Blame It on the Cowboy

by Delores Fossen

  Even though his back was to her, thanks to the bar mirror their gazes connected, and she made her way to him. No turtle shirt tonight. She was wearing jeans and a snug red top that he wished he could take off her.

  In the privacy of a bedroom, of course.

  She slid onto the bar stool next to him. “Jimena dropped me off. If I hadn’t agreed to come, I think she would have kidnapped me and brought me here, anyway.”

  Logan made a mental note to give Jimena a raise. And offer her the job permanently. He didn’t like the idea of living with the cat-shit threat, but Jimena’s pluses outweighed her minuses.

  Most days, anyway.

  “How much tequila is it going to take to make you stay?” Logan asked. And he ordered her a shot.

  “To stay here tonight or to stay in Spring Hill?” she clarified.

  “Both.”

  Reese shook her head. “Tequila won’t do it tonight. If I stay in Spring Hill, it could still hurt your business.”

  It hadn’t taken her long to bring that up. “Business might fall off with the cattle, but Lucky seems to think it’ll help with the bull sellers. They tend to prefer selling to someone with a little mud in their past.”

  Judging from the look she gave him, he hadn’t convinced her, so Logan kissed her. He made it French, and even though it still might not have convinced her, he thought maybe he left her with a nice buzz, one not caused by the tequila, either.

  “Let’s play the word-association game we played the last time we were here,” he said when he eased back from her. “I’ll start. Family.”

  Another flat look, but she did respond. “Good.”

  Logan smiled and wondered if she knew that four months ago that wouldn’t have been her answer. She probably would have said, “Shitty.”

  “Sex?” he continued. And he slid her his room key.

  She angled her eyes at him. “Isn’t it early for that? We went a couple of rounds with the game last time before I offered you sex.”

  “True, but you were easing into things.” Clearly, though, he needed to do some more easing.

  “All right. Here’s another word. Watch?” he continued.

  “Grandpa.” Reese drank more of her tequila. “You do know this game sounds like caveman talk?”

  He took out the pocket watch and placed it on the bar next to her shot glass. “Jeff from the jewelry store checked the antiques shop, and they had a crystal that was the right size. He fixed it and gave it to Jimena to give to me.”

  Reese opened it as if she were handling the queen’s jewels. Of course, this was even more valuable to her than an entire treasure trove.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, and he didn’t have to see her eyes to know there were tears in them now. Logan hoped those were happy tears and that seeing the watch fixed and whole didn’t trigger any memories of the person who’d broken it.

  She kissed him.

  So, no bad memories, after all.

  “Thank you.” Reese eyed the watch, the room key. His mouth. His crotch. “You’re not about to offer me a white picket fence, are you?”

  “We’re not really the picket-fence types. Actually, I’m just offering you, well, me. You can take that on whatever terms you want. You can keep having sex with me. Or not. You can keep working at the café…”

  “Or not?”

  He nodded. “You can take Cassie’s offer to open your own bakery. Though I’m kind of hoping that won’t be an ‘or not.’ You could probably get a good deal on that Shirley’s Sweets sign.”

  Ah, that got a smile from her.

  “You could put down roots in Spring Hill,” he added. “Or not,” he mumbled.

  She stayed quiet a moment. “You’re really offering me just you?”

  “Darn tootin’.” Of course, he’d never actually used the term darn tootin’ before, but he hoped it showed his playful side. “Seems only fitting since I want you to be my…”

  Now, here’s something Logan had given much thought.

  “Lover?” Reese supplied.

  “Definitely that, but I’m thinking more. Maybe the right word is woman. I want you to be my woman.”

  “Sounds a little caveman-ish.” Reese smiled again. “But I like it. After all, we’re not the white-picket-fence type as you pointed out.” The smile didn’t last long, though. “What I’m about to say is terrifying for me,” Reese continued, “but I love you.”

  Yes, that fell right into the terrifying territory for him, too, and it was something he’d never said to a woman other than his mother.

  “I hate you for it,” Reese went on before Logan could get his tongue untangled. “In fact, when I first realized it, I called you some really bad names and considered letting Jimena put a voodoo curse on you.”

  “Minus the voodoo curse, I had the same reaction.” He let that hang in the air for several seconds before he eased his gaze to hers. “There are a lot of things that can make my life easier, Reese. You’re not one of them.”

  “Gee, thanks—”

  “But there’s only one thing that can make my life happier,” Logan interrupted. “And that’s where you come in.”

  The smile returned, soft and sweet, and then not so sweet when she kissed him. She slipped the watch into her pocket and eyed the key card. “You really got a room?”

  “Yep. Two-sixteen. The room we were in four months ago.” Which suddenly seemed like a lifetime ago. It also suddenly seemed as if it’d been a lifetime since he’d had sex with her, and the stirrings behind his zipper reminded him of that.

  The stirrings in his heart did, too.

  It was good to have a second opinion from two different parts of his body.

  They finished their shots together, got off the bar stools, also together, and Logan picked up the key card. In the same motion, he slid his arm around her waist to get her moving. Not that he had to add one bit of pressure. Reese kissed him all the way to the elevator. Groped him part of the way there. Talked dirty to him for the last few steps.

  Then blew his mind on his last step. Not with her mouth or hands but rather with something she said.

  “By any chance do you love me?” she asked in the same tone of the most skeptical question that’d ever been asked.

  “I thought you’d never bring it up.” He flipped over the room key where he’d written, “I love you, Reese.” Except there must have been some water or something on the bar, and it now looked more like ‘I blob you, Reese.”

  “That’s supposed to be love,” Logan clarified, and he kissed her again just in case she had any doubts about that.

  They kissed the rest of the way to the room, which made it sort of difficult to get the door unlocked. It also didn’t help that she was already trying to unzip him. Logan let her do that while he kicked the door shut and maneuvered them to the bed.

  “What if three months from now, my wanderlust kicks in and I decide to leave town?” Reese asked.

  Since she now had her hands in his boxers, it was a little hard for Logan to think. “Then I can go with you. Or you can promise when the wanderlust runs out, that you’ll come back to me for another round of regular lust.”

  Her hand froze, and she looked up at him. Logan decided while she was mildly thunderstruck that he would try to get some even ground here. He shoved down her jeans and panties to her knees and kissed his way to the part of her that he’d just uncovered.

  She cursed him, but this time he thought it was because she wasn’t pissed off about falling in love with him. “If you’re going to do that, let’s do it together.”

  All in all, it wasn’t a bad idea. But there was something Logan wanted to do first. No, they weren’t the white-picket-fence type, but he wanted Reese to have something to make her understand just how much she meant to him.

&n
bsp; He took it from his pocket and slipped it into hers.

  “A condom?” she asked.

  Logan shook his head. “My father’s knife. I want you to hold on to it for safekeeping.”

  If he’d offered her the world, Reese couldn’t have had a better reaction. Her eyes filled with tears, and she kissed the living daylights out of him—which was the way Logan preferred to be kissed, anyway.

  “I really do love you, hot cowboy,” Reese said.

  If she’d offered him the world…wait, that was the world. “I really do love you, too, Julia Child.”

  While Reese blinked back tears and kissed him, she fumbled with his jeans, and for a moment Logan thought she was trying to turn this into a hand job.

  She wasn’t.

  “For safekeeping,” Reese said.

  Logan felt around his pocket, and there it was. Her grandfather’s watch. A knife and a watch.

  Yeah, Reese had given him the world, all right. The only world that Logan wanted, anyway.

  * * * * *

  When a Texas bride gets jilted at the altar, her heartache pushes her into the arms of the sexy new sheriff of her small hometown of Wrangler’s Creek…

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at THOSE TEXAS NIGHTS by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.

  “Clear off space on your keeper shelf, Fossen has arrived.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde

  The McCord Brothers are the most eligible bachelors in Spring Hill, Texas. But these cowboys are about to get wrangled by the love of some very unique women—the kind who can melt hearts and lay it all on the line.

  Your bookshelf won’t be complete without all of the titles in the McCord Brothers series!

  What Happens on the Ranch (novella)

  Texas on My Mind

  Cowboy Trouble (novella)

  Lone Star Nights

  Cowboy Underneath It All (novella)

  Blame It on the Cowboy

  Complete your collection!

  * * *

  The Granger siblings thought they’d left their ranching days behind, until fate sends them home to Wrangler’s Creek—and into the passionate arms of those they’d least expect…

  Don’t miss this irresistible new series set in Wrangler’s Creek, Texas by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen!

  Sparks fly when Sophie Granger meets Clay McKinnon, Wrangler’s Creek’s smoking-hot police chief, in

  THOSE TEXAS NIGHTS

  And for more romance and cowboys that’ll make your knees go weak, you won’t want to miss these upcoming stories in the Wrangler’s Creek series!

  Lone Star Cowboy (novella)

  Those Texas Nights

  One Good Cowboy (novella)

  No Getting Over a Cowboy

  Just Like a Cowboy (novella)

  Branded as Trouble

  Order your copies today!

  * * *

  “The perfect blend of sexy cowboys, humor and romance will rein you in from the first line.”

  —New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels

  www.DeloresFossen.com

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  Those Texas Nights

  by Delores Fossen

  CHAPTER ONE

  SOPHIE GRANGER WIPED her eyes with the back of her hand and squeezed her mud-splattered Elie Saab wedding dress into the Wrangler’s Creek Police Department.

  It wasn’t easy getting ten yards of ivory tulle through the doorway, especially while crying and feeling light-headed. Sophie had to gather up the sides of the dress into puffy balls and turn sideways to manage it. Even then she stumbled, and her big toe got caught in the netting so she stumbled again. With all the mumbled cursing that accompanied the stumbling, it was no surprise that she got everyone’s attention in the squad room.

  Everyone in this case was Ellie Stoddermeyer, the weekend dispatcher/receptionist, and the two deputies, Rowdy Culpepper and his sister, Reena. What she got from them was silence.

  And stares.

  “I need to see Chief McKinnon,” Sophie said with as much dignity as she could muster. Which wasn’t very much.

  Reena had her mouth open so wide that Sophie could see the quarter-sized wad of pink chewing gum on her tongue, but she hitched her thumb in the direction of the office all the way at the back of the squad room.

  “He’s in there,” Ellie added once she got her mouth working. “But he’s not officially the chief until his trial period is up and Lordie knows when that’ll be. Right now, he’s just the interim ’cause the mayor and city council haven’t given him a permanent contract yet. Is, uh, there anything I can do for you?”

  Since Ellie was one of the biggest gossips in town, Sophie considered asking the woman to refrain from mentioning this visit, but Ellie, previously frozen by Sophie’s appearance, had already thawed and was taking out her phone. No doubt to text every single human being she knew to let them know that Sophie Granger was having a breakdown while looking like something the cat had dragged in.

  That meant Sophie didn’t have much time.

  Her family would find her.

  Sophie declined Ellie’s offer of help, and she made her way through the squad room. Again, not easily. Like a white fluffy plow going through a farmer’s field, Sophie cleared the edges of desks and toppled over trash cans. Pens pinged to the floor, rolled. So did a plastic bottle of Diet Coke, and the cap gave way to the pressure of the fall and started spewing.

  She tried to do a cleanup, but there was no way she could fully bend down in the dress, not with the overly cinched corset bodice vising her ribs and stomach. However, she did grab a Kleenex from one of the desks, and she put it to good use wiping away a fresh round of tears.

  The door to the interim chief’s office was even narrower than that out front so Sophie wadded up the dress again. Squeezed. Turned. Grunted. Until she finally broke through to the other side. She must have looked like vanilla custard oozing through pie crust.

  And there he was.

  Clay McKinnon. Or the cute cowboy cop as folks called him.

  Even though she didn’t make it back to Wrangler’s Creek very often, Sophie had seen him around, but she’d never seen him quite like this. Sweet heaven. There was blood in his cocoa-brown hair, a cut on his forehead and scrapes and scratches on his knuckles.

  “Are you all right?” She used her bouquet to point toward the first-aid kit on his desk. Little bits of petals and leaves fluttered through the air and fell to the floor.

  He nodded, sliding his gaze from her tiara headpiece to her muddy bare feet before he got back to dabbing his knuckles with some hydrogen peroxide.

  “I’m having a bad day,” he confirmed. “But something tells me yours is worse.”

  “Possibly.”

  He didn’t really look at her, but he lifted an eyebrow. “Possibly?”

  “Grading on a curve here, but at least I’m not bleeding.” Sophie wasn’t a fan of tears or mud, but the sight of the blood made her queasier than she already was. “Were you attacked?”

  This time he lifted his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Sophie was sure she’d hear the details of the incident soon enough. Well, maybe. Her situation was likely such a hot topic that folks wouldn’t bother to jabber about a puny altercation where the interim chief of police had been injured.

  “I need a date,” she said, wiping back more of the blasted tears.

  Judging from the look he gave her, he was either about to call the mental hospit
al or laugh at her attempted joke. Nope, no laugh. She hoped this idea of hers sounded better than it was. Actually, she hoped it not only sounded better, but that it was better. Because it didn’t sound very good in her head.

  “Date as in the fruit…or a date?” he asked.

  “Date.” Which, of course, would require some clarification. Chief McKinnon had moved to town several months ago, but their paths hadn’t crossed enough for an actual introduction. “I’m Sophie Granger. I’m head of marketing for Granger Western.”

  “I know who you are. You’re getting married—” he checked his watch “—in about fifteen minutes. But judging from your dress and the fact that you want a date, I’m figuring things didn’t go as planned.”

  “No.” And that single-word answer was a huge understatement. It also brought on more crying. “My fiancé, Brantley Barnwell, came by the dressing room at the church and said he couldn’t marry me after all.”

  Sophie was sure she was still in shock. Exhausted, too. And hungry since she’d been dieting for two months to fit into this breath-defying dress. Maybe she should have asked for a date of the fruit variety after all. But sadly her shock wouldn’t last, and she needed to fix this before she fell into a puddle of despair and more tears.

  And anger.

  Really, really pissed-off-bad anger.

  Anger that she hadn’t aimed at Brantley since he’d hightailed it out of there only minutes after delivering the worst news that Sophie had ever heard.

  I don’t love you.

  He’d added a whole bunch of I’m sorrys. I’m an asshole. I can’t believe this happened. Which hadn’t helped. But then that was asking a lot of mere apologies and ramblings. Nothing would have helped except his saying this had all been just a prank and that he loved her after all.

  “I didn’t want my family to see me like this,” she went on. And she just kept going on and on. “Right after Brantley left, I wrote a note saying that I needed a little alone time and hung it on the dressing room door so my family would see it. Then I climbed out the window of the church. It’s muddy from all the rain and I landed in a new flower bed. My shoes got stuck so I had to walk here barefoot.”