Dark Horse: Bad Boy Cowboy Romance

by Westlake, Samantha

  Contents

  Front title

  Copyright

  Mailing list opportunity

  Dedication

  Inner title

  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

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Chapter twenty-four

  Chapter twenty-five

  Chapter twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Chapter thirty

  Chapter thirty-one

  Chapter thirty-two

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  Sneak Peek: Bound by the Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

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  About the Author

  Dark Horse

  Samantha Westlake

  Copyright 2015 Samantha Westlake

  All rights reserved.

  Dark Horse: Bad Boy Cowboy Romance

  Book design by Samantha Westlake

  Cover Image Copyright 2015

  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:

  http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

  Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.

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  Dedication

  For all my readers, both new and returning. I write it all for you.

  Dark Horse: Bad Boy Cowboy Romance

  Chapter one

  I clutched at the reins, even as the wet leather slipped through my fingers. Lightning flashed directly above me, and for a split second everything around me was illuminated in stark relief.

  An instant later, as the thunderclap immediately followed, I thought to myself, this is it. This is how I die.

  And a second later, just to help support my point, I felt myself flying through the air. For that instant, gravity pulled down at my stomach before the rest of me, making my heart drop into the pit of my stomach as I saw the rapidly oncoming ground.

  I hit hard, feeling my shoulder twist. I managed to roll over somewhat onto my back, but that only helped me to look up as, illuminated by another flash of lightning, Merlot's hooves reared wildly as the poor horse panicked with the loss of his rider.

  "Merlot! Easy, easy!" I tried to shout out, but the fall had knocked the wind out of my lungs. Even if I'd been able to draw breath, however, I don't think that my horse could have heard me over the howling wind and crashing thunder.

  "Yep, this is it," I admitted to myself. "I'm about to die. Crushed by my own horse's hooves, out here in the middle of a storm, before I've even turned thirty."

  In that split second of peril, I expected to see my life flash before my eyes.

  Instead, much to my annoyance, I found myself thinking about how my obituary would read in the Gazette.

  Oh, there would certainly be plenty of sad comments - I was still so young, still had so much of my life to live, a sad loss of a proud member of one of the region's oldest families. It was true, I knew. The Monteclaires had settled the region even before the United States became an official country. Our roots stretched back further than anyone else's.

  But there would also be some less savory remarks, I was sure. Of course they wouldn't be mentioned directly in the obituary, but there'd surely be some veiled little reference to how my family had "fallen on hard times," or perhaps how "this was another disappointing legacy." As if it was my fault personally that most of our family money was gone, my personal fault that there was little left to the Monteclaire name besides an aging farmhouse, several hundred acres of rented-out land, and a single, precocious, headstrong daughter who still hadn't produced an heir.

  Oh yes, and there'd probably be something in the obituary about my grieving fiancé, I noted to myself. Poor Marsden. He did love attention, but he would hate that none of the reporters who called asked him about his own job, his own achievements. He'd probably try and make himself look like the hero by telling the reporters how he'd urged me to give up my horse, to not live out in my family's home all alone.

  Although now, he did have a point, I thought to myself as I watched the hooves of my horse descend down towards where I lay, helpless, on the ground. And Marsden usually did have a point. He could be rude in how he presented that point, but it never made him any less correct.

  Goodbye, cruel world! Say farewell to Jillian Monteclaire, beautiful headstrong lady of high society, struck down before her time by a tragic fall from her horse in an unseasonably strong thunderstorm!

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain of those striking hooves.

  I heard Merlot whinny.

  I felt the rain falling down across my face, almost a full sheet of water, cutting through my riding clothes and soaking me to the skin.

  I felt.... no hooves?

  Still wincing, expecting to die at any moment now, I cracked one eye open.

  For a moment, all I saw was the blackness of the storm. I blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the darkness - and then lightning flashed again, ruining what little night vision I'd managed to acquire.

  In that flash of lightning, however, I saw Merlot. He was standing off to the side from me, all four feet on the muddy ground. His eyes were still wide in that lightning flash, but he wasn't rearing over me. I considered that an improvement.

  The reason that my horse was no longer about to kill me stood beside him, holding Merlot's reins in one hand. I blinked, trying to make out details. I saw the dark shape of a man outlined against the background of trees, but I couldn't see any details or features of his face. Who was this?

  "Hello?" I called out, trying to sit up. I winced as my arm moved, and I suspected that I'd managed to pull or tear something in my shoulder.

  The mud squelched underneath me, and I knew that my clothes were totally ruined, but I managed to climb up to my feet. I took a step closer to my horse and the dark figure, mentally wishing for a flashlight, or even another lightning strike. "Hello? Do I know you?"

  "Are you hurt?"

  It was a man's voice, at least, but I didn't recognize it. I started to shake my head - but paused as even that motion sent another burst of hot red pain through me. "Yeah. Kind of. I think I hurt my shoulder."

  "Wait a sec." The next flash of lightning revealed the man turning away, leading Merlot with him.

  Hold on. "Hey, don't leave me here!" I burst out, running as best I could after the man in the near-complete darkness. "Wait for me! Hey, you're stealing my horse!"

  I thought I saw the man's shape glance back at
me. He didn't reply, but he quickened his pace - and as I tried to do the same, I felt something suddenly catch at one ankle. Before I could catch my balance, I went tumbling down into the mud and leaves for the second time in as many minutes.

  I managed to land on my uninjured side this time, at least. Unfortunately, my mouth had been open in another shout as I fell, and I ended up spitting out a mouthful of wet, half-rotted leaves. Ugh! This really was not my night at all!

  I kicked out at the root that had snagged my foot, muttering a most unladylike curse under my breath. How had things gone so wrong, so quickly? I'd planned on taking Merlot out for a gentle evening ride as the sun set. I wanted to stretch his muscles, keep him from locking up after the race earlier today.

  And yes, okay, I also wanted to go for a ride to give myself some alone time, time to blow off steam from my argument with Marsden earlier that day. Maybe that anger and annoyance had kept me from noticing the oncoming storm, but most of the storms that passed through my Virginia property were little more than light showers. I certainly hadn't expected a full-on thunderstorm!

  But next thing I knew, I was down on the ground, about to be killed by my own horse. And okay, a stranger saved me from that, but then that same stranger made off with my horse and left me behind to die in this storm! I didn't consider that much of an improvement.

  Squirming to pull myself up from the dead leaves and muddy earth that clung stubbornly to my clothes, I called out several other curses, no longer bothering to keep them under my breath. Who was around to hear me? The thief who had just stolen Merlot from me? Serves him right if he gets offended!

  "That's mighty strong language."

  I leapt nearly a foot in the air, spinning around. The man had spoken almost in my ear!

  The next flash of lightning revealed him, standing next to me - and with a grin on his face? "If I was any bit a gentleman, I might be offended by that language," the man commented, his words slightly drawn out in a country drawl. "But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, considering that you just got bucked off your horse."

  I had an angry retort ready and waiting on my lips, but the man had his hand out, offering it to me. Deciding begrudgingly to be the bigger person, I took the hand, and felt him easily lift me back up to my feet.

  "Your horse is tethered up right over in the trees, next to my own," the man said as he set me back on my feet, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got a fire going, under a tarp - it's a bit more out of the rain than here. Care to come warm up?"

  I considered telling this ruffian, whoever he was, to get off of my property (where he was surely trespassing - I hadn't given him permission to camp here!), but a sudden shiver running through my entire body made me think otherwise. My clothes were thoroughly drenched, and I was liable to catch my death of hypothermia if I didn't get warm soon.

  "Okay, fine," I gave in reluctantly. "Show me where you've stolen my horse off to, you..."

  I stopped, unable to come up with a suitable insult. The man, much to my annoyance, just chuckled again.

  "Lance," he said, as he led me towards the trees. "Lance Umbral."

  Chapter two

  "Lance Umbral," the man leading me towards where he supposedly had tethered my horse named himself. "And you?"

  "Jillian," I replied reluctantly. I was devoting most of my limited brain power towards avoiding tripping over another tree root. "You can call me Gilly."

  I stopped dead for a second, blinking. What was I doing? Gilly had been my childhood nickname, but no one called me by it any longer. Even Marsden, my own fiancé, likely didn't know that nickname for me.

  Lance, however, just nodded, leading me onward.

  I followed Lance into the little copse of trees that he'd indicated, only slightly mollified when I saw with my own eyes that, just as he'd told me, Merlot was tied up to one of the tree trunks. I noted with reluctant approval that the man had given Merlot plenty of free lead so that he could move around or lower his head without tugging at the tether, and that the tree was doing a good job of covering my horse from the continuing downpour.

  The man's own horse was tied up next to Merlot. I ran my eyes over the animal, eventually forced to conclude that it was a good looking animal. Tall and black, it had strong withers and a broad chest that hinted at massive reserves of stamina and power in its frame. The black horse glanced at me once, and then dismissed me from his interest.

  Also just as he'd said before, the man had rigged up a rainproof tarp strung between a few trees at an angle, providing a dry area beneath its cover as it funneled the falling rain off to one side. On the edge of that cover, Lance had built a comfortable little fire in a small area scraped clear of any grass that could catch light. The fire was covered by the tarp to prevent the rain from extinguishing it, but the angle of the hanging kept the smoke from building up beneath the covering, instead venting it off and up into the trees' canopy.

  It was a smart little setup, but I didn't waste any time admiring it or complimenting the man on the setup. Instead, I quickly made a beeline for the drier area beneath the tarp's cover, crawling up as close to the fire as I could move in.

  "Ahh," I let out, the sound slipping out from between chattering teeth as I held my hands out to the crackling little fire. "That's some good stuff."

  I heard a rustle as the man, Lance, moved in beside me to sit alongside the fire as well. He didn't say anything, but I could sense his presence, no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

  "Fine!" I finally burst out, turning to him. "Thanks for saving me, okay? Are you happy, now?"

  I saw Lance's eyebrows climb up his forehead as he leaned away from my sudden outburst. "Um, sure?" he asked, clearly unsure what reaction he wanted from me.

  I dropped my eyes after a moment, shaking my head. "Sorry," I apologized, returning my gaze back to the fire. I was already almost burning myself, but I still felt cold as ice. I tried to scoot in a little closer. "I wasn't expecting to be caught out here at all. I really do need to thank you for rescuing me."

  The man shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "It's nothing," he brushed it off. "How are you feeling?"

  "Cold," I replied, even that single word broken up by my teeth chattering together. "Any way that you can turn this thing up a little higher?"

  I at least gave a little chuckle at my weak joke, but when I glanced over at my rescuer to see why he wasn't laughing at my amazing sense of humor, I saw a concerned look on his stony, hard-lined face. Instead of replying, he scooted in closer to me, reaching out and throwing an arm around my shoulders.

  "Hey!" The touch of his arm felt warm, even despite the stinging pain that I felt when he pushed on my injured shoulder, but I didn't want to admit that he felt comforting. "What do you think you're doing?"

  I turned - and found myself caught by the man's eyes as they stared into my face. Lance had dark eyes, so dark as to be nearly black. I could see a subdued little glint in their depths, but they seemed to mostly just drink in the flickering light of the campfire.

  "You can't stop shivering," the man answered me, pulling me in closer against him. "And with all those wet clothes, you're going to keep on losing heat. If I don't help warm you up, you'll probably pass out from hypothermia."

  "No I won't," I insisted, stubbornly fighting against reality. I knew that Lance was right, but for some reason I couldn't quite articulate, I refused to admit it to him. "I can stay perfectly fine on my own, if you'd just turn up this fire!"

  Lance studiously ignored this retort. "It would be better if you got out of the rest of the wet clothing," he remarked, examining me. "Most of that looks like cotton, which isn't going to help retain any heat."

  "Get out of my clothes? I'm a happily engaged woman, I want you to know!" I snapped, waving my left hand at the man to show off the large diamond ring on my fourth finger. Even in the dim light from the campfire, it still sparkled alluringly. Of course, my finger's trembling as I shivered didn't help any. "I'm not goin
g to get naked in the woods with some stranger!"

  For a moment, I saw a brief look of irritation flash across Lance's face, and I felt a brief little spurt of jubilation, as if I'd scored a point in whatever game we were playing. But that expression was gone as fast as it had appeared, and he was almost immediately calm once again.

  "That's your choice, Gilly," he said, far too politely. "But let me know if you feel yourself drifting off. You need to stay awake."

  I could already feel that little tug, urging me to just relax and let it happen, to slip into unconsciousness. I narrowed my eyes at Lance as I fought against that urge. "Who are you, anyway?" I snapped at him, trying to distract myself. "What are you doing here? Do you know that you're trespassing on my land, here?"

  Lance, of course, just shrugged. "Sorry," he said, although his tone didn't sound sorry in the slightest.

  I narrowed my eyes and examined the man. Lance was tall, and he had broad shoulders. Judging from the strong lines of his face, he probably looked as though he'd been chiseled out of a single block of granite by a sculptor. I estimated that he was somewhere in his middle thirties. His black hair was quite curly, even soaking wet, and he wore a leather jacket over a long-sleeve wool sweater and a pair of stained, fatigued blue jeans. I guessed that he hadn't bought the jeans pre-stressed.

  Another shiver shot through my body, and before I consciously realized what I was doing, I had scooted in closer to Lance. I moved in across the leaf-covered ground until I was pressed up against him from my ass up to my shoulder, burrowing in against his jacket to try and absorb as much of his warmth as possible. I still refused to consider removing any of my wet clothing, but I could at least try and soak up more of his heat.

  He wasn't actually unattractive, I caught myself thinking. In fact, if he'd just put on some sort of smile, something other than that stony, blank expression, he'd be quite handsome.

  I shook my head at that thought. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jillian! I told myself. Just because you're snuggled up against him like he's not a total stranger doesn't mean that you should be checking him out!