She jerked her head away. “Do you always go around sniffing women like a damn stud horse?”
“Nah. If I were a stud horse, I’d do this.” He gave her a quick, light nip at the curve of her neck that electrified every nerve ending and shot a blue-white current straight to where his thigh was pressed between her legs.
She shoved at his shoulder. “Stop that!”
“Just wanted to see if you tasted good, too.” He pushed up onto his elbows, groaned, and eased sideways, an excruciating slide of body against body before he rolled clear and flopped onto his back, legs splayed. He lifted one hand in warning. “Stay back. I’ll be fine as long as you don’t help me anymore.”
No problem. Violet couldn’t move, paralyzed for a few breaths by the sudden, aching absence of his weight. Then she scrambled to her feet, slapping the dust from her butt and legs. “Take all the time you want, tough guy.”
His head snapped up. “You tackled me when I was already down.”
“I thought you were actually hurt.” She flipped a casual hand at him. “No, don’t get up. Katie and I can handle it.”
He made a noise like a pissed-off rattlesnake. She shook the dirt out of her hair, tugged her cap down low, and went to deal with the bulls before she lost her head and tackled him again.
Find links to buy Reckless in Texas and the rest of the Texas Rodeo series from your vendor of choice at KariLynnDell.com.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kari Lynn Dell brings a lifetime of personal experience to writing western romance. She is a third generation rancher and rodeo competitor existing in a perpetual state of horse-induced poverty despite a degree from Montana State University and a career in sports medicine that took her to Texas, South Dakota and eastern Oregon before returning to the family ranch in northern Montana. She lives on the doorstep of Glacier National Park along with Max the Cowdog, Spike the Junior Cowdog, her husband and her son. http://karilynndell.com/home.html
Cowboy Courtship
Allison Merritt
Other Books by Allison Merritt
The Treasure Hunter's Lady
The Sky Pirate's Wife
The Turncoat's Temptress
The Convict and the Cattleman
Wildwood Spring
The Wrong Brother's Bride
Reclaiming Her Heart
Hell & A Hard Place (The Heckmasters)
Hell & Back (The Heckmasters)
Hell & Gone (The Heckmasters)
Her Heart’s Surrender
Her Heart’s Desire
Cowboy Courtship
Copyright © 2017 Allison Merritt
All rights reserved.
Cowboy Courtship
Dean Trulove, a third-generation owner of Trulove Cattle Company and Stockyard, has waited for the day he’d inherit the business. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his mother’s heart problems and his dad’s sudden retirement. To relieve some of the pressure, he attempts to pick up a damsel in distress at the local watering hole. Even when he discovers she’s his new employee, he can’t flip the off switch on his object of desire. All the warnings in the world from his old-fashioned father won’t wrestle him away from a woman as skittish as any unbroken horse that’s passed through the stockyard pens.
London Bingham is in a bind—she’s got an unexpected bundle of joy on the way, but luckily, she accepts a new job with an understanding boss. Her only problem is, her sexy boss’s dad, a formidable man with an ages-old stick up his derriere about unmarried mothers in the workplace makes for an uncomfortable situation. As much as she’d like to give in to her persuasive boss and build a relationship, it’s causing work-place trauma and domestic drama.
To Dean, it’s clear that London needs a good ol’ cowboy to show her that she can have it all—a family, a career, and a man with a heart wider than the Arkansas River to remind her that even a woman from the wrong side of the tracks can find the happiness she deserves.
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m meeting someone.”
The petite brunette had the words out of her mouth before Dean could set the glass down on the bar beside her. She shouted over the lousy rendition of ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’, but didn’t spare him a glance.
“It’s a free drink. I’m not asking for your phone number.” He glared at the band over his shoulder, but they were midway through the song and unlikely to quit playing because he wanted to talk to a woman.
“I don’t want it.” She tipped her half empty glass toward him.
“You look lonely. I could keep you company until he gets here.” He leaned closer to her, but her scowl suggested she was about to walk away.
“He won’t like it if he sees me talking to another man.” She set her glass down. “Beat it before you make him mad.”
Dean held up his hands. “Sorry, sister. I don’t want to tick off your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” She raised blue eyes to meet his gaze. “We have some business to talk about. I don’t need anyone else in the way.” Beneath the dim bar lights and the smoke swirling through the place, she looked washed out and suddenly a little weary, but no less beautiful.
“Got it. Keep the drink. It’s Sprite. I noticed you’re about the lightest drinker in this place. Hope your business goes all right.” He backed away. “Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks.” She swirled the ice and remaining liquid in her half empty glass.
Dean made his way back to the spot he’d occupied on the other end of the bar before he’d noticed the woman in the mirror that hung above the hard liquor. It was easy to watch her from there.
Creepy much? He dismissed the stalkerish feel of what he was doing. People came to bars to be hit on. Usually women liked it when he turned on the smile and bought them a drink. It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned away. People came to bars to cry into their beer too. So he wasn’t rebound material. No big deal. It was just that she seemed sad and a little worried. She kept glancing toward the door and sighing. Whoever she was waiting on wasn’t going to bring her good news. He’d put money on that.
“Another?” The bartender braced his arms on the bar.
“Yeah. Whatever’s on tap.” A shot of whiskey had solidified his nerves enough to talk to the woman. Time to slow it down.
“Coming right up.” The bartender went to get a cold glass.
“We’re gonna take a break now. Give us twenty minutes to set up again and we’ll get the line dancing going.” Tractor Elliot, the band’s lead singer, had a voice almost deep enough to rival Trace Adkins.
The barkeeper came back with the beer and Dean nodded his thanks.
Thank God for the silence from the music. The noise from the chatter died down a little when the musicians stepped down from the stage. At least it was a tolerable level now.
The door swung open and a cowboy in a straw hat with a curled brim sauntered in. He wore artfully torn jeans, brand new boots made to look aged with phoenixes inlaid in the leather, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves torn out, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. Gold rings decorated a couple of his fingers while a thick gold chain with a cross hung around his neck. He strolled straight to the bar and sidled up next to the brunette.
Her lips pulled back in a forced grin when she saw him.
The man slapped her ass, then flashed a huge grin.
She scooted away from him. When he reached for her, she put her hand out to stop him.
Dean couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but it turned sharp in a hurry as the two of them snapped at one another. The wannabe cowboy got louder with every word.
“Dammit, London. How could you let something like this happen? Did you think you could hang on to me by doing this? That ain’t how any of this works, baby.” He slammed his fist down on the bar. “Take care of it. I don’t want any part.” He stomped his boot , then crossed the floor in quick strides to the door.
The woman—London—hung her head. A curtain of hair fell across her face as
everyone within a five-foot radius turned to stare at her. The hair didn’t hide her obvious dismay, the redness of her face, or the tears that hugged her blue eyes.
“Shit.” Dean sucked in a breath.
London dropped a five on the bar, then shrugged her purse up on her shoulder, raised her chin, and made for the door.
Whatever she’d told the made-up wannabe cowboy seemed to have taken a lot out of her. He didn’t envy her position. A crowded bar wouldn’t have been his first choice to break news to anyone, but he didn’t know her or her situation, so he couldn’t judge.
She let the door slam behind her and was gone.
* * * *
London Bingham smoothed the front of her denim skirt she’d chosen to wear for the first day of training at the Trulove Cattle Company and Stockyard. Surely the office secretary and cashier position wouldn’t require her to actually move any cattle. Or get too many whiffs of cow pies. Her nervous stomach couldn’t handle that. Not today and maybe not for a long while. She was upwind of the big, spread out metal fences right now. Thank heavens for that.
She entered through the side door as Patty LaDuke, the woman she was replacing, had instructed when she’d called to tell London she could have the job. The floors were bare concrete, the walls constructed from concrete blocks painted white. The hallway was open, not too constricted, and mercifully cool against another day that threatened to be an Oklahoma scorcher. Her flats slapped on the floor, giving away her presence in her new workplace.
The hall led to an open area. Three men stood in front of a glass window—currently shut—where the kitchen staff took orders from hungry auction customers. Each of the men held a Styrofoam cup. They glanced toward her when she emerged from the hall.
The oldest, a tall man in a tan long-sleeved shirt tucked into crisp, dark blue jeans with creases, gave her a nod. Beneath the straw cowboy hat he wore, his weathered face didn’t change expression. His dark blue eyes were sharp, his mouth a serious slash across his tanned skin. Deep lines carved crags around his eyes and in his forehead. Though at least sixty, his posture was straight and proud. He looked the same as he had in every ad that boasted his photograph. Darren Trulove, cattle mogul, made an imposing figure.
She offered a smile to him, then to the shorter man with an obvious beer belly. Bald, bearded, and bearing a jovial smile, Ryan LaDuke, Trulove’s most popular auctioneer and Patty’s youngest son, gave her a wave. “Hey there, London.”
“Hi,” she murmured.
And no one other than the man who’d approached her at the bar last night was the remaining person in the trio. Tall, dark blond hair, broad-shouldered, and already bearing the signs of having worked with livestock this morning, he squinted at her beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
Her face warmed. He’d seen the stormy confrontation she’d shared with Billy Wishall in the bar. He couldn’t have missed it. Plus, she’d shot him down when he brought her a drink. Maybe he was only a customer here. Dropping off some cows or horses for auction. She twisted her purse strap in her hand.
Ryan gestured for her to come closer. “Guess y’all figured out this is London Bingham. She’s replacing Mom in the office. London, this is Darren Trulove.”
“Miss Bingham.” Darren touched the brim of his hat.
The man from the bar extended his hand. A hint of amusement warmed his brown eyes. “Dean Trulove.”
Of course he was one of her bosses. Why wouldn’t someone she’d rejected in a bar hold her future in the balance? She slid her hand into his. A warm, firm grip. The hand of a man used to hard work. Though firm, he wasn’t rough with the handshake. It was almost comforting. If things had played out differently the last couple of weeks, she might have taken a man like him home last night. “Nice to meet you. Both of you. I’m excited to be part of Team Trulove.”
Darren raised his brow as though surprised by her enthusiasm.
A little over the top, maybe. She tried not to cringe. “I mean, this is a good opportunity. I went to school with Ryan and I know his family from church. They always had nice things to say about the company, Mr. Trulove.”
“Call me Darren.” He knocked back the last of his coffee, then threw the cup in a nearby trashcan. “See you outside, Dean.” He strode away with the confidence of a man much younger than him.
“So.” Dean tucked his thumbs into his jeans pockets. “You got home all right, then.”
“Uh, yes. Nothing to it. I only live about two streets over from the bar. I’m sorry about the way things went, but it’s better this way. No fraternizing with the employees, probably.” She clamped her mouth shut as Ryan’s eyes grew twice their normal size.
“You hit on London in a bar?” He elbowed Dean in the side.
Dean rubbed his ribs. “I didn’t know she was coming to work here today. It’s for the best that things worked out how they did. That might have been awkward.”
Things hadn’t worked out well for her, before or after her encounter with Dean Trulove. But thank God she’d been spared the embarrassment of waking up to find out she’d slept with one of her bosses. “About that—”
“No need to explain. What happens on your time is your business. Anything that happens here, we’ll deal with as it comes. Ry, you’d better take Miss Bingham to your mom’s—I mean her new office before Patty comes looking for her. She’s mean as an old sow.” Dean winked at her.
Her face warmed again. That wink was a lady killer. The bona fide signature of a man looking to charm the panties right off of a woman. Keep your panties on and your head out of the clouds, London. He’s obviously not hurting because you turned him down. And thank God he’s not pissed about it.
She licked her lips. “No one in Swells, Oklahoma has ever heard Patty utter a cross word to anyone in public.”
Ryan blew a raspberry. “If you’re one minute late, Mom will come out of the office in a panic thinking you’re broke down on the side of the road.”
“It’s sweet of her to care. Not too many other people do.” She wished she could bite her tongue off as her words hit. “I mean employers, you know? If you’re late, most of them fire you.”
“Right. Got to meet Dad outside. The vet’s coming by to vaccinate some of the cattle. See you later, Miss Bingham. Nice to meet you.” Dean gave her a nod. “See you later. You too, Ry.”
Ryan waited until Dean walked down the hall. “Shee-it, did he really try to pick you up at a bar last night?”
“Does it matter?” She curled her hands into fists. “I’m supposed to be working.”
“What were you doing in a bar the night before you started a new job? Good God, don’t tell Mom. She’ll hit the roof.”
“I wasn’t drinking,” she hissed. “I was meeting Billy Wishall. Neutral territory and all that.”
Ryan’s brow creased. “Why?”
None of your business. She’d been friends with Ryan too long to snap the words out. “We went out a couple of weeks ago and...I just needed to talk to him again because he left something at my place. No big deal. I really have to go now.”
“All right. Have a good first day. See you later.”
“London?” Patty emerged from the hall. “I thought I heard your voice. Well, I’ll be. Don’t you look cute as a bug in that skirt?”
Patty’s wide, welcoming smile made some of the tension go out of London’s shoulders. “Hi, Miss Patty. I made it.”
“You’re right on time. Good girl. Let’s go on back to the office. I’ve got some paperwork for you to fill out before we get started on the heavy stuff.” Patty grinned. “You’re gonna be great at this. There’s no better company to work for in Swells than this one.”
London’s nerves jangled as Patty talked. I hope so. We need this job.
CHAPTER TWO
Helping wrangle half wild cattle for the vet to vaccinate before auction wasn’t a job for an old man. Dean’s father claimed the privilege of opening and closing the head chute over driving the animals. He had the right—
he’d done the hard parts during the time his father ran Trulove Stockyard. A little-known truth was, Darren might look strong as ever, but his knees bothered him from too many years of steer wrestling. His hands had a touch of arthritis, especially in the thumb he’d nearly torn off when it got caught in a rope. He had the strength left to yank the lever on a tricky chute, but he was looking at his cell phone the moment the gate closed.
The chute closed on a rust-colored steer that might have gone nine hundred pounds. It had docked horns that might have presented trouble getting it into the chute if they’d been a few inches longer. Short horns or not, the beast wasn’t pleased about its treatment today. It bellowed when the vet stuck it in the hip with medicine.
Dean removed his hat, swiped sweat off his forehead, and leaned on the metal fence to catch his breath. He couldn’t blame his dad for looking away from this place. The reek of cattle waste hung on to everything, even after the hired men scraped and sprayed the walkways down. Some days, they auctioned more than cows. Half broke horses or mules unused to the noise and quick pace of a sale barn. Giant shoats and sows with enough teeth to rip a man to shreds. Headbutting goats that were elusive until they wanted to strike. Spitting llamas and alpacas. Almost every four-legged farm critter that could kick, bite, push, or grind a man into the gravel passed through these fences at one time or another. Even exotic animals on occasion. Camels, zebras, ostriches, and once, a trio of water buffalo.
Who else besides the Truloves and their hired men could say they’d been shit on by angry peafowl? Probably zookeepers and the nuts who bought peafowl to brighten up their yards. Tomorrow night, though, just three hundred head of cattle would enter and exit the arena. A small number for the size of the yard, but the sale was a special favor to one of Darren’s old friends.
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