by Jane Jamison
Carnal Cowboys 2
The Cowboy Way
Dr. Chey Kirkland’s life is threatened by her patient’s grieving husband. When an armed assailant shoots to kill, the hospital administrators demand she enlist a bodyguard or get out of town.
Cowboy cousins Wy and Mitch Wilson are ready to take Chey to their ranch and keep her protected until the police catch the shooter. With no other options, Chey goes along with the plan. If she has to hide out, why not do it with two sexy cowboys?
Another attempt is made on her life and they wonder if a second killer is out to get her. Keeping her safe just got twice as hard, especially since she’s not cooperating.
Mitch and Wy need to break her like the broncs they tame and keep her under control. But will riding her the cowboy way make them lose focus and endanger her life?
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Length: 53,502 words
THE COWBOY WAY
Carnal Cowboys 2
Jane Jamison
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
THE COWBOY WAY
Copyright © 2015 by Jane Jamison
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-926-2
First E-book Publication: February 2015
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
Dear Readers,
I was born and raised in Oklahoma and grew up surrounded by cowboys and ranchers. These virile examples of masculinity were often rodeo contestants, men who would risk life and limb for eight seconds on top of a bull. I soon learned that these rugged men were different from a lot of other men. They were brave, honest, and willing to reach out and help anyone who needed it. I’ve taken my memories of them and put them in to my series called Carnal Cowboys. I hope you enjoy the book.
Thanks for reading,
Jane Jamison
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Author
THE COWBOY WAY
Carnal Cowboys 2
JANE JAMISON
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
Dr. Cheyenne Kirkland bit her tongue for as long as she could. Al Morgan, the chief security officer for Hart Memorial Hospital, could give a bulldog a run at being stubborn. Never mind that the bulldog and Al would come in a distant second and third behind her.
“Chey, please, if you won’t do this for yourself, then do it for the rest of us. Think of the nurses and the other doctors. Hell, think of the patients.” Al slid a hand over his balding head.
Talk about dealing a low blow.
Yet she had to admit he had a point. She’d already received a couple of death threats, not counting the ones George Glasson had hurled at her the night his wife had passed away. He’d come back when the initial shock of hearing about his wife’s death had finally worn off, ranting at her, vowing to make her pay. She’d tried to explain that his wife had come in DOA, but, like many people, he hadn’t been able to accept it.
Grief-stricken, George Glasson had grasped for the closest scapegoat, anyone to relieve his guilt, and had chosen her.
“I’m not to blame for Louise Glasson’s death.” She lowered her voice. “If anyone should shoulder the responsibility, it’s her husband. He’s the one who should’ve watched his blood sugar. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten dizzy and sent his car into the railing.” She strode away from Al, already berating herself for saying as much as she had. “I don’t mean it that way. Everyone makes mistakes. Some with dire consequences. But I don’t want to be the one getting shafted for someone else’s mistake.”
“No one’s blaming you, Chey. And I’m not asking you to take on a bodyguard because you’re in the wrong. I’m asking you because you’re not. Do it at least until things calm down.”
She could be just as stubborn as Al. Her stubbornness had helped her fight her way out of a life of poverty with her Cherokee mother and an absent Caucasian father. She’d studied hard and received a full ride through college, then grants and loans for medical school. After all her effort, she wasn’t about to let one grieving man keep her from her work. Helping people was her purpose in life. Even if, sometimes, she failed to save them.
“I’m not sure Mrs. Glasson wasn’t already dead before the car hit the railing. If he’d allowed me to have an autopsy, we might’ve found out she died in her sleep.”
“But he didn’t. All that’s in the past. We have to deal with the present now. Including the threats.”
“I got a restraining order like you asked me to do, Al.”
Al was in his early fifties and a kind man. He did his job well, and right now, doing his job meant keeping her safe. “I’m glad you listened to me, but you know as well as I do that a restraining order won’t keep someone away if they really want to get you. So listen to me again now. Take the bodyguard. Why the hell not? The hospital’s paying for him.”
“Why the hell not?” She glanced around the ER. Patients were being admitted and released. Others were placed on beds behind walls of curtains supposedly giving them a sense of privacy. “Because having a big, burly man packing a gun won’t help these people. He’ll just get in my way and frighten them.”
“You can ask him to stand in the corner. No one will notice him.” Al gave her what she thought of as his fatherly look. Her own father hadn’t been around long enough to do the same. He’d cut out on her mother and her three siblings right after Chey’s birth. The only thing he’d given his newborn daughter was his last name.
“Oh, sure. They won’t notice a huge ape of a guy watching my every move. Or the big bulge under his coat where he carries his gun. People want to trust their doctor. They don’t want to think she needs a bodyguard. No, I won’t do it.” She scanned the area by the door leading to the rest of the hospital. “Tell me he’s not waiting in the hall.”
“Not yet. But I can make one phone call and he’s here. Let me make the call.”
“Nope. It’s not happening. George Glasson needs therapy and time to grieve. He’s not a threat to me or anyone else.”
“He’s already come to the hospital looking for you twice in the past week.”
She should’ve known Al would find out about the man’s recent visits. Maybe she should’ve taken her colleagues’ advice and had him arrested, but she hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of the grief-stricken man sitting in a jail cell. “He didn’t attack me.”
“No, he didn’t. At least not physically. But he hurled threats and insults at you, and scared a hell of a lot of people in the process. No, he didn’t physically come at you, but, if I’m any judge of these situations, he’s working up to doing exactly that.”
“I can’t live my life in fear and I won’t. And I won’t live it with a bodyguard standing over my shoulder everywhere I go.”
“Look, Chey, just have him stick around here. Make my job a little easier and say yes. Until you do, I’ll have Old Lady McManis on my ass.”
She felt sorry for him. Margaret McManis was the oldest person on the hospital’s board of directors and the most vocal one. As a major shareholder, she felt it was her duty to put her nose in everyone’s business from the janitor’s up to the chief of staff’s. If she wasn’t happy, no one was happy.
“Al, I’m sorry she’s jumping on you, but I can’t.”
He appeared to accept defeat, then rally, determination hardening his expression. “I’m sorry, too. But since you won’t do it on your own, I’ll have to. I’m asking you politely, but I’m not really asking. If you know what I mean.”
Mrs. McManis must be coming down on him really hard. Still, she wouldn’t give in. “If you like, I could talk to her.”
“You know talking won’t help. The old woman isn’t going to budge.”
“Dr. Chey! We need your help over here.”
“Do what you have to do, Al.” She whirled around, saw the nurse who’d called out and was now waving at her, then rushed toward the gurney being wheeled in from the ambulance outside the bay doors. Three tall, handsome men, dressed in cowboy gear, hurried alongside it. Another cowboy, just as good-looking as his friends, fought to get off the gurney.
“Stop making such a damn fuss. I’m fine. Turn me loose, damn it.” His thick brown hair was mussed, but his head showed no signs of trauma. Blood stained his shirt near his left shoulder, but other than that, she couldn’t find any other outward signs of injuries. Judging from the tear in his shirt, he hadn’t been shot. He’d either gotten cut with a knife or had been in an accident.
She followed them into one of the examination areas, then grabbed the curtain and pulled it around them. “All nonessential personnel, get out. Now.”
When the three cowboys only stared at her, she pointed a finger at them and repeated her order. “You three. Out. Now.”
“He’s our friend and we’re staying.” The one who’d answered had golden hair and green eyes that dove into her as though exploring for buried treasure.
Shit. It’s going to be one of those times.
“Nurse, get them out. If they don’t clear out in the next thirty seconds, call Al and tell him to bring his Taser.” Not that Al would. Instead, he’d bring a couple of his best security guards. The men grumbled a bit, but finally allowed the nurse to shoo them out.
She’d already started examining the patient, checking his vitals along with his pupils then tearing his shirt wide open. The large bruise and scraping an inch above his heart told her the story. He’d been hit and hit hard.
“Baby, if you weren’t so damn beautiful, you’d have to buy me a new shirt. But since you are hot, I’ll let it slide. This time.”
She jerked her gaze up to meet his, then paused, suddenly forgetting what she’d planned on doing. Her gaze locked with his until, with some doing, she jerked it away. “What’s your name?”
“The name’s Wyland Wilson, but everyone calls me Wy.” He rested his hand behind his head, acting for all the world as though he was stretched out on his couch at home. “You can call me Wy, too. And you’re Doc Chey, right? I heard the nurse call for you. Is Chey your first name or your last?”
She didn’t like her patients knowing her first name, but for some strange reason, having Wy know it didn’t bother her. Still, she’d have to talk to the nurses and ask them, once again, not to call her Doc Chey.
“My first name. Chey is short for Cheyenne. I’m Dr. Kirkland.” She squashed the smile that had almost made it to her face. “Okay, Wy, want to tell me who hit you?”
“I’m going to call you Chey, too. It suits you.” He placed his hand over hers. “And it wasn’t a who. It was a what.”
“I’m sorry?” She looked into his emerald eyes again and felt something sizzle inside her. What was that feeling? Although it was vaguely familiar, she’d never felt it quite so strong before.
Oh, shit. I’m turned on. Really turned on.
“I got kicked by a horse. It isn’t the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”
“A horse?” Again, she had to force her attention away from those amazing eyes. Down she went, over the square jaw, then skimming from one side to the other of the broad shoulders before going lower to the muscled chest. Even with the bruise turning darker, he looked like he was too strong to ever be hurt. Not by anyone or anything, including a horse.
“Yeah. I was riding our horse Breaker. He got his name because he kicks and breaks shit. Including bones. Anyway, we brought him down to the rodeo and entered him as one of the broncs—”
“The broncs?” She put the stethoscope to the hard surface and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. She knew what a bronc was, but she was only half listening.
“Yeah. You know. Broncs. Bucking horses. I’m doing—or at least, I was doing—the bronc-riding event at the rodeo.”
“Is it fair to ride your own horse?”
He laughed and winced at the pain. “Everyone knows he can’t be ridden. Hell, I think they get a kick out of seeing him throw my ass off. I don’t know why, but I just keep coming back for more.”
“Hmm.” So hard. So soft. And so damn sexy.
Her hand slipped lower, pressing his abdomen in different areas. “Are you tender here? Or here?”
“Some women say I’m very tender when I want to be.”
“I’m sorry?” She jerked her gaze back to his and felt her pulse pick up. Ever since her one and only boyfriend in high school—who’d turned out to be a real jerk—she’d been a sucker for green eyes. After that, she’d
made it a point to concentrate on her studies and avoid guys. Especially ones with green eyes.
His crooked smile caught her, making her check out his firm lips. Lips she ached to touch to see if they’d feel as nice as she thought they would.
“In bed mostly. Although I can be sweet and rough at the same time. It depends on what you like.”
“Oh.” She straightened up, telling herself to keep her mind on her job.
In bed? I’d love to find out if that’s true.
Shit. Maybe it’s been too long. I really need to start dating.
Her recent lack of sex had to be the reason for her libido suddenly going haywire. It wasn’t because of the cowboy or his sexy friends. She’d simply reached the point of badly needing a man.
She couldn’t help it. She had to check out his crotch area. If he noticed, she’d chalk it up to being thorough. Besides, what harm could it do?
Dropping her gaze even lower, she was only slightly surprised—and more than a little flattered—to find a definite bulge in his jeans. Or was it only wishful thinking?
Holy shit. Think about what you’re doing.
He wasn’t the first person she’d seen in the ER with an injury caused by an animal. They were, after all, in Texas. But he was the first person who’d ever thrown her for a loop. The first one to make her think low-down dirty thoughts and forget about her duty as a physician. She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them again, determined to act professionally.
She had to clear her throat in the same way she had to clear her sex-filled mind. “Did you get kicked anywhere else? Were you thrown off?” She smiled, remembering what he’d said. “Again?”
