Cowboy Rough: A Steamy, Contemporary Romance Novella (Colorado Cowboys Book 1)

by Harper Young

  He puts his heavy hand on my shoulder, telling me I’m not invited to the party.

  Begrudgingly settled by the offer of free booze, the two men give me one last lingering glare before storming away.

  The arranged cordiality on Daniel’s face melts into irritation as he turns toward me and crosses his arms over his chest. “What was that all about, Cord?”

  “They were accusing me of having something to do with the missing cattle,” I growl, still frothing with anger. “They’re besmirching my whole family’s name!”

  “Besmirching?” His lips twitch in the direction of a smile. “You sure they weren’t making fun of your big vocabulary?”

  “This is serious, Daniel,” I growl.

  The older man’s face softens slightly as he gives a quiet sigh and presses a hand against my shoulder.

  I shrug it off, glaring at my dusty boots.

  “You know there’s nothing you can do but wait it out, Cord,” Daniel softly says. “The more defensive you get, the more they’re going to think you have something to hide.”

  “But our ranch has been in our family for so long. How can they just say those things?”

  “They’re angry, as we would be if our cattle had been stolen. They’re confused. They’re looking for someone to blame. It’ll be us today and someone else tomorrow. You know it’s the truth.”

  My shoulders slouch, but I finally tip my chin back to look Daniel in the eye.

  “There’s only one way I see this blowing over,” I say quietly, as Daniel lifts a questioning eyebrow. “We’ve got to find out who’s doing this.”

  9

  Sloane

  I stretch my legs out in front of me, leaning my arms comfortably back on the stairs of the main house as I suppress a yawn.

  The day has passed long and sweet and hot.

  Muscles I never knew I had ache from riding Crumpet for hours. After finally just admitting to Miranda that I wanted to be outside, she released me willingly—and maybe a little too happily. She even came out midafternoon, bringing me some lemonade and fresh baked pastries.

  The sun dips down the horizon now, though the heat of afternoon still clings to the pastures and the thick breeze. I think, maybe, I’ve found paradise.

  Miranda is working on dinner, the sounds of her clanging pans echoing from the open windows of the kitchen. Apparently, she’s figured out she’s better off not asking me for help, which I’m incredibly thankful for. If I never have to mix another batch of batter, I’ll be a very happy woman.

  In the distance, there’s a rumble.

  “Thunder?” I wonder aloud, like I’m expecting the billowing grass to answer me.

  The sky, though fading into glorious canyon reds, is completely cloudless and clear. I breathe in, smelling for the heaviness of rain that I can’t find.

  No rain. So what was that noise?

  Sliding off the stairs, I toss my hair over my shoulders. It smells of hay and horse, a scent I never thought I would love as much as I’ve grown to.

  As I make my way down the front lawn, Cord’s light blue pickup rolls down the drive, sending dust shooting in a stream behind it. The rumbling that I thought was from a storm turns out to be from the old, clanking vehicle. I cup my hands around my eyes, watching as Cord throws the truck into a stop.

  “Hey!” I call, lifting my hand up into the air in greeting.

  I can’t help the huge smile tugging at my lips. Just seeing the sexy cowboy is enough to make my blood go hot, my skin go all tingly. It’s like his presence electrifies my body.

  He doesn’t answer, tossing himself out of the truck and slamming the door shut behind him. He takes a step to one side then the other before slamming his palm against the door, never once looking my way.

  “Cord?” I call in a faltering voice.

  Something is wrong. My stomach twists nervously as I glance back toward the ranch, doing a quick mental count of the animals and people I’ve encountered. Everyone here is fine. Miranda was just talking to Daniel on the phone, arranging a ride home for him from some bar.

  “Did something happen?” I ask, slowly approaching Cord.

  He paces, running a hand through his sleek blond hair. His chiseled jaw is clenched, his eyes wild. More questions bubble up inside of me, but I try my best to keep quiet. He’s in a tizzy, and I get the sense my questions will only make it all worse.

  He glances up as the gravel crunches under my shoes, looking at me with startled eyes, like he hadn’t noticed my approach.

  “Sloane,” he says simply.

  His voice is curt and sharp. My name isn’t a greeting, it’s something else. Something lacking warmth, like he was noting the weather rather than a person, rather than me.

  “Cord,” I reply in equal curtness, reaching out to playfully swat at his arm.

  I smile at him, though he doesn’t return it, those pretty green eyes churning with something stormy. They remind me of dark clouds rolling over the horizon.

  So there was a storm coming, I realize. I just hadn’t known that it would be a Cord storm.

  Smile melting into a frown, I draw my hands back and cross them in front of my chest. Cord stares at me, drawn and silent and stern. It’s almost frightening just how somber his mood is.

  Has he already forgotten our night together?

  Does he regret it?

  The thought makes my skin crawl.

  “You’re being so weird,” I finally sigh, hugging my arms closer to me. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

  His lips purse, then twist into a contorted, ugly expression—though on his boyishly handsome face, it’s still attractive.

  “I went to see the sheriff,” he finally murmurs, voice gravelly like he’s been yelling for an hour straight.

  I nod and shrug simultaneously. “I heard. What’d he say? Is he going to check out what you saw?”

  Cord laughs abruptly, though it isn’t a nice laugh. It’s raw and bitter. The sound makes me shudder.

  “No. Why would he? He thinks I’m behind this whole thing.”

  “That isn’t true,” I gasp, stepping closer to him.

  I reach out and lay a hand on his elbow, his skin warm and firm under my touch. He lets my palm linger for just a second before he jerks away like I’ve burned him. My hand is left suspended alone and cold in the air.

  “That’s what everyone is starting to think. I heard it in town. There are rumors.” He stares at me intensely, like he’s expecting me to agree with these random people in town, like he thinks I’ve been buying into whatever lies they’re spreading.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say instead, giving a firm little nod of my head. “And, believe me, there is no way that the sheriff is going to believe that. Justice is going to win, Cord—”

  “Justice?” he barks, scuffing his boot so hard against the rocky ground that he sends a small pebble shooting into the nearby fence. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I bite back a sigh, watching Cord as he shifts angrily from one foot to the other. There’s nothing that I can say to fix this. I’m clearly not going to be able to find the magic words that will lift his burdened spirits.

  “Hey,” I begin, sidling up closer to him again. I lean over, pressing one hand to his cheek. “I know this must be so hard for you, but we’re going to get through this. I know we are.”

  “We?” he scoffs resentfully, shoving my hand aside. “There is no we here, Sloane. You’re not part of this place. You’re just visiting. You’ve only been here for a few days.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” I whisper starkly, knowing that my face is wounded and my eyes are wide with surprise. “You can just stew by your own self then.”

  I’m not going to be spoken to like that, not by anyone and especially not by someone who only just this morning was so kind to me.

  With one final glare, I turn and stalk off past the barn and into the woods.

  10

  Cord

  “Damn,
man. Cruel much?”

  I whirl around to find Dane standing behind me holding a big wooden crate full of Aunt Miranda’s cookies and breads. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but it’s been long enough for sure.

  My best friend gazes at me, his lips pursed with irritation.

  “She just doesn’t understand,” I mutter, trying to pretend I’m not already full of guilt. I turn to lean back against the door of my grandfather’s old truck.

  The vehicle is just like Grandpa left it all those years ago. It even has that little wooden cross still dangling from the rearview mirror, though the sun long ago bleached it a bony white.

  “I think she might understand if you give her a chance.” Dane shrugs, mulling over his words for a moment. “I don’t know her that well yet, but she seems . . . different. And I can tell she likes you.”

  I don’t answer, kicking my heel back against the pickup’s tire just to hear the dull clunk.

  “Just my two cents. See you tomorrow, man.” Dane flashes a lopsided grin and heads back to where his own pickup waits.

  I glance up, watching him climb into his truck and arrange the food Miranda gifted him. My aunt is constantly lavishing our ranch hands with her from-scratch cookies, pies, and dinners—not that anyone is complaining.

  It took Dane a whole year before he finally accepted one of Miranda’s gifts, though. He’s used to being the one to provide for his family. His dad walked out on them when he was nothing more than a small kid, not even in kindergarten yet. Unlike my other employees, Dane lives with his family off the ranch. With a mom and two siblings, he’s never hesitated to step up and be the man of his house.

  He meets my eyes as he shifts into reverse, nodding his head before turning around to make sure no wandering cattle have taken to sleeping behind his truck.

  Shaking my head, I look over toward the woods where Sloane vanished several minutes ago.

  I can’t exactly let her wander around those woods alone, especially not after finding someone suspicious hiding in there last night.

  Sighing, I push myself off the truck and chase after her. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a flash of those long, milky legs in the dying afternoon light. No matter how weak the sun, her gold-spun hair will be shining.

  I can see it now, the way she’ll look at me when I finally track her down. Even though she can’t be more than a few inches over five feet, she’ll tilt her head back to look me full in the face, her lips set in a straight line, her hands clasped tight at her hips, and she’ll let me have it—and I’ll let her.

  Dane is right.

  He has the annoying ability of being just that most times, and this is no different. I’ve been unnecessarily mean to Sloane. I’m not even sure now why I got so snappy with her.

  She certainly doesn’t deserve to have me yell at her. Sloane is feisty, strong-willed, and loyal. Though I haven’t known her long, I’ve seen that much so far.

  I adore her for that.

  I adore her for the way her fingers feel laced with mine and the way her lips so perfectly melt against my own and the way she leans into my chest when I kiss her.

  My feet abruptly stop moving, sending me lurching forward so unexpectedly I almost knock into a tree.

  For the second time in a single day, the mere thought of this woman has brought my whole world to a standstill. At least this time I’m not blocking a busy sidewalk.

  She really, truly is a special gal.

  Not in just the general sense of the word, like she’s special among other people, which she is, but in a sense of the word that’s personal and intimate to only me.

  Sloane is like the north star. She shines so bright that my mind is destined to always stray back to her.

  What does it mean? Am I really falling for this city girl? The thought almost makes me laugh. She isn’t just some city girl; she’s made that more than clear. She’s Sloane Gentry, here to take the world by the balls.

  Fortunately, tracking Sloane’s sharp, angry footsteps through the woods is easier than following any lost horse or wild coyote.

  Her stomps are coming from near the creek, and I make my way down the hill leading to it. She’s going on, mumbling to herself in that angry little voice of hers that still sounds so melodically sweet.

  “Sloane,” I call, catching sight of her between tree trunks. “Slow down.”

  “Why should I?” she yells back. “Maybe I’ll just walk all the way home!”

  “Well you should turn around if you’re trying to do that. You’re headed the wrong way.”

  She lets out an adorable squeal of irritation, her stomping coming to a halt.

  I skirt around one last tree and stop a yard away from her angry face. Damn, she’s really pissed. My lead heart drops into my stomach.

  She’s not only angry as all get-out. She’s also unbelievably beautiful. She stirs something in my soul that’s painful and sweet and foreign.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, mustering up all the bravery I can. They’re hard words to say, but I’d be chicken shit if I didn’t get them out. I duck my face, knowing how rusty they probably sound.

  “You should be,” Sloane retorts with a pout, though her pretty brown eyes soften like golden coins.

  “I had a rough day, and I took it out on you,” I continue, gesturing at a nearby fallen tree.

  She regards it uncertainly for a moment before sighing and walking over to it, perching her petite body right on the edge. The rough wood contrasts her soft legs, and my throat goes tight as my eyes wander down the length of her endless calves. I force my eyes back to her face, trying to keep my mind on my apology. She notices my wandering gaze, though, a coy grin on those pretty lips.

  She leans back slightly, her tiny tank top riding up her hips and exposing the flesh of her stomach. I want to pull her sideways on the tree and kiss every inch of her, but I force myself to sit down at her side instead.

  She moves instinctively closer to me, like she’s seeking the heat of my body though the day is still warm.

  Quietly, hoping that the gesture says more than my fumbling, clumsy words, I reach over and place my hand gently on top her own. She turns her hand over, lacing her fingers with mine, and we gaze at each other in quiet stillness until I speak again.

  “I’m a jerk,” I sigh. “That was uncalled for.”

  “Did you mean it?” she asks quietly. “When you said I wasn’t part of this place?”

  My heart throbs abruptly, and I hurriedly shake my head and draw her hand against my chest. I bury my face into her palm, pressing my lips to the soft flesh.

  “No,” I breathe. “No, I didn’t mean that. If there was anything I could do to take that back, I would. It isn’t true, Sloane, not at all.”

  I don’t say it out loud, but it’s hard to imagine what this place would even be like if Sloane left. It would feel hollow and empty without the light that her laugh and bright eyes bring.

  “Good. This place feels like home. It’s so strange to think I’ll be leaving it in just a little while.” She smiles, sadness widening her eyes.

  Then stay.

  The words leap up the back of my throat so fast that I almost think I’m about to puke. Just in time, I bite my tongue and stop that simple, life-changing sentence from bursting into existence.

  There’s no way that I could ever ask that of Sloane.

  She has to go home or go back to college or whatever she’s gonna do. The world needs someone like Sloane Gentry in it, and I’m not going to be the one that veers her away from her path, even though it’s all I can do not to fall to my knees and beg and plead her to stay with me.

  I want her to stay with me more than I’ve ever wanted anything, save to see my mom and grandpa again. But I’m a busy man, especially now, with the missing cattle. It would be a disservice to Sloane to ask her to stay without the promise that I can give her all the attention she deserves.

  “It is strange to think that,” I manage to choke out, my eyes drop
ping down to where our hands are still intertwined.

  Around us, the birds sing their last songs of the day. A breeze drifts through the treetops, making them rustle. Here on this fallen log, everything feels perfect.

  Sloane and me. Me and Sloane. We fit together, somehow. And isn’t that what life is about?

  I look away, allowing myself to believe for one moment that things will be this way forever.

  11

  Cord

  The holstered gun is heavy on my belt.

  With every step, I feel it yank and drag downward, pulling my pants with it even though I buckled the worn leather even tighter than normal.

  “You all right, man?” Dane asks softly, arching one dark eyebrow.

  “Yeah, Cord, you got, like, massive wedgie or what?” Piotr chimes in with his deep, Russian accent. He cracks a playful grin and chuckles.

  The blue-eyed bear of a man has been in America for ten years and somehow only just learned the word “wedgie.” He’s used it twelve times in the last hour.

  I roll my eyes, ignoring the curious look from Jameson.

  “He’s got a gun this time,” Jameson offers quietly, gesturing at my hip as he secures a fence post in the ground and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. “But he’s not carrying it right.”

  Piotr gives a deep belly laugh, reaching over to grab at me as he lifts up my shirt and adjusts the gun and holster before clapping my shoulder with a tsk of his tongue. Though he’s a few years older than me, he’s so playful and warm it’s hard to remember the age difference sometimes.

  “Are we going to work or talk shit, boys?” Tucker pipes up from beside Dane, throwing his shovel over his shoulder as he straightens up.