Cherish Me, Cowboy (Montana Born Rodeo Book 2)

by Alissa Callen

  Cherish Me, Cowboy

  A Montana Born Rodeo Novella

  Alissa Callen

  Cherish Me, Cowboy

  Copyright © 2014 Alissa Callen

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  ISBN: 978-1-940296-81-4

  Dedication

  To fabulous Jane Porter and the marvelous Tule Publishing team.

  Pure magic happens in Marietta, Montana.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Copper Mountain Rodeo Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ‡

  The next time Payton Hollis went to a wedding she’d wear boots.

  Her work-roughened fingers fumbled with the delicate clasp of her sky-high sandal. “Dammit.”

  It would be Christmas before her foot slipped free from its candy-pink prison. She chewed the last of the gloss from her bottom lip and glanced at the prone body of the newborn calf on the other side of the wire fence.

  “Hang in there, buddy. I’m coming.”

  She pulled hard at the diamante buckle winking in the late afternoon sunlight and the clasp finally surrendered. Her sigh of relief blew the strands of brown hair out of her eyes. The next wedding she went to she’d also wear her hat.

  Payton tossed the sandal to join its partner on the battered passenger seat of her pickup and rummaged around for her old boots. Her favorite pair had split above their worn heels and she’d stored them in her truck for when she found the money to fix them. They’d been there a while.

  She pulled on the soft leather and her feet sighed. Mandy Wright could remind her a thousand times what a bargain the strappy pink sandals were but next trip to Marietta she’d donate them to the thrift store they’d found them in.

  The dry autumn wind tugged at her loose hair as she slid into the driver’s seat. Through the dusty windshield, the rugged Absaroka mountain range pushed out of the rolling green foothills of Paradise Valley. She only had to look a little to her left to see where the green faded into a parched brown. Her great-grandfather may have named their ranch after the local white conical wildflower but no flowers, let alone grass, swayed in the breeze. Beargrass Hills Ranch had missed all the spring storms as well as the summer squalls. The prairie was bare, the cattle hungry and her water supply critical.

  She turned the ignition key. She’d swing out across the road, back up to the fence and lower the tailgate so she could jump from the platform over the fence. The truck engine idled as she waited for a silver car to pass.

  Out her side window, Payton checked on the black Angus cow suckling a tiny calf. When she’d left for Eliza’s wedding she’d known the cow would calve that afternoon but if she’d known she’d deliver twins, she’d never have left her alone. At least the twins had arrived safely and one of the newborn calves was doing okay. It wasn’t uncommon for the second calf to be rejected and Payton had a few tricks up her cowgirl sleeve to ensure the calf would survive. But before she could do anything she had to get the calf to the barn and make sure the little critter had a feed of antibody-rich milk.

  Her thumbs tapped on the steering wheel as the silver car drew closer. “Move along,” she muttered as the glossy sedan slowed, “there’s nothing to see here.”

  Her stomach grumbled as she breathed in the rich aroma of the plate of foil-covered prime ribs safe on the floor of the truck. Her early lunch was little more than a vague memory. When she’d told Eliza she was worried about the cow and couldn’t stay for the reception held at The Graff Hotel, her kind-hearted friend had organized a plate of food for her to take home. She smiled. Seth was one lucky cowboy and Eliza was one happy cowgirl.

  Payton’s smile died as she stifled an unexpected pang of loneliness. Where had that come from? The joy shining in Eliza’s eyes as she’d said her wedding vows must have affected her more than she thought. She had no time, or room, in her life for a man let alone to feel lonely. She had her friends, ranch and cows. That was all she needed, wasn’t it?

  The male driver pulled off the road and parked the silver sedan on the verge. She released a tight breath of frustration. Now was not the time for some bored wedding guest to make a stop on their scenic Montana tour while the bride and groom had their photographs taken. She had a calf to feed and then re-mother.

  Payton switched off the engine. She’d fielded her share of curious questions when her father had turned Beargrass Hills into a dude ranch during her teens. She rolled down her window. She’d dig deep into her well of zen calm and send the out-of-towner on their way.

  A broad-shouldered and lean-hipped figure uncurled himself from the driver’s side seat. She briefly closed her eyes. City-slicker. Then she took another look. This man might wear fancy shoes and a tailored suit but there was nothing soft about the hard line of his jaw or the swagger in his stride.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, his deep voice low and slow as he reached the truck’s open window. He pushed his designer sunglasses onto the top of his short, dark hair.

  Payton stared into blue eyes as clear as a spring-fed summer lake. For an endless second the world fell away before the breeze carried the scent of high-end aftershave and reminded her she already had more than enough blue-eyed masculine trouble.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  From long practice, she held his gaze. First impressions were created in ten seconds. This wedding guest needed to see past her fine bones and small size to her strength and capability. She’d fought hard against the genetic card she’d been dealt. Mandy might envy her petite figure but she refused to be treated as though she were spun from fragile glass. She was as tough and as able as any man.

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t look away.

  “So you don’t want any help with that lone calf over there.”

  She blinked. Since when did a businessman notice abandoned calves.

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?” She didn’t know if it was the slight drawl to his tone or the quirk of the corner of his mouth that caused her breath to catch. “Because I’m sure pink cocktail dresses aren’t in a cowgirl’s manual of what to wear when jumping over a barbed wire fence.”

  Despite herself, she smiled. Funny as well as gorgeous. Mandy had sure missed this guest at the church when she’d bemoaned the lack of fresh eye-candy.

  She clipped on her seat belt and glanced at the strapless and flimsy dress that was as impractical as a show pony in a barrel-race.

  “So would that be the sassy and modern cowgirls’ manual? Because on page three it clearly says anything pink goes. Now if you don’t mind, I have a calf to rescue.”

  The man dipped his head and grinned. “Be my guest.”

  Her gaze lingered. S
he had the strange impression he’d look right at home doffing a cowboy hat.

  “Enjoy your visit to Montana and … thanks for checking everything was okay.”

  His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Don’t mention it. And you’re not getting rid of me just yet. You’ll need a hand to back your truck.”

  Before she could say she’d backed trucks for almost as long as she’d ridden horses, he strode over to the fence and waited for her to swing the truck into position. She refused to look at him as she reversed. No matter what life threw at her she wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress. She didn’t need help. Period.

  Despite her best intentions, she snuck a quick look as he waved at her to continue reversing. She’d seen plenty of attractive masculine profiles from her two years at Montana State University, there was no reason for blood to rush through her veins and render her light-headed. She really needed to eat.

  “Whoa,” he called out even as she applied the brakes.

  Chin tilted, she quit the truck. Show time was over whether this man liked it or not. He needed to head to Marietta and then over the mountain pass to Bozeman to catch whatever chartered jet he’d arrived on.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of charcoal-grey and white as he leaped over the wire fence. She swung around only to see that he’d thrown the canvas horse rug from the back of the truck over the barbed wire and that his jacket and tie now hung from the side of the truck.

  She ground her teeth.

  Just. Awesome.

  The city-stranger had let the fresh air of the Big Sky Country get to him and now relived his Boy Scout days. He’d no idea what a dead weight a calf could be. It didn’t matter if the fine weave of his white shirt stretched over the taut width of his back, his gym-honed muscles weren’t built for country life. It would be her luck he’d pull a muscle and then how was she going to get him over the fence? Her other good friend, Trinity Redfern, might relish any opportunity to get up close and personal, but Payton had a ranch to run and no time to indulge her hormones.

  “Thanks,” she shouted, “I’ve got this.” But the north wind stole her words.

  Muttering beneath her breath, Payton let down the truck’s tailgate. The capricious breeze whipped hair across her cheeks and lifted her lightweight dress. She muttered again, caught the hem before it made it past her thighs and tied a firm knot to ensure the full skirt wouldn’t balloon upward again. She couldn’t give Trinity back her impractical dress quick enough.

  She turned to see the man heading her way. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and his strong arms easily carried the calf. His lips curved as he spoke soundless words of reassurance. The wind mussed his neat hair and his shirt gaped to reveal the tanned, strong column of his throat.

  A fleeting memory teased her subconscious. The white flash of his smile reminded her of someone. But as he neared the fence and lifted the calf over the rug-covered wire and onto the tailgate, the memory fled. She took hold of the calf and eased him into the truck.

  “Easy,” she crooned as the calf struggled. She’d wrap the horse rug around his vulnerable body. She reached for the horse blanket on the fence at the same time as the stranger. Their hands tangled. Her eyes flew to his.

  It didn’t matter that he wore an expensive suit or drove a town rental car, she’d felt the calluses on his palms. She’d wager a new pair of boots. This man was no city-slicker.

  He was a cowboy.

  *

  Cordell Morgan gazed into thick-lashed eyes that he still couldn’t decide were brown or gold. One minute they were the hue of an aspen leaf in the fall and the next they were chocolate-dark, like now.

  Self-preservation told him to look the hell away. Nowhere in his five-year-plan did it include being intrigued by a woman who was as untamed and free-spirited as a wild mountain mustang.

  She was slim-limbed to the point of fragility and her heavy, long brown hair framed delicate features. But she was more than a pretty face. Her direct gaze and the angle of her chin left him in no doubt her will was as strong and resolute as the granite embedded in the ground beneath his feet. The make-up and the girly cocktail dress didn’t fool him. From the top of her windblown head to the toes of her scuffed boots she was a working cowgirl.

  The calf struggled to its knees and as one they turned to make sure he didn’t fall from the truck. With gentle words and efficient hands the woman tucked the horse rug around the calf and closed the tailgate.

  She faced him and as the breeze toyed with her hair he caught the scent of fresh flowers. His jaw locked as he fought to keep his eyes on her face. The bodice of her strapless dress had slipped and now skimmed the tops of curves that would neatly fill his hands.

  He reached for his jacket and tie and draped them over his arm. His testosterone could tantrum all it wanted, he had to leave. He’d already stayed too long if he noticed more about this cowgirl than the fact she had a calf needing mothering.

  “Thanks again,” she said with a sweet smile that reminded him of the sun’s rays after a city winter’s night. “I’ll get going and take him to the ranch.”

  “A good feed of colostrum and he’ll spark right up.”

  Her eyes searched his. “You haven’t always been a city-boy, have you?”

  He flexed his shoulders beneath the tailored shirt that, no matter how much it cost him, never felt comfortable.

  “No.”

  There was no need to elaborate. But this unaffected woman would soon be nothing but a Montana memory and the knowledge loosened his tongue.

  “No,” he repeated, “I haven’t. My twin brother and I grew up on a ranch outside Colorado Springs.”

  “It’s a pretty part of the Rockies. Has your brother moved to the city too?”

  Cordell shook his head. “The ranch wasn’t big enough to support the two of us. He stayed and I moved away.”

  The cowgirl stood on tiptoes to reach into the truck and adjust the horse rug to better protect the calf from the wind. She spoke over her shoulder. “No wonder you’re driving around sight-seeing while Eliza and Seth have their photographs, the mountain scenery would remind you of home.”

  He blanked out the way her dress inched a little higher up the cowgirl’s smooth thighs. What was she talking about?

  “I’m not driving around sight-seeing or even here to go to any wedding. I’m here on business.”

  She swung around, eyes dark and sharp. “You’re here for business, not for today’s wedding?”

  “Yes.” He looked toward the ranch buildings clustered on a distant hill.

  She followed the direction of his gaze and folded her arms.

  “If by business you mean you’re going to see old Henry Watson, good luck. A century ago he’d have had run you out of town. He doesn’t take kindly to strangers enquiring about his land.”

  Cordell didn’t look away from the ranch dwarfed by the high-country backdrop. “So the stories are true?”

  “It depends who’s telling them. I only know him as a good and decent man.” She inclined her head toward the pasture behind the truck. “This section isn’t part of my ranch but Henry lets me use it because I’m all out of feed.” She paused and when she spoke again her tone had hardened. “He doesn’t suffer fools easily. He also rightly doesn’t see the fall he had last winter, or his lack of family, as grounds for an early retirement or a land grab. So, I’ll give you some friendly advice. Cut your losses and return to town. The only way Henry will leave Larkspur Ridge Ranch is in a pine box.”

  Cordell slung his tie around his neck and shrugged on his suit coat. “Good advice but I’m not here to buy his land, I’m here to lease it.”

  “Lease?”

  “Yes, Henry won’t need to go anywhere and will have use of whatever land he wants. I’ll then pay to use the rest. I’ve already spoken to him on the phone and he seemed agreeable in a terse, non-committal way. So I’ve come to meet with him face-to-face.”

  Her frown didn’t ease. “Ther
e’s other ranches for sale, why lease Larkspur Ridge when you could own another outright?”

  He kept his expression neutral. This working cowgirl was as smart as a whip. He couldn’t have her perceptive gaze pry free his secrets. “Larkspur Ridge is the right location and the right acreage. I also don’t want to be locked into anything long-term. Unlike my brother, I … like to move around.”

  “Fair enough.” She glanced at the calf and unfolded her arms. “You know, you and Henry might get along. I’ve known him to wade into mud waist deep to rescue a calf. And I’m also sure it will do him good to have some company.” Her eyes sparkled pure gold. “Even if something tells me there will be times the two of you will butt heads.”

  She turned and leaned into the cabin of her truck. The skirt of her bunched dress hitched higher.

  Mouth dry, Cordell glanced away. Never again would he look at a short pink hemline and not see long, shapely legs encased in cowboy boots.

  “Here.” She passed him a foil-covered dish. “Give him this to sweeten the deal. He loves his prime ribs and it might buy you five minutes before he shows you the door.”

  He accepted the plate. “Thanks. Who shall I say it’s from?”

  She held out her hand. “Payton … Payton Hollis.”

  He covered her small hand in his. Her hand remained still and then her fingers curled around his. The warmth of her palm seeped into his bones.

  “Cordell Morgan,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t emerge a husky rasp. Touching Payton left him as disorientated as a fall from a badass rodeo bull.

  She nodded and slipped her hand free.

  She turned before he could identify the emotion washing across her face and settled herself into the driver’s seat. Her serious eyes met his through the open window. “Henry’s a generous and honorable man; be straight with him and who knows, we might end up being neighbors.”

  Cordell watched until her rust-red pickup disappeared over the gentle rise, a faint trail of bleached dust in its wake.