by Fifi Flowers
Drawn to a Cowboy
FIFI FLOWERS
Champagne Girl Studio
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
Copyright © 2016 Fifi Flowers
Kindle Edition
Cover Design by Jo Ann of Just Write. Create
Formatting by BB eBooks
Published by Champagne Girl Studios
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
www.FifiFlowers.com
WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
– All Standalone Books –
A Window to Love, (Book 1, Windows Series)
Awakening to You Trilogy: Complete Book
Just A Number, (Book 1, Downtown Series)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Playlist
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Fifi Flowers News
CHAPTER ONE
Jade
“Merde! Now what the fuck am I to do!?” I shouted louder than I should have while parked in a gas station just down the road from that miserable, good for nothing resort. I was so pissed off, I could barely see straight. My apologies to any families with small children nearby. Perhaps swearing… talking to myself in a combination of English, and French (I had learned during my years in Paris studying art while working as an assistant for Madam Marionette’s vintage clothing shop), kept them from understanding my entire crazed rant.
I was fuming, kicking my innocent automobile’s tires when I heard a man’s voice in the distance drawing near. Stopping mid-speech, I placed my hands firmly on my hips ready for whatever words he was about to deliver my way, perhaps reprimanding me for speaking unladylike. Instead, his words seemed to hold some sincere concern, “Pardon me miss, are you okay?”
Turning, I saw a cowboy. A fucking, honest to goodness cowboy approaching me wearing nicely fitted jeans, a t-shirt, boots, and a grey straw cowboy hat. Hot damn! My heart started racing as his sky blue eyes met my light green eyes. Truly, I should’ve been thanking my lucky stars, but I still hadn’t been able to calm myself. “Do I look like I’m okay?” I asked him in a smartass tone. Then I continued babbling to myself, “I have no job, no place to stay, tons of art supplies. I guess, I could build a fucking tent out of cardboard and paper, and sell my damn paintings on the side of the road.”
Shaking my head, I started to laugh at the thought of being stationed along the highway with signs reading, “Buy My Shit!” Not so funny I realized, as I was running my fingers along my scalp, pulling my hair, as the cowboy laughed along with me, or at me, and I stilled my movement. I must’ve looked like a total loon to him; tugging on my own bright red, waist length hair, jabbering on in French—a safer language, “Merde! Merde! Merde!” I couldn’t seem to get a hold of my emotions, my eyes filled with tears which began to flow down my cheeks.
“Can’t be that bad. You were just laughing.” He reached out and rubbed my arm, smiling at me. Part of me wanted to smack that smirk off his gorgeous face. The other part of me wanted to lick him from stem to stern—wrong uniform, wrong realm—hat to spur, even though he didn’t have any attached to his boots.
Stepping back out of his touch, I placed my hands on my hips, cocked my head toward my right shoulder and looked into his face partially shaded by his straw weaved hat. “Well it just so happens, I am now homeless and without a job. Everything I have is in my car. How’s that for not that bad? Fucking resort, fuckers!” I kicked my tire with one of my red boots again.
“Maybe there is a way I can help you out. What do you know about horses?”
“On a carousel? At a race track? In a corral? Or perhaps wild in a meadow?
Laughing, shaking his head, he replied, “On a ranch.”
“I could paint one.”
“Paint a horse? They’re already pretty colorful, not sure it’s good for their hair either. Could take some luster out of their shiny coats.”
“I’m an artist, smart-ass. I paint landscapes which could include a horse.”
“Okay,” a slight smile appeared on his face. “Good to know that you don’t want to spray paint my horses.” UGH! He was so cute and annoying at the same time. I just looked at him. “So this resort, the job or lack of employment?”
“I was supposed to paint for a resort just down the road from here. They were going to provide me with one of their guest rooms for up to six months,” I answered him. Then quieter and more to myself, I began to ramble, “Thank goodness I have that deposit. Money was non-refundable. Won’t last long… Shit!”
“Hey,” he said touching my arm again.
I gazed up at him. Looking at his gorgeousness should have been enough to get my mind moving in a more upbeat, positive mode, but I couldn’t seem to shake my disappointment, my anger. I needed to get control of my emotions. “Sorry to keep rambling on. I had counted on lining up another job to follow the now defunct one while I worked over the next few months. I do have a small commissioned job coming up near the end of the year that I was offered after I had accepted the resort gig, and pushed out. I imagine I could see if they could reschedule their project timeline, but…”
His hand was still moving along my arm in a comforting way, I liked it. “Why don’t you join me for lunch? There’s a great burger place close by. Do you like burgers? If not, they have other things on their…”
I cut him off, accepting before he changed his mind, and ran as fast as he could away from me, “Yes, I love a good burger.”
“Good. I guarantee Diablo Burgers has one of the best burgers around. Fresh, local open range raised beef, no hormones or antibiotics.”
“You sound like you own shares in the company?” I laughed with a raised brow.
“My brother turned me on to the place. He’s a restaurateur. Follow me. I have a proposition for you and your paintbrushes.”
Follow him? Lunch? What did I have to lose? Couldn’t hurt to sit across from a hunky cowboy, it just could be my lucky day. What did he have to offer me? Thinking what the hell, I agreed, then stomped around to my car door, and climbed in.
Hopefully his place was better than the cancelled gig I had been willing to do. It really wasn’t an ideal job, if I was honest, but it was an adventure, and that’s what I wanted, needed. I didn’t spen
d the last two years perfecting my talent to go back to teaching tourists to surf while I dreamt of painting countrysides… and cowboys. I didn’t want to necessarily paint a cowboy per se, although a naked man with a cowboy hat on—I might be able to do that. That would definitely be better than the landscapes that I was going to paint.
When the hotel approached me a couple months back, I jumped and said “yes,” without really researching the place. It was a job away from home, I could paint anything or anyone, and the price was right. Then reality set in, as I opened the files and links to their website that they had provided to me. The location itself was great, looked great on the outside, beautiful property. Inside, the lobby and dining areas were appealing as well. Then I moved onto the guest rooms, the themes in each room had good bones, but they were in need of a little updating, to my way of thinking. My paintings would look good in any room, I believe that art can stand alone, it didn’t have to match anything. However, I must say that it was hard to look beyond the dated decor.
Feeling a little unsure, I emailed the person in charge of hiring me and began to question the overall redo. It turned out that I was the only updating, at that time, for each room. I was surprised, maybe shocked was a better word. The current artwork, I believe they were prints in cheap frames, really fit much better than what they were asking of me. But hey, I didn’t own the place. If they wanted me, it was a job, I was willing to leave my mark… put my art in their less than appealing guest accommodations.
Really, it didn’t matter what I thought. I knew that doing commissioned work wouldn’t always entail subjects I wanted to paint, what I liked, but what the client wanted, desired, and envisioned. Let’s face it, money talks and bullshit walks, and I wasn’t interested in walking away. Give me the money and I’d paint you rodeo clowns—I hated clowns. Unfortunately, they were no longer my clients and I had nothing to paint. Well, that might not be true.
What kind of client would dreamy cowboy be? Better question was back to where I was with the hotel chain initially; what would I be asked to paint? Other details, I wondered what the ranch looked like. I was trying to imagine what the furnishings might be. Were there cabins or tents (not that I thought they would need artwork), or hotel-style lodging? This was really a vague possibility. Could be that he was only going to want one painting. Then again, he might not like my skills and send me on my way. He could make me paint boring lifeless things that I’d hate, using drab colors. No. No, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t possibly, as he didn’t look like any of those elements. He excited me! I could paint whatever he told me to do… I mean paint whatever he told me to paint.
As long as he didn’t want flowers in vases like I had seen hung in the resort that turned me away, I’d be fine. If I owned a ranch, what would I want in my guest rooms? Hmmm… Paintings that encompassed the feel of the place: Serenity. Fresh air. Country living. Nature that surrounded the place. An extension of the environment brought indoors. A naked cowboy… ha! That would be in my private quarters, not for the general population looking to live the cowboy lifestyle on their vacation. Think about art for the campers Jade!
Waking up, the lodgers would know they weren’t at home, staring into one of my paintings. They’d feel as if they had left all of their cares behind. Free, no worries, stress or strain. It would invigorate them to start their day, get outdoors, and grasped all that was offered to them. He said horses, horse-back riding? Did they offer dude ranch packages? Roping cattle, driving cattle… riding a cowboy… ha! Refocus, dude ranch activities, I came up with a vision of people going out to the sticks to play pretend. The movie, City Slickers, instantly popped into my head and I could imagine awkward city dwellers learning to be ranch hands. If that was how it was at his ranch, then maybe paintings that depicted cowboys, horses, cattle, and stuff like that was the way to go.
I guessed that I was going to have to wait and hear what he had in mind. If I decided to take him up on his offer, I’d see what the ranch looked like, then go from there. If I hated it once I got there, I could always stay the night, and head off the next day. Maybe continue off on the road to wherever, until my money dwindled, then if nothing panned out, I could always make my way back to the West coast.
Seriously Jade, you’re worried about what he’s going to have you do. He’s offering a job in the countryside. A cowboy for god-sakes, a gorgeous one, at that. You’ve been off on all the wrong adventures. I was finally hit with the possibility to experience the surroundings that I always felt like I had been born to live in. I was never satisfied with the beach lifestyle and Paris definitely was all wrong. However, the French countryside was doable. I could’ve lived there, but the cowboys there weren’t exactly like the ones that I had grown up around. That was a comical statement, the cowboys that I knew were all make-believe… actors in Western movies. So to be fair, they, the acting cowboys, depicted what I thought cowboys should be, and French speaking ones just seemed totally wrong. Didn’t all cowboys sound like John Wayne? Or shouldn’t they? Those words made me sound like the French people I had been surrounded by for the past two years. I was stereotyping the cowboy culture.
I needed to stop talking to myself and laughing. Here comes that cowboy strutting my way and I am looking like a loon with crazy rooster-red hair. Pulling down my visor, I checked myself. I had no idea if a raccoon look might be adding to my already crazed appearance. Safe! Thank you Maybelline, makers of waterproof mascara. Closing the overhead mirror I couldn’t help but sing the famous jingle to myself, “Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.” Then with a light laugh, I adjusted my clothes—ready to hear the rest of the details to his proposition. But rest assured, I was going to say “yes.” Let the new adventure begin!
Climbing out of my vehicle at the burger joint, I watched a pair of snug jeans hugging two sturdy, muscular thighs that looked to be rubbing alongside a healthy package. I had to bite my lip to stop my tongue from licking my lips. He was definitely a perk, an incentive, a bonus to working on his ranch. Look! Don’t touch! Look! Don’t touch! Hmmm… How was I going to keep that promise?
CHAPTER TWO
Sage
What was I doing? Following my dick, instead of my brain? No. I was trying to make things right for her. Her being a woman who was just swearing in French and English, kicking tires, pulling her hair. She could be a loon, a wanderer, a drifter, a true homeless person, and I was taking her to lunch—not to mention—offering her a job at my ranch. For god sakes, I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t even bother to ask it before I walked away from her, across the gas station lot, and climbed up into the cab of my race-red, full-size 4x4 truck. I did, however, check out the long legged beauty as she was shutting her vehicle door.
As soon as she pulled closer to my pickup truck, I had to shake my head into focus before I pulled out in front of her. I realized heading down the road, a normal person probably would’ve come to their senses and hightailed it down the highway. Apparently, I wasn’t that person as I drove slowly enough for her to follow me to the burger place, I had suggested. I kept her in my line of sight, glancing probably more than I should have into my side and rearview mirror. She was right behind me the whole way to a parking lot just down from the restaurant.
Being a proper gentleman, I walked to her car with the intent of escorting her inside, and politely opened her car door. Extending my hand to her, she reached up and grabbed onto it as she pulled herself up in front of me. Dropping my hand, she closed her door before I could, then turned back to face me almost as if she was going to do a full twirl around, but stopped. “Ready,” she said with a smile and a little bounce in the direction of the burger place. Her enthusiasm, had me walking briskly, matching her stride step for step as we made our way down the sidewalk to the door of Diablo.
Inside and seated, our server welcomed us and asked if we had been there before. I quickly said “no” on purpose. A funny look appeared on my lunch companion’s beautiful face. Unsure about me, she seemed
to be screaming—as I knew she was capable of, after experiencing it first hand—liar with her pale green eyes. I watched her intently as she listened to the story behind the food we were about to eat and drink. The restaurant, like I said, used all local business: vintners, breweries, cheese makers, bakers, farmers for produce and of course, the grass-fed beef.
I smiled after we placed our orders. “Sorry, I just wanted you to hear for yourself. I think this place is pretty impressive. More businesses should support each other when they can. Speaking of business, why don’t you tell me what happened to you? Why you’re out of a job? Homeless? Then maybe I can help you. First, let’s start with names, Sage,” I said, extending my hand even though I was pretty sure the touch was going to brand me for life. Our brief connection at her car had already caused a certain amount of energy to zap my body—not complaining.
She took my hand reluctantly, “Jade,” then she took it back just as quickly as she had offered it, but it didn’t matter. It was too late, she had once again caused a shock to my system, and if I was not mistaken, it got her too. I couldn’t be certain, but in her loon like fashion, she began to ramble, “In a nutshell, a Flagstaff resort commissioned me to do paintings throughout their lobby and rooms. While I created the artwork, they were providing me with living accommodations, and food vouchers. I had my life figured out for a few months.” She stopped and shook her head while toying with a paper napkin.
I knew there was more to her story and I had a feeling she was trying to control her emotions. “What then, they up and cancelled on you, leaving you high and dry?”
“Well, yes for the living part. They did give me a twenty-five percent deposit based on the total price that had been set, an amount we agreed upon. But I did use a large portion to purchase tons of supplies. The rest was mine, non-refundable.”
“Still, being out seventy-five percent is a huge deal.”
