by Oliver, Tess
Sayler smiled up at me while continuing to feed the goat. “I see you found something to eat after all.”
I lifted the corn. “I’m pretending it’s a corn dog.” I took a bite. “The sour cream is camouflaging the fact that it’s a vegetable.”
She shook her head. “See, there’s still plenty of Montana boy in you.” She’d worn a straw cowboy hat, jeans and her cowboy boots, looking every bit the Montana girl.
I sat down next to her. The goat she’d been feeding gave me the evil eye from across the way. “Cool it, buddy, I’m not here for the hay.” I slid my arm around Sayler’s waist. “Just the girl, who, by the way, looks smokin’ hot in her cowgirl gear.”
“Thank you.” She tapped my black Stetson. “You’re pretty smokin’ yourself.” She reached up and wiped my lip. “Even with a sour cream moustache.” She licked her fingertip. “Oh wow, chili pepper.”
“Uh huh, that’s so my kisses are extra hot.”
She plucked off her hat and leaned her head against my shoulder for a second. “You need no help in that department.” Someone was warming up a guitar on the stage. “Is it just Nicky King or did the whole band come?”
“Just Nicky. Cole said the rest of the band was hanging out all over the world somewhere. He brought up the whole herding retired rock stars is like herding cats comparison.”
“I’m excited to hear him live.”
“Prepare to be dazzled. Even with a lot of gray and some definite signs of wrinkling, the guy can render every woman within a five mile radius speechless with just his smile. He makes Rett dim like a weak light bulb.”
“Maybe. But he won’t make your light bulb dim. At least not in my eyes.” She pushed her hat back down on her head and glanced around. “This place is amazing. It’s such a great thing Finley and Rett are doing here.” The goat lifted his snout and nibbled at the brim of her hat. She scratched under its chin. “I could totally see spending my days at a place like this.”
“Yeah, but you know what’s missing?”
She turned to me with big brown eyes. “What’s that?”
“Pete Sulley’s old abandoned barn. You know, the one with the awesome hayloft?”
A blush followed her smile. “How could I forget that hayloft? I still remember the night we climbed up there and it rained. We fell asleep and woke in the morning. Shit, did I get in trouble that day.”
Music was starting, and the crowd was making their way to the dance area. “Yep, you were always corrupting me.” I stood up and offered her my hand. We walked out of the goat pen. I dropped my corn cob in the trash and led Sayler to the dance floor.
I stretched my neck to see over the ocean of bobbing heads in front of us. “I wonder where Cole and everyone are.”
Sayler pointed to a place near the stage. “Isn’t that the really big guy, Clutch, standing up front?”
I leaned to look past a guy with a tall cowboy hat in front of us. Clutch’s big blond head stood up above all the other heads in the crowd. “That’s him.” I took her hand. “Hold on tight, baby, and we’ll make our way through the crush of people.”
“I’ve got no plan to let you go . . . ever.”
I glanced back at her and she winked. I stopped in the press of people for a kiss. “See that you don’t.” I turned back around and navigated the easiest path to Cole and his friends.
Chapter 31
Sayler
Finley was up on stage with a microphone. She had a black hat pushed down over her white blonde hair and a blue flannel shirt with a red bandana around her neck. She was one of those ethereal beauties, who looked almost as if she’d just been conjured up by some magic spell. One thing was for sure, she didn’t ever act like the spoiled, entitled daughter of a rock star. She was incredibly real and easy to talk to just like her brother, Cole. “I know y’all are here to see our live entertainment,” she spoke loudly into the mic as Rett walked up next to her. She put her hand in his. “And trust me, there isn’t anyone more entertaining than my dad.” A laugh rumbled the audience. “So, without further delay, here is the one and only Nicky King.”
A deafening cheer rang out and some of the animals, alarmed or excited by the sound, joined in with what seemed like their own version of a cheer. Nicky King came out on stage. He’d replaced his usual tight leather pants with a pair of jeans and cowboy boots. Parker hadn’t exaggerated, Nicky wasn’t all that big in stature, but he had a huge presence as if some giant spotlight followed him wherever he went.
We reached the others just as he began singing. Cole’s friends were the kind who made you feel immediately welcome. Kensington too. I’d liked all of them from the start. Nix and his wife, Scotlyn, a couple who were as perfect together as butter and popcorn, made room for us near the front of the dance floor, a patch of land covered by a layer of plywood and lined with potted plants.
The giant guy they called Clutch, who was quite obviously Rett’s brother, stuck his cowboy hat on his head. Clutch and his adorable girlfriend, Taylor, were much more of a mismatch than a match, but you could see that they were both nuts about each other. I’d always thought Parker and I were too similar to ever make a great couple, but I’d been wrong. Mostly I’d been wrong about being too much alike. Parker had grown up and pulled his act together much faster and better than me. But I was heading on the right path now, and nothing was going to stop me.
Dray took hold of his girlfriend, Cassie’s, hand and led her toward the lines of dancers that were forming in the center of the dance floor. He stopped in front of us. “Rodeo, heard you had twinkly toes in those cowboy boots. Get your ass out here.”
“Kensington said you were a great dancer,” Cassie said to me. “Join us. This guy”—she inclined her head toward Dray—“won’t be happy until he totally humiliates himself on the dance floor.”
“That’s why I’m inviting the two dancers to stand next to us in line,” Dray said. “That way, no will notice my two left boots.”
Parker looked at me. “What do you say?”
“I never say no to dancing.” We got into the line and the others soon joined us.
With everything I’d gone through in the past few years, it was almost surreal. I was dancing a line dance with rock legend Nicky King singing a country tune. And the boy I’d been nuts about for years was now a man, an incredible man, who had stolen my heart again just as he had back in high school. It was too good to be true, but I was done waiting for bumps in the road.
Several songs later, Parker took hold of my hand and pulled me along until we broke free of the crowd. We walked hand in hand toward the big red barn at the back of the property. The sun was starting to set, and a breeze that was heavy with the scent of hay and pine shavings drifted over us, causing us both to reach up for our hats.
“Reminds me of home,” I said, “that farm smell. I do miss that familiar scent.”
We stopped in front of the barn. Parker wrapped his arms around me. “Oh? Feeling homesick?”
“Nope. Can’t feel homesick when everything I need is standing right here in front of me.”
“Damn right, darlin’.” He lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me.
Want to read more about the characters in Rodeo (FMX Bros #2)?
Check out Cole (FMX Bros #1), the Custom Culture series and Strangely Normal.
Strangely Normal is where Finley, Eden, Cole and Jude’s story began.
Freefall (Nix & Scotlyn’s story)
Clutch (Clutch & Taylor’s story)
Dray (Dray & Cassie’s story)
Rett (Rett & Finley’s story)
Nix & Scotlyn: The Wedding
Continue reading for your free BONUS novel- Private North (A Sinful Suspense).
Private North
A Sinful Suspense Novel
Tess Oliver
&n
bsp; Private North
Copyright © 2013 by Tess Oliver
Cover Design by Avanti Graphics
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construd as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Chapter 1
It was the type of frenzied energy that could only be produced by the end of a stressful week of finals coupled with the visions of sugarplums, whatever the heck those were, floating through caffeine infused, study-weary brains. For me it had been a particularly grueling week of insidious group projects with flaky team members who I could now credit with the unrelenting twitch in my left eye and fingernails that had been chewed to unsightly stubs.
“Auggie!”
I turned around. Rylie made her way through the maze of people in the hallway and caught up to me. Her blue eyes sparkled the way only a natural ginger’s eyes could. “Thank God that’s over.” She wrapped her arm around mine and we continued down the long hallway. “Is it possible to have a small series of strokes instead of one major one?”
It was a strange question but not an unusual one for Rylie. We’d met on our first day at freshmen orientation, and we’d formed an instant bond. And she was still one of the few people that I always looked forward to hanging out with. “I think so. My grandfather once had something called lacunar strokes or at least I think that was what they were called. But why are we talking about strokes?”
“Because Professor Freeman should be put away in a mad house. She would have made a great schoolmaster in a Dicken’s novel. The woman is pure evil. I studied ten friggin’ hours for that biology test. I rewrote all of the lecture notes by hand three times.” She raised her hand to show me her calloused finger. “I had this ridiculous notion that the exam questions would actually have something to do with what we’d talked about in class.” Riley shook her head. “Apparently, there is a whole other strand of biology that none of us in the class knew about. I sat there and stared at the test wondering if it was written in Greek or if I’d hit my head on the way to class and forgotten how to decipher the alphabet. My whole GPA is screwed now because of one lunatic teacher.”
“I guess that’s why they call her Freeman the Demon.”
“The worst thing about it is I have to have her next semester for advanced biology.”
The din in the hallway grew louder as more finals ended and more winter breaks officially began. We skirted around a group standing in a circle lamenting about what must have been another awful final. I squeezed Rylie’s arm. “I’ve got my own tales of horror. Remember that huge group project for medieval studies?”
“The one that got you addicted to Tums?”
“Yep. First drug habit I’ve ever had. Well, Derek, the guy who was doing the section about architecture called me two nights ago and said he’d lost his flash drive with his piece of the report. I laughed, of course, because I knew no one would be stupid enough to count solely on a one inch flash drive to store a semester’s worth of research. Turns out, I was wrong. There was someone stupid enough. I had to piece together the incoherent, scattered parts he’d sent me from time to time to proofread. It took me hours.” I pointed to my eyebrow. “Still have a nervous twitch from it.”
We tromped downstairs holding tightly to each other in the rush of people. “Everyone is sure in a hurry to get out of here.” Rylie said. “I guess I’d be happier to leave if Jason and I weren’t getting on airplanes that were heading in opposite directions.”
I was relieved to reach the bottom landing without being pushed or elbowed. “So, you’re not going to see each other at all?”
Rylie shook her head emphatically. “Picture a small, double-wide trailer bursting at the seams with loud, mostly overweight, half drunken relatives. I don’t want to scare Jason off. One day with my mom and aunts grilling him and he’d break up with me for sure.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Jason is nuts about you.”
“He wants me to fly to New York and meet his parents for New Years, but I don’t think I’m ready. Jason thinks our families should meet, but I told him there wouldn’t be enough Valium in the world for me to live through that. I keep imagining this Hatfields and McCoys type scenario only it would be more like the Hatfields and the Vanderbilts. Our two families are from different worlds.”
I smiled at her. “Yet you and Jason are perfect together.”
Rylie sighed. “We are, aren’t we?” She stopped suddenly. “Oh shoot, I forgot I have to turn my paper into Professor Learner’s office. My printer was on the blink so he gave me an extra day. He’s so cool. Why can’t they all be like him?”
“I think the fiendish professors believe that they are preparing us for the reality of a harsh world.” I glanced back and it was like sitting at the end of the river looking upstream as a school of anxious fish swam toward us. “I’ll go with you. I’m afraid to send you back through alone. You’re liable to get trampled.”
“You’re a true friend, Auggie.” We turned around and braced ourselves for the trek against the tide. “Are you heading home or does your mom have some exotic cruise planned?”
“No cruise. I begged my parents to plan a holiday at home. It took some doing. And get this— I even talked my mom into the two of us cooking Christmas dinner . . . alone. No chefs, no caterers, just us. I can’t wait. It will be just like a real family.”
It was much slower going against traffic, and more than once we had to stop and step out of the way or risk getting run down.
“Well, the real family Christmas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Rylie said. “Although we do have some great traditions— like the massive blowup fight between Aunt Clare and Uncle Richard, and it’s usually about something dumb like which color lights to hang on the tree. And then there’s Uncle Filbert’s after dinner possible heart attack, which is miraculously cured when Aunt Millie reminds him to open the top button of his pants. And, believe me, Uncle Filbert sleeping on the couch with his pants unbuttoned is a special holiday memory in itself. But we do always spend an entire day making a gingerbread house where my aunts and I eat more candy than goes on the house, and the whole thing ends up looking as if some mountain men had built a ramshackle log cabin while they were stone drunk on moonshine. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’ve always wanted to build a gingerbread house for Christmas. Of course, we always had one on the table, but it came from some exclusive Beverly Hills bakery with stained glass windows made out of sugar and exclusive French chocolates for roof shingles. And my mom forbade me to touch it. Then she’d have the maids toss it out the day after Christmas, candy and all. Who does that? Why have a gingerbread house if you’re not going to nibble on the damn thing?”
Rylie shook her head. “You poor thing. The only part left on our house by Christmas morning is the icing covered cardboard base and the gross tasting mints that nobody likes but that Aunt Milly insists make a ‘delightful roof pattern’.” Rylie gasped and grabbed my hand. “I just saw Trenton’s red beanie poking up above the heads.”
My heart stopped. “Are you sure?” I craned my neck to glance over the sea of people filling the narrow passage.
Rylie raised her red brow at me. “No, it was probably some other six-foot-two guy with a red beanie.”
“I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t endure another long conversation about our break up.” I leaned over and kissed her. “You’re on your own, Pal. Have a safe trip home, and think of me when you’re eating gingerbread.”
Rile
y hugged me. “I’ll see you in January. Love ya.”
I ducked my head down and scurried between a couple who had just finished a kiss. “Sorry to interrupt,” I muttered and pushed on several door handles until one opened. I scooted inside the lecture hall and shut the door behind me. A poster about a school ski trip covered the small window in the door. I lifted the bottom corner and peeked out waiting for Trenton to walk past. Sometimes the aftermath of a break-up was more tense than the actual break-up. That was definitely the case with Trenton.
“So, the rumors are true,” a voice called from the bottom of the lecture hall.
I dropped the corner of the poster and spun around. Professor North piled up the notes on his lectern and dropped them into his briefcase. Professor North was one of my favorites. He wore faded denim jeans but he always managed to make them look elegant, and he seemed like the kind of guy who’d make a great dad, the kind of dad who’d be really patient while you learned to swim or ride a bike. Of course, I had no idea if my own dad would have been patient or not. Maggie, the downstairs maid, had held the back of the bike seat and ran along with me as I pedaled clumsily around the circular drive. The woman was a saint.
I walked toward the steps that led down through the rows of stadium seats. “What rumor is that?”
Professor North grinned and finished clearing his lectern. “We teachers know all the latest gossip, I assure you. And the saga of August Stonefield and Trenton Peters is a well known one.”
