend just broke up with her. Yeah. On her birthday.” Melody turned back to the phone. “Listen, we’re not at home right now.”

  “What?” Now panic swirled inside her along with all those other messy emotions. Harmony didn’t trust herself tonight, alone in her apartment with her freshly broken heart. “Where are you guys?”

  “We’re driving to the Silver Spur.”

  “The Spur?” Harmony sniffed. “Tonight? Why?”

  “Tonight’s the grand reopening. Come meet us there.”

  Someone grabbed the phone. “Harm? This is Clark. Forget that prick and get your cowgirl ass to Oleander.” A series of deep whoops and hollers sounded in the background. His brothers and their girls were with him—instant party.

  Harmony blinked. Noise, drinking, dancing, and her crazy patched-together family—she hadn’t been out in ages. This sounded like just the ticket out of Shitsville. “All right,” she said. “I’m coming.”

  Melody got back on the line. “See you soon, girl.”

  One-and-a-half hours later, her jumbled-up feelings in check, Harmony climbed out of her Jeep into a parking lot jam-packed with pickup trucks. She took a deep breath—warm summer air, sagebrush, and cow funk. The smell of Oleander. The smell of home.

  She gave herself a once-over—black mini-dress from her date, beat-up cowboy boots she’d had in the car—and made a beeline for the crowd of people standing outside the Silver Spur, the newly remodeled cowboy bar where she had spent many an hour of her degenerate youth.

  But this—this wasn’t the rundown honky-tonk she remembered.

  This was a gleaming, two-story cowboy palace. Its log-cabin exterior was lit up with strings of white lights and planted out with drought-resistant landscaping. Harmony stood gawking at the joint until her sister texted her.

  I’m standing by the bouncer.

  Melody wore Daisy Dukes, a glittery tank top, and brand-new cowboy boots. Her hair was curled and eyeliner accentuated her beautiful brown eyes. When Harmony hugged her big sister, an enormous wave of relief washed over her. She was home—and she might be able to salvage this horrible night.

  “Look at you, gorgeous.” Harmony squinted at Melody. “Hey, what’s that?” She lifted her sister’s hair off her neck. There was a small purple mark just beneath her earlobe.

  Melody flipped her hair back to cover the hickey. “It’s nothing.”

  Harmony rolled her eyes. “Can’t that boy keep his hands off you?”

  “Not really. Come on.”

  A big bouncer removed the velvet rope from the entrance and let them cut in front of the line. As soon as she saw the scene inside the new Silver Spur, Harmony knew she was right to leave Bakersfield behind tonight.

  The original Silver Spur had been a stalwart but rather nasty piece of Oleander’s history, a place for beer bottles, fists, and ugly faces to get acquainted. When Harmony first snuck into the Spur, she was seventeen years old. That was seven years ago. The only decorations in the place had been dusty beer signs and a distinguished group of grizzled locals.

  But this—this was nothing like the old Spur. Owner Tom Shelton had built a flashy country-western nightclub. A long bar lined the back wall, manned by an army of sexy bartenders in cowboy hats slinging up beers and shots. A stone wall and a big fireplace lined another wall. Around the enormou
s sunken dance floor was a brass rail where patrons could lean, chat, and check out everyone else’s dance moves. Doors led to vast smoking patios. And up front, under what looked like a mirrored disco saddle, was a big stage bathed in purple light and covered with dancers. A DJ stood in the booth on the edge of the dance floor, spinning boot-scootin’ country music to the enthusiastic crowd.

  “Holy moly, Mel,” Harmony said. “Tom did this?”

  Melody stood close enough to speak directly into Harmony’s ear over the sound of the music. “He knocked the old place down and rebuilt it from the ground up. He’s got musical acts booked up almost two years in advance. Big names too. He knows a lot of promoters. We’re going to have tons of bands coming through here. It’ll be a blast.”

  “I can’t believe it.” She looked up at the big, ornate chandeliers made of antlers. “Where will I throw up at the end of the night?

  Her sister snorted. “Not in here. Tom will blacklist you.”

  “We could throw up anywhere we wanted in the old place.”

  “It’s a new day, Harm.”

  She followed her sister to a large, circular banquette just to the left of the stage. Some familiar faces sat in the shadows, drinking beer and talking—Melody’s in-laws, the MacKinnons, old family friends. Melody’s husband Clark sat on the end. Melody went to him right away and sat in his lap. They were so damn cute that Harmony wanted to throw up a little—in her mouth, so she wouldn’t get in trouble with Tom.

  “Happy birthday, stranger,” Clark said. “Glad you came out.”

  Harmony bent and kissed her handsome brother-in-law on the cheek. “Hey, doofus.”

  “We’ll kick his ass for you. Just say the word.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She said hello to the other two folks at the table, Clark’s brother Daniel MacKinnon and his wife Georgia, on a rare night out from their four kids. Georgia was wearing a red dress. Daniel couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  “Too much lovey-dovey in this booth,” Harmony whispered to her sister. “I’m going to get a drink. You want anything?”

  Melody shook her head as Clark leaned forward and kissed her neck.

  Harmony walked through the crowd. The room was steamy with dancing and pheromones. She ordered a Bud Light and ran the icy bottle over her forehead.

  As she stood at the brass rail and checked out the dancers, she recognized a handful of childhood friends and old nursing-school classmates in the arms of their boyfriends or boyfriends-for-the-night. Old-timers took their turns on the dance floor, the smoothest dancers of all. Near the front of the stage, she spotted Dean, the eldest MacKinnon brother, dancing sexy with his wife Monica. They looked unspeakably happy. Everyone did. With a grimace, Harmony killed her beer and left the bottle on a nearby tray.

  A sense of misery crept over her, clinging to her like a big, wet monkey. She hated that Frank had hurt her. But even worse, she hated that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable enough for him to do that. After months of pining followed by months of self-improvement, she’d finally gotten the man she wanted.

  Trouble was, he didn’t want her.

  Harmony winced. Goddammit. This pain.

  A new song started up. Shaking off her melancholy, she strode right into the heart of the crowded dance floor. Steve Earle’s “Copperhead Road”—an easy line dance. She counted her way in and soon was stomping across the dance floor. The loud music pounded in her chest. Even though it had been years since she’d line danced, her body knew the steps without her thinking about them. The heartache receded a little.

  More dancing. Maybe some shots. Maybe making out with a stranger. That’ll keep me from feeling…this. Whatever this ugly feeling is.

  She danced solo for three more songs. Then an old-timer led her in a waltz. The country gentleman was followed by a baby-faced cowboy in a camo baseball cap. She danced three more songs with him and bid him goodbye with a hug and a kiss on the cheek—too young.

  The DJ took the mike. “Next up, the cowboy cha-cha.”

  A slower dance. Harmony fanned herself with her hand and thought this might be a good time to grab a shot of Fireball chased with another beer.

  She turned to leave the dance floor when a big warm hand rested on her shoulder.

  “Wait. Don’t go yet.”

  She turned. In the dark, the new cowboy’s face was obscured in the shadow of his hat. The DJ cued up an old Bellamy Brothers song Harmony remembered her father loved. It began, “If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?” She knew the words as surely as she knew her own name.

  The dancers around them paired off in a hurry and got into the sweetheart position. Everyone counted off together and started around the massive dance floor in a counter-clockwise direction, all in time.

  Before Harmony could say anything, the stranger took her hands and spun her. His movements were sure and strong. He was an experienced dancer, not someone who had to be babysat around the floor.

  “Been a long time, hasn’t it?” he said.

  She stole sideways glances at him. Tall and muscular, he wore a black hat and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms were thick and smooth. She could see that he had a strong jaw, a dark, short beard, and dark skin. He spoke crystal-clear English with a Mexican accent.

  “You don’t remember me, do you, Harmony?”

  She stared.

  A half-smile. “Guess I’m just another cowboy to you.”

  For strangers, they moved in perfect rhythm. Harmony felt grateful that he was a strong lead since her brain was otherwise occupied with trying to figure out who he was. When he brought their bodies together, chest to chest, she looked up at him. His body gave off controlled strength and a smooth, unnerving calm. At last, she peeked under the shadow of his cowboy hat.

  Dark brows. Bedroom eyes the color of whiskey.

  No way. “Lucky?”

  Lucero “Lucky” Garcia had gone to Harmony’s high school and worked as a ranch hand for the MacKinnons. She’d always known who he was, but they were never friends. Two years ago, before Harmony had left for Bakersfield, she and Lucky shared one freaky, drunken make-out session at her graduation party. For days afterward, Lucky followed her around like a puppy. After he’d helped her move to her new apartment, she’d given him a kiss on the cheek and promised to call him. But fate had different plans. That Monday, she started working at the hospital. Dr. Dreamboat entered her romantic crosshairs and she immediately forgot the existence of other men.

  The Lucky of her memory was a boyish flyweight. At the time, he was still living at home with his mom. Sweet as candy, he was enthusiastic and optimistic. Everything about him screamed inexperience, sexual and otherwise.

  Disoriented, Harmony stared up at her partner. The Lucky of her memory was nothing like the Lucky who held her in his arms tonight. His movements were sure as he led her around the dance floor, anticipating her every step. And he’d put on lots of muscle. His broad arms and shoulders strained against his shirt, and when he turned, she saw that his back narrowed into a tight V in Wranglers wrapped around a sexy, meaty ass. Harmony tried not to stare. Lucky had been working out. The effects were downright breathtaking.

  “You look surprised to see me.”

  “The MacKinnons didn’t tell me you were here,” she said.

  “No one knows I’m here. I just got back this afternoon.”

  “Back from what?”

  “I’ve been on the road.”

  “Doing what?”

  He smiled. His lips were sensual and full, pretty and manly at the same time. Dr. Dreamboat was handsome, but he had thin lips. Kissing him sometimes felt like making out with a mail slot.

  “So you really don’t remember me,” Lucky said softly.

  The man was sexy. And annoying. “Of course I remember you.” She fluttered her eyelashes like a cartoon princess. “How could I forget? I’ve been watching your career, tracking your every move, wishing on a star that one day we’
d meet again.”

  Lucky grinned. “There she is. There’s the sassy Harmony I remember.” He spun her again, hard. Her hair whipped around. God help her, he was a good dancer. Had they danced when they’d gotten together two years ago? She would’ve remembered this.

  He pulled her close, his hand on her waist sure and steady. Their thighs touched, his hard, muscular one thick between her legs as they swayed. He looked down at her. The heat in his eyes surprised her. She pressed her lips together and turned away, his gaze too intense for her to meet up close.

  “You never called me,” he said. “Were you just using me?”

  Seamlessly, the DJ faded out the Bellamy Brothers and cued up “Neon Moon” by Brooks and Dunn. The dancers on the floor altered their rhythm. Lucky picked it up without a hitch.

  “You didn’t like being used?” she asked.

  “To be honest, I would’ve liked being used more. Harder.” The sexy bastard grinned.

  The slow song turned their movements even more liquid, more sensual. As she and Lucky made their way through the crowd, she put everything else out of her mind—the couples dancing close to them, the sharp scent of fresh paint and strong whiskey, the hungry ache rising inside her. In anticipation of her birthday date with Dr. Dreamboat, she’d laid off using her vibrator all week. Her body was primed and aching for sex. Lucky pulled her even closer against him. He smelled good. Fabric softener. Musk. Spice. His whole body was hard underneath his clothes. She struggled to keep her arousal under wraps, but he was making it extremely difficult.

  “How about you, Harmony?” Her name on his lips was like a magic spell. “Do you like to be used?”

  She closed her eyes. Why does he feel so damn good? “Sometimes.”

  He lowered his lips to her ear. “How about tonight? Do you want to be used tonight?”

  She shivered. She would like nothing more than to lose herself tonight. She could feel the pain stalking her like a wolf in the dark, and she wanted to be numb before it got her. Numb with anything—drinking, dancing, sex. Anything to protect herself from the howling pain she knew was coming. She locked her hands behind his neck. “Dance with me. Dance with me the rest of the night.”