Brianna's Sinful Cowboys [Casanova Cowboys 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhea Regale

  Mrs. Cabot waved to the dishes on the table. “I highly doubt that, young man. My sweet Brianna deserves a five-star hotel—”

  “Mom.” Brianna pointed her newly skewed sausage at the woman, who teetered on the edge of shredding this quaint place to pieces. “I’m an adult. Have been for, hmm, eleven years now. I think I can decide my accommodations without your input. I’m very fond of this bed-and-breakfast.” She jerked her head toward Miss Bess. “This is Miss Bess, the owner. She’s a lovely woman.” She cast her mother a condescending smile. “I would expect you to show her respect. You didn’t raise me to be without respect for others, did you?”

  If Brianna had a thermometer, she’d love to catch the degree of her mother’s frustration. The woman knew how to set teeth and glower like a toddler not getting her way. She fiddled with her scarf, smoothing out the fringe with her chin held high.

  Brianna bit a chunk off her sausage link and laid her fork on the side of her plate. Each second that dragged by with the ever-heavy presence of her mother at her side fueled her determination to make this deal for Gregory, get her promotion, and break ties with her mother as much as possible.

  Brianna glanced at Jackson. He was her saving grace, even if she had a hard time adjusting to a relationship without an overbearing presence and hunger for control emanating from her boyfriend. No. Jackson was a gift, and she’d love and cherish every moment she had with him.

  “My apologies for seeming…rude,” Mrs. Cabot strained. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Bess. Brianna, you do not intend to leave here?”

  “No. I intend to stay.”

  “Very well. I’ll be by tomorrow,” Mrs. Cabot said.

  “Save yourself the hassle,” she grumbled against her sausage.

  “Ma’am, would you like somethin’ to eat before you leave?” Miss Bess asked. Brianna watched the woman continue to knead her dough without breaking rhythm in the slightest. Her eyes glittered, her smile shone, and the flour that smudged her cheek and streaked her apron warmed Brianna. She may learn to love this place so much she wouldn’t want to leave. The pleasure she’d get from telling her mother she decided to move to no-man’s-land Ryder, Kansas, would be worth every flash of fury from the woman.

  “Thank you, no,” Mrs. Cabot said, turning toward the kitchen door. Brianna winced with each accentuated click of her mother’s pumps across the wooden tile floor, the thump of her heart mimicking the frustrated pace.

  “Miss Bess,” Brianna began, turning a timid look at the jubilant owner. Miss Bess laughed, her cheer genuine and assuring, as she waved a flour-coated hand.

  “Dearie, don’t you go worryin’ about your momma’s behavior. See? I know city folk don’t quite get what we’re about here in Ryder. It’s different. Simple. We know each other, help each other, and treat each other like family. Sure, we eat crop from the ground it’s grown in. We eat beef that grazes in the field o’er yonder. Chicken that pecks the ground on any farmland in this town. It’s natural and lovely, and it forces you to slow down and learn to appreciate what god’s given you.” Miss Bess plopped the dough on the counter and braced her hands on either side of the mound. She held Brianna’s gaze and, with a smile so full of wisdom, added, “I’ve come to learn in all my years, simple and natural life can intimidate those who know nothin’ about livin’.”

  Jackson reached over and rubbed her forearm. “Miss Bess’s right. Different kinda livin’ here in Ryder.” He tweaked her cheek with two fingers. “A slow, warm kinda livin’.”

  “People fall in love with small-town life all the time. Why, Jackie, Travis just married a beauty from New York City last weekend. And Brody’s back from tourin’ to spend time with lil’ Mandy and Craig.”

  “Wait. Brody?” She narrowed her gaze on the woman. “Allen? Country star?”

  “Brody Ryder, actually, but yeah.” Miss Bess came around the counter, wiping her hands on her towel. She took a seat in the empty chair beside Brianna and leaned close, a glitter to her dark eyes. “Can I tell you a secret, Brianna?”

  “’Course, Miss Bess,” Brianna said. The woman captivated her.

  “Sometimes it takes leavin’ small-town life to realize what a person had.” She shot Jackson a pointed glance. “And sometimes it takes a city gal to experience small-town livin’ only once to realize what she’s been missin’.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Colton’s keepin’ his hat on and his chin up, despite the ruckus on the circuit, ain’t he,” Terrance said, dropping another icy brew in front of Rylan. Rylan pressed off the bar top and lowered his attention from the large flat screen decorated with glittering Christmas garland to the bartender.

  “What more can he do? They’ve got nothin’ on him ’cause he didn’t kill the man. It’s talk. Speculation. Last I checked, words did little to hold up in court unless the state had solid proof.” Rylan took a long drink, letting the cold liquid ease the tensions that had risen over the past few days. And get the thought of Brianna out of my head. “Fuckin’ bullshit. It would take someone threatenin’ his family to make him lift a fist to a man. Whoever set him up to the take fall for that poor kid’s death picked the wrong man to try and pin it on.” Rylan hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the rowdy crowd that filled Ride’em tonight. “All these folks here are rootin’ him on. My ears are still ringin’ from them screamin’ after he pulled away with that winnin’ ride.”

  “Sure his frustration over everythin’ is fuelin’ his hunger for some buckles. He’s in the standing for the All-Around, ain’t he?”

  “He’ll pull it off.”

  Rylan tipped his glass for another drink, resting his forearm against the bar top and angling himself to the television. Terrance mirrored his stance from the opposite side of the bar, tossing his rag on the cooler. Country tunes filled the busy honky-tonk. Dancers piled onto the large dance floor. All of the pool tables on the platform at the far end of the joint were taken. The aroma of fried chicken wafted among the scents of perfume, cologne, sweat, and spilt beer.

  He may not be working, but he was always on duty. The Glock tucked snug at his waist beneath his thermal shirt and coat would be a cold reminder to anyone who stirred some unwanted trouble. He continually scanned the crowd, picking out customers who might become a problem while he waited for Jackson to arrive.

  “Rumor’s got it that someone’s pokin’ their nose around Ryder in hopes of buyin’ off a chunk of property,” Terrance said. Rylan turned narrowed eyes on the man. Terrance shrugged and chuckled. “Give anyone credit for comin’ by with those brass balls, but I’d still be cryin’, fool.”

  “Ain’t no one’s leavin’ Ryder with a deal or a deed. Mark my word,” Rylan said, making his point known. Terrance nodded. Rylan snorted and shook his head. “It’s Jackson, and his woman. They’re both workin’ for some luxury resort somethin’ or other.”

  “Nuh-huh. You serious?” Terrance squared himself to Rylan, his eyes wide. “Jackson Morrell?”

  Rylan saluted his glass to the bartender and smirked. “One and the same. This world couldn’t handle two of ’em.”

  “You two were the best of friends.”

  “We still are. And I’d be the first one to tell him one is enough.” Into his beer, he muttered, “And the first one to tell him to shove his boss’s proposal up a bull’s ass.”

  “Still haven’t lost that sarcastic sense of humor.”

  “Gotta keep somethin’, right?”

  Terrance gave him a sympathetic grin, clapped his shoulder, and hurried down the bar to help a group of customers.

  Rylan stole a glance at his watch and checked his cell for any missed calls. Jackson was running late. Nothing new there. By the time he showed up, Rylan may well be swimming in his beers. Three down in an hour, thanks to Terrance’s bottomless glass. He needed to slow down. Just after I finish this one.

  On that amber liquid wave, Brianna’s beautiful face rode into his thoughts. The steer wrestling suddenly dimmed from the television, and a
strange warmth flowed through his body. A lightness swirled about his chest while his cock thickened against his jeans.

  Rylan took a healthy drink, hoping the cold brew would quench this sudden heat.

  “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

  Rylan lowered the glass and turned to meet Jackson. His gaze skimmed right over his friend and landed on the woman at his side.

  Brianna couldn’t look any more shocked than he felt at the moment. His heart sputtered. His thoughts ran ramped, none making sense. The woman sucked him into those goddamn gorgeous eyes, the strangest colors of violet and blue he remembered all too clearly from earlier.

  His fucking cock had gone from a rousing swell to a full hard-on.

  This woman was his best friend’s girlfriend? Bree. Brianna. How the hell had he missed that before?

  Aw, fuck me. Off. Limits.

  Which might be for the better. Now he had to get through this night without letting his sharp-as-a-tack friend pick up on some hint that he had a cock stand for his girl.

  Hailey can’t be replaced.

  Sobering reminder that was. He finally tore his gaze from Brianna and met Jackson’s arched-brow look.

  “Late, Jax. I was gettin’ ready to leave thinkin’ you stood me up.” Rylan gave Brianna a short nod. “She’s got one up on me.”

  Jackson’s mouth curled. Shit. Rylan knew that mischievous look anywhere. His friend was devising something.

  “Gotta take it easy for a while, but you know that. You rescued her from the accident.” Jackson slipped his arm around Brianna’s waist, bringing her closer to Rylan. Despite the dimmed lights, Rylan caught the deepening color of her cheeks beneath the silky waves of dark hair. She had replaced the small white bandage on her forehead with a natural-colored one. The little piece her hair didn’t hide blended in with her skin. “Let me officially introduce you to Brianna Cabot. Flesh and blood proof that I haven’t been blowin’ smoke up your tight ass.”

  “I believed you.”

  Rylan tried his hardest to plaster on the sheriff face to hide the turmoil Brianna caused. She held out her hand. Rylan glanced at her slender fingers, nails painted a light pink. A silver bracelet dangled from her delicate wrist, hooked on the cuff of her form-accentuating peacoat. She had one of those trendy beige scarfs neatly wrapped about her neck. Minimal makeup painted her eyes. A shimmery gloss painted her full lips.

  Rylan cleared his throat and took Brianna’s hand. Her fingers were cool, most likely from the weather, but her grip belied her otherwise delicate hand. She had a strong grip, a solid shake, one that spoke business. A smile came to her mouth, one that hid a shadowed confusion behind a more confident expression.

  “We bumped into each other when I arrived at Miss Bess’s,” Brianna confessed, her voice smooth, soothing, and delightful to his ear. She released his hand—the separation left him somewhat cold, to his surprise—and tossed a glance back at Jackson. “Why didn’t you tell me we were meetin’ Rylan?”

  “Wanted it to be a surprise,” Jackson said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  Rylan turned a fraction more toward the bar, propping his boot on the foot railing. He flagged down Terrance, anything to keep his attention off the sickening pit his stomach had become.

  Third-wheelin’ it tonight.

  God help him, this was going to be a long evening.

  “What can I get you two?” Rylan asked, chancing a look at his friend. Thankfully, the two weren’t tongue fucking.

  “Whatever you’re drinkin’ is fine. Bree, honey?” Jackson asked.

  “Water. On meds,” Brianna said. She offered Rylan a dangerously sweet smile, one that made his heart flutter for a brief moment.

  “Want a pop?” Rylan turned back as Terrance came over to him. “Two more beers and…?”

  “Water is fine, really,” Brianna said, stepping up beside him. Her hand brushed his side as she brought her arms to the bar ledge. Instinctively, he covered the concealed weapon with his hand. “No lemon.”

  “I can get a pretty lady a beer on the house,” Terrance said, flashing Brianna a wink. “’Specially if you’re accompanyin’ Jackson there.”

  Brianna’s smile grew, but she shook her head. “No alcohol. Thank you though.” She leaned into Jackson and whispered something in his ear. Rylan looked away, shoving back the uncharacteristic coil of jealousy that seeped up from his gut. A moment later, Jackson sidled up beside him.

  “Where’d your woman go?” Rylan asked.

  “Ladies’ room,” Jackson said. Rylan nodded, chancing a shaded look down the bar. Brianna paused before the hallway to the restrooms, her gaze lingering on him, cinching something in his chest. Then she disappeared.

  “What do you think? Beautiful, ain’t she? She’s got a heart that could melt a man.”

  “You’re a lucky bastard, for sure,” Rylan said, softening the edge in his voice with a smile. He decided to ignore the rather probing tone of his friend’s questions. “You makin’ her happy?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  Rylan lifted his glass to his lips, focusing this misplaced jealousy onto the smiling elves lining the back wall of the bar. So much for slowing down the beers. “Good.”

  Jackson thanked Terrance for the drink and twisted his shoulders to Rylan. “She has a way of makin’ you all warm and full. She can put heat into your cold nights—”

  Rylan threw up a hand. “Seriously? Why are you tellin’ me this?” He pinned his friend with a stern glance. Hell, he didn’t want to image what that woman felt like in bed. “She won’t appreciate it.”

  Jackson chuckled, rolling his beer glass between his palms.

  “What have you got simmerin’ in that head of yours, Jackson Morrell?” Rylan asked, lowering his voice to a threatening husk.

  “Oh, nothin’.” Jackson’s lips tightened. He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you always suspect I’ve got a plan brewin’?”

  “’Cause you always do.”

  “Well, maybe this is one time you’re wrong.”

  “Or”—Rylan stole a sip of beer—“you’re still mappin’ out your strategy.”

  Jackson snickered, taking a drink from his glass. “Guess we’ll have to see who’s right, won’t we?”

  * * * *

  Brianna couldn’t stop her hands from trembling as she rummaged through her purse for her lip gloss. The bathroom was a cramped facility, women coming and going, some bumping into her as they squeezed by. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, unable to ignore the flush of her cheeks or the unconcealed desires swimming in her eyes. This was her third encounter with Rylan Ryder while conscious, and all three times landed her in the grips of a visceral attack, breathless, heart throbbing, muscles weak. The nape of her neck tingled with sweat. She tugged open her scarf and slung it over her purse. It did little to cool off her feverish skin.

  The last person to make her react with such intensity had been Jackson. The man could still make her hot and wet with a look, but this particular reaction was not because of her boyfriend. This was different, and yet so similar.

  “It’s so wrong,” she murmured under her breath, relinquishing her search for her lip gloss. Instead, she fluffed the waves in her hair, preening her chin-length bangs to fully cover the bandage on her forehead. When she failed, she peeled off the bothersome piece of adhesive and tossed it in the trash. “Better.”

  She washed her hands before forging back into the crowded bar. She paused, drawn to the synchronized dancing taking place on the dance floor. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she watched the dancers. A part of her wanted to jump out there and give it a go, but she knew she’d cause a domino disaster. She knew nothing about line dancing, or very much any dancing aside from ballroom. Thank you, Mother. Oh, to be able to let loose and have fun.

  Shaking herself from her wandering thoughts, she continued back to Jackson and Rylan. Jackson opened his arm for her, and she accepted his half hug, bringing her between the two men.
r />   “Saw you watching the folks on the floor,” Jackson said. “Wanna dance?”

  “I’d need to learn how first,” Brianna joked, jabbing Jackson with her elbow. “You know I can’t do anythin’ like that.”

  “Her mother put her through ballroom classes. She was forbidden from line-dancin’ growin’ up,” Jackson explained to Rylan. Rylan’s shuttered gaze lowered to her. Brianna met him with an equally shuttered look. He might have his earlier reaction under control, but she didn’t miss the undeniable attraction he held for her. “All that high-society propriety. Poor Bree.”

  “Have you any interest in it?” Rylan asked. He handed her a glass of water and she thanked him.

  “I’ve always had an interest. Never an opportunity,” Brianna said, stirring the ice with her straw. “Story of my life.”

  “Want somethin’ bad enough, you can make an opportunity.” Rylan threw back the last of his beer before trading it out for a full glass. “Must want that land bad.”

  You sure know how to kill an arousal.

  “C’mon, man. Really?” Jackson interrupted. Rylan cast him an unreadable look before it turned on Brianna. She steeled herself for the impending attack. How could the man who stayed with her in her car, whispering encouragement to her, now act so cold and aloof?

  “Jax, it’s okay. It’s gonna come up at some point. Now’s as good as any,” Brianna assured. Hell, if the man wanted to talk business and say “fuck you” to pleasure, she was game. The faster she landed a deal, the better. “Our boss has been eyein’ it for months. He wants it for a resort.”

  “And you? What do you get?” Rylan challenged.

  Brianna straightened her shoulders and pasted her most comely smile to her lips. “Gets me a happy boss.”

  “A promotion,” Jackson said.

  “A promotion?” Rylan arched a brow. Brianna elbowed Jackson in the side. Rylan knocked the lip of his glass to the body of hers and shrugged. “Stakes are high. Here’s to perseverance. You’re gonna need it ’cause a sale ain’t happenin’.”