Cowboy Edition EBook

by Maree, Kay

  Jake subtly cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. The look spoke volumes; what the fuck are you two playing at?

  Brandon straightened and his presence instantly became more commanding. The lines around his hazel eyes hardened as if he thought I’d somehow tricked him.

  Unexpected disappointment welled in my chest and gnawed at me. It reminded me of the insecurities and blame-laced glances I received whenever something didn’t go to plan with my ex—before we broke up, and before he got me convicted.

  Pushing those ghosts aside, I bit down on the side of my tongue and slammed the sharp end of the pitchfork onto the stable floor. Clutching the wooden handle tight, I glared at both Brandon and Jake.

  “Don’t you two have something else to do instead of standing around watching me work?”

  Surprise sprung across Brandon’s face. “Yep,” he clipped, while Jake snorted and said, “Nope.”

  I sighed when neither of them moved, and Brandon had the balls to chuckle under his breath.

  “So the herd’s all sorted?” Jake asked.

  My hearing honed into Brandon’s rumbling drawl.

  "For the time being. A handful of new calves since this morning. Once Louisiana is comfortable on horseback, she can be shown around the top pastures."

  “Whoa, hold up!” I interrupted. “I’m not getting on a horse.”

  Both Jake and Brandon laughed hard, and the lingering humor in Brandon’s eyes set me on edge while conjuring bodily reactions I couldn’t control.

  “We’ll see, darlin’. From what I see, you’re doin’ great.”

  With that, he slapped the top of the stable door and strode from sight, leaving me muttering from both having to clean out this god awful stall, as well as Brandon’s blasé attitude about calling me darlin’.

  Jake thumbed over his shoulder. “What he said. You’re doin’ great, jailbird.”

  Growling under my breath, I picked up the pitchfork again and continued to try and prove my worth here.

  By the time I was done, I was a sweaty, smelly, bitchy, and itchy as all hell, mess.

  Brandon

  Jake’s attention flicked to me as soon as I set foot in the living room. “Everything okay?”

  Snorting, I lowered myself into the armchair across from him and reached for my beer.

  “I think so. She’s been in there almost an hour though. Surely the water is cold by now.”

  Louisiana came in from the stable walking with her arms and legs out wide as if they were diseased, then all but pleaded for a shower. When I’d suggested a bath, the irritation on her face softened and gave way to grateful fatigue.

  Jake hummed under his breath as he lifted his own brew to his lips. “It will be. But you know how good a wash is after we’ve been back-country wrangling for a week,” he commented. “Let her have a moment in heaven.”

  I let out a sigh and set an ankle on the opposite knee. “Fuck, I know this already. You’re right, you know—she’s making the simplest things seem so much more complicated than they are. Hell, I’m even questioning if I did the right thing by asking her to look after the damn chickens!”

  Jake threw his head back and laughed. “Man, you have literally zero chill. What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s basically a business transaction and all you need to do is uphold your end of the deal.”

  I opened my mouth to say that the 'business transaction' usually wasn't mouthwateringly hot when the woman herself breezed into the room and brought the sweet scent of whatever she had used in the bath with her.

  I tilted my head to the side and widened my eyes at Jake as if to prove a silent point. He chuckled openly, then snorted when I glared at him. Another wave of Louisiana’s fragrance wove through the air, and I had to physically clench my teeth to keep a hum of appreciation in check.

  “Thank you, I feel much better now.” Her soft tone of voice had me swallowing hard before I turned to face her, and I did a double-take.

  Gone was the straight hair and skimpy clothes, and replaced with… well… an unexpected vision. My eyes ran over her fresh and pink dewy skin and blond hair piled high on her head, then followed the line of her tight tank and baggy sweats. Her bare toes wiggling against the floorboards reminded me that I was being rude, but sweet Jesus, she made the organ inside my chest forget its own name.

  That reaction was bad. Real bad.

  I cleared the thickness from my throat, then smiled. “That’s great to hear. Are you hungry?”

  Louisiana nodded and pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m starving.”

  Shaking away the last of the trance she momentarily had me under, I re-found my cool and led her into the kitchen while speaking over my shoulder.

  “Jake cooked tonight so you’re in for a treat. We usually take turns in the kitchen, and once you’re settled, you’ll be expected to cook twice a week. It’s been the same for all the other guys I’ve had come through-”

  "You don't need to explain. I'm happy to help out but be warned, I'm no Masterchef,” Louisiana advised as she peered into the oven.

  I chuckled. “Neither am I, that’s why I look forward to Jake cooking.”

  “He’s good?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “Damn good. Best stew in the county—but don’t you dare go repeating that to my ma,” I teased.

  Louisiana’s laugh made me smile as curiosity grew in her eyes. “Who taught Jake to cook?”

  Jake strolled in at that precise moment and pushed his empty bottle into the trash. “I was assigned to the prison kitchen. Turns out I have a natural talent for flavors.” He shrugged while a lazy smirk snaked onto his mouth.

  I frowned hard at Jake’s hideously poor choice of words. Yet Louisiana remained completely unphased.

  She briefly raised one hand. “Laundry duties.”

  Feeling a little left out, I lifted the ladle off the bench and chipped in. “Cow wrangler.”

  Being scrutinized by two sets of raised eyebrows, I laughed away the heat on my face and waved them off. “Sorry to gatecrash the moment y’all were having. Ignore me.”

  Jake’s snigger filled the kitchen. “It’s not like you to be awkward, boss. I blame you,” he accused with a finger stab at Louisiana.

  Despite scoffing, her pretty blue eyes flicked my way then dipped to the floor. In that brief moment of her avoiding my gaze, I clenched my jaw at Jake. The arrogant tilt of his lips reminded me of the man he was when he first arrived; the one who had no qualms with spouting bullshit without tact or dilution of language.

  “Louisiana,” I said softly. Her eyes lifted to meet mine. “Cutlery is in this drawer, can you set the table for me?”

  With a small nod, she busied herself. I waited until she’d left the room before rounding on Jake. “What the fuck, man?”

  “Sorry, Bran. I’m in an odd mood—you’re different with her here.”

  The challenge in his eyes didn’t back down, neither did his stance.

  “You think I don’t know that? But shit, Jake, ease off,” I hissed.

  He pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. Over the years I'd noticed Jake's macho attitude would rise whenever a new parolee arrived at the ranch. Exactly as if he was pissing on his own territory. I'd expected him to be a little out of sorts today, but not throwing around those sorts of accusations.

  Tonight, Jake conceded quickly, and I largely put that down to Louisiana’s presence in the adjacent dining room.

  “Guess I’ll plate up,” he stated.

  Mumbling, “Thanks,” I went in search of Louisiana, worried that she’d overheard our conversation. Instead, I found her cradling one of my cats in her arms while he rubbed his furry little head all over her chin. I paused in the doorway without intruding on the moment and soaked in the electric smile on Louisiana’s face. That single sign of happiness resonated deep in the roots of my being and tugged my heart in an unknown direction. For a reason that left me equally as breathless, it felt Lo
uisiana was meant to be here.

  I coughed quietly and entered the dining room, and Louisiana looked up like I’d caught her stealing.

  “Sorry, I got sidetracked and-”

  “It’s fine, darlin’. Tom has always been an attention seeker. Seems he’s found someone new to wrap around his little paw.”

  “He’s so soft,” she cooed and hugged him closer. “Where’s the other one? You said you had two cats?”

  I scoffed. “The other one is called Chevy, and he’s an asshole. He’ll be outside hunting... he’s more of an asset than a pet.”

  “Chevy!” Louisiana snorted, and I thought I caught a glimpse of her real self.

  Running a hand over my smile, I stepped closer, hoping she would show me another snapshot.

  “Yeah, my sister Rory named him. If you’re really that curious, you can ask her when she takes you into town tomorrow to get some appropriate attire for out here.”

  Louisiana’s pretty blue eyes turned glacial. “I don’t need to go shopping. Besides, I don’t have any money yet.”

  “I get a grant, Louisiana, and that allows you to get all the gear you need.”

  Where my tone was soft and understanding, hers hardened. “I don’t need handouts.”

  “It’s not a handout when it’s for essential items,” I countered with a rising edge of frustration.

  Louisiana remained silent despite her jaw ticking, and she used Tom as a distraction. I noticed the way her fingers wove into my cat’s long fur and gently rubbed back and forth. I followed each soothing motion and began wondering what her fingers would feel like dragging through my own hair. It hit me like a bolt of lightning to an iron roof, leaving nothing but heat and adrenaline behind.

  With effort, I tore my eyes away and downcast my gaze. Mistake. Fuck, she even made sweatpants look sexy.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Jake called, and not a goddamn moment too soon.

  Louisiana lowered Tom to the floor, then stood and innocently brushed his fur from her top. My pulse jumped. Abruptly turning away and finding another focus, my enthusiasm to help Jake plate up didn't go unnoticed. He gave me the side-eye, which I chose to ignore.

  “Can I help?” came the sweet voice from behind me.

  I swallowed hard when Louisiana’s intoxicating scent chased me down and effortlessly overpowered the aroma of our hearty dinner.

  “Nope,” Jake said. “But you can dig in, jailbird. There’s plenty, so don’t scrimp.”

  As Jake bustled around the kitchen, I handed Louisiana a plate and gestured for her to help herself to as much as she wanted. A pang ran through my chest while watching her hesitantly hovering the serving spoon above the mashed potato.

  With agonizingly slow movements, she dished herself a meager helping of mash and hot pot. While I didn't dare criticize her portion, Jake leaned over her shoulder and frowned. "The fuck is that?" he barked.

  Louisiana startled violently and stuttered a little. “You told me to get my food…”

  Sympathy’s weighted punch struck directly under my ribs and congregated to create an ache I couldn’t rub away. In a matter of beats, Louisiana had gone from seemingly relaxed, to insecure, to anxious with Jake looming over her.

  “Jake,” I cautioned.

  Realizing his mistake, he immediately moved to her side with a softened smile, then took it upon himself to load more food onto her plate. “I meant, you’ll need more than that after the work you did today, jailbird.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” she murmured and kept her head dipped as she stepped back to give us space.

  I gently touched her shoulder. “Go sit at the table. We’ll join you in a second.”

  Checking that she was out of earshot, I gave Jake a bewildered look. “Christ, this is tougher than I thought it would be.”

  He shrugged while plating his dinner. “Broads complicate things. I do have one question though.”

  “And what’s that,” I drawled.

  “Thought blonds weren’t your type?”

  “They’re not,” I snapped.

  “Until now, eh?” he chortled and slapped me on the shoulder.

  My glare escorted him to the door, and it was only once I was alone in the kitchen that I made a whispered confession.

  “Until now.”

  Louisiana

  I excused myself from the dinner table as soon as my plate was empty, grateful that Jake had taken it upon himself to double the amount of food I’d dished myself. I’d been starving, and now I was exhausted.

  Brandon briefly rose to his feet as I pushed away from the table, but after assuring him that I was fine to make my own way to my room, I cleared away my dishes and silently went upstairs.

  Alone in the dim light and comforting silence, my soul felt set free yet laden with fear of the unknown.

  Twilight blanketed the evening and pulled the shadows into darkening silhouettes along the barn. The sky illuminated various hues of blue and orange as the sun embarked on its final descent, and I watched birds flying to roost from the tall boxed window that looked out over the yard. The waning light represented the closure of my first day here, and as the last light of the day faded, an overwhelming rush of emotion burst through my chest. For the first time in eight months, I legitimately felt like a free woman.

  Burning in my lungs rose into my throat, and despite my best efforts, an unchecked sob bubbled from my down-turned lips. Tears began streaming down my face and I gripped the window frame hard as I tipped my head back and cried all the tears that came. I’d been too scared to release them in jail, and now that I let them freely fall, the outpouring was relentless and consuming.

  The edges of my sanity shredded and frayed as everything that had been bottled inside finally surged to the surface in a torrent of voiceless misery.

  I expelled as much pain as I could without making a sound. My fingers ached and withheld screams scorched the lining from my lungs, yet there was no way I could regain control over the barrage of devastation. I’d all but fallen into a feelingless trance while purging the last eight months from my soul.

  One minute became indistinguishable from the next, and when my mind finally re-entered my body, I found myself kneeling in the boxed window, still clutching the frame with numbed fingers.

  The light emanating from the half-moon hanging above the barn was enough to illuminate my room in an eerie glow. Swiveling to sit sideways in the boxed window, I relaxed against the cool wood at my back and gazed up at the stars through the thin, clear glass that protected me from the outside world.

  My tender heart jumped when movement caught my eye. A shadowed figure headed across the yard with purpose, and I knew without having to guess that it was Brandon. I leaned forward to try and follow his movements, but he disappeared into the darkness with no torch. Less than a minute later, a white streak of what looked like a cat raced toward the house, followed soon after by Brandon. He looked up at my window, and although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was studying what he saw; the lost girl huddled in the window box, hoping to find answers among the stars.

  For those two beats, I felt stripped bare and exposed, yet comforted by the fact Brandon took a moment to pause, almost as if silently asking if I was okay. With a dip of his head, he disappeared from view under the porch veranda.

  Despite the season recently changing into spring, there was still a noticeable chill in the air. To combat the cool bite, I pulled the thick blanket off the foot of my bed and slung it around my shoulders, then resettled in the window box. The nook had a calming effect on me, and I remained there until my booty went numb and the house grew quiet.

  Tiredness pulled in my bones. However, when I settled into bed, I was unable to find sleep. The day seemed like a dream. So much had changed since I woke up this morning. Being processed and released from prison felt like an anticlimax. There were no goodbyes, no well-wishes, just the sound of the barred doors locking back into place as I crossed over th
e threshold between being a detainee and an almost free woman. Completing the paperwork and disclosures took over an hour, then I was led from the front door straight into Sheriff Wilson’s patrol car. The memory of fifteen seconds of freedom with no fences penning me in was powerful enough to make me want to cry all over again.

  I groaned and glanced at the bedside alarm clock where the red luminescent numbers mocked me.

  1:56AM.

  With a sigh, I threw back the bed covers and re-wrapped the soft, oversized blanket around my shoulders. As quietly as I could, I padded downstairs and eased the front door open. The chill from the wooden porch made me rise onto tip-toes as I made my way to the swinging bench hanging at the far end of the veranda.

  There, everything about the night engulfed me. The darkness, the sharp freshness in the air, the sounds from unseen movements beyond the shadow line. I folded my legs, tucked the blanket around me, and huddled lower into the enveloping warmth. I wasn't used to country living, and while I sought the solitude, the lack of street lights allowed trickles of fear to pinprick down the back of my neck.

  A flash of white along the outskirts of the shadows made both my heart and body jump. I tried to bite back the unease by reminding myself that ghosts weren’t real—not the ones outside of my mind, at least.

  A plurrrr plurrrr sound came from out of sight, and I relaxed marginally when the cat finally showed himself.

  “Chevy,” I called quietly and clicked my fingers.

  He ran up the steps then stopped just out of arm's reach, flicking his tail on high alert. I was intrigued by the large white feline who proudly sported a smudge of dark fur on his chest.

  “Chevy,” I cooed again in a higher voice.

  The cat’s ears twisted to and fro. He made a couple of snappy meows in reply before deciding I wasn’t as interesting as he first thought. Both Chevy and my attention snapped toward the house door when it quietly swung open. Brandon emerged with ruffled hair and wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

  “Thought I’d heard you out here,” he murmured as he made his way over to me.