by Kate Kisset
Heartbreaker
Lonesome Cowboy Series Book One
Kate Kisset
Copyright © 2019 by Kate Kisset.
All rights reserved. Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
FIRST EDITION
EPUB EDITION NOVEMBER 2019
ISBN: 978-1-7324793-4-8
Cover artwork * Sara Hanson Okay Creations
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Playlist
Other Books by Kate Kisset
About Kate Kisset
Find Kate Kisset on the Web
With thanks to every mama who let her baby grow up to be a cowboy, Heather H., Perrin L., Barbara S., Melanie B., and Jeanne M.
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Chapter One
EVERY PERSON HAS THEIR breaking point, and for Georgia Monroe the unraveling began forty-seven minutes ago, when it dawned on her she might not find a bathroom on this desolate, two-lane Montana highway. Downing that thirty-two-ounce blue raspberry Slurpee, no matter how delicious, was a bad move.
She squirmed in her rental’s driver’s seat, hearing the faux leather squeak for the gazillionth time. Keeping her thighs and knees together as best she could, she pressed harder on the gas pedal and white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Maybe she could hold on until she found a rest stop? Leaning over the wheel to see around the car’s blind spots, she swept her eyes left and right over the cow-dotted fields, desperately searching for a hint of civilization, but to no avail. Sighing, she loosened her grip on the wheel, sank deeper into the beige seat, and stole a glance at the Slurpee container in the holder.
No way was she going to use that. And she didn’t have time to waste agonizing over trying to find a bathroom. Georgia had enough problems.
Her magazine was losing money and cutting back on staff. They fired the editor who hired her, then brought in someone cheaper to take her place. Georgia guessed her new boss wanted to bring in his own people because he was gunning for her, purposely making her job a nightmare by nitpicking over every paragraph she turned in, down to the commas.
He outright hated her last article, but, “out of the kindness of his heart,” would give her one more chance to save her job. If she didn’t deliver an in-depth interview with Boone Beckett, one written to her editor’s satisfaction, she’d be fired.
Harlan, Boone’s older brother, famous for dirty lyrics and the ability to strip women of their panties through eye contact alone, was already a household name, with his career up in flames due to a scandal. Georgia would be lying if she didn’t admit she loved his music—but Harlan’s personality? Never.
An interview with his younger brother, though, would tip the scales in Georgia’s favor. Boone’s debut “Someone Like Me” was already in the top twenty on Billboard and climbing. And she and Boone had spent the past six months arranging this interview. She wasn’t about to get sidetracked now.
Infuriated with herself for not realizing there wouldn’t be rest stops along this godforsaken highway through the boonies, Georgia hung a left onto a bumpy, unpaved road bordered by white three-rail fencing. According to her GPS, she was close to the Beckett brothers’ massive spread, if not on it. Why hadn’t she seen a ranch or any houses?
Afraid she’d wet her pants every time the car jarred over a pothole, she kept her thighs clenched together until she stopped the car next to a plant with dense enough foliage to give her cover from the road. She hadn’t come across another living soul besides cows for over an hour, but wasn’t about to do the deed in the open.
She grabbed her phone in case Boone tried to reach her, snatched a few napkins off the passenger seat next to the family-sized bag of chips she’d half eaten, and carefully heaved herself out of the Toyota. She slammed the door behind her, listening to the sound echo over the golden fields while she rushed, knees together, hobbling in heels, to the sheltered area behind the shrubbery.
Ah...finally. Georgia scooted closer to the plant, appreciating the smidgeon of shade it provided. She checked the pastures around her one more time. Positive there were no lookie-loos, she pulled her jeans and panties down. Then squatted as low as possible in her heels, shifted her bare bottom and lady parts as far away from her jeans and shoes as possible, and let go...and go. And go.
“Don’t even think about trying anything,” a deep, menacing voice called out from the area near her car.
Georgia froze, hearing her last few dribbles hit the dirt. Was he talking to her? She tossed her cell phone aside, quickly wiping herself with the napkins. She felt bad about littering, but stashed the napkins at the base of the plant and pulled her pants up. She grabbed her phone and straightened.
“Hands up in the air!” The man sounded pissed this time. Why was he yelling?
“Um, are you talking to me?” She asked timidly, afraid to take a step. Georgia got up on tiptoe and peeked over the branches. “Shit!” she gasped, and lost her footing when she saw the handgun.
She threw out her hand to catch her balance and accidentally tossed her phone in the process, deep into the middle of the mass of thick, leafy branches. The device ricocheted against a few boughs, whooshed past a few more and then—nothing. If it hit the ground, it didn’t make a sound.
Harlan Beckett adjusted his aim at the center of her body.
A tight black T-shirt hugged his biceps, and his worn jeans clung in all the right places, right down to his boots. Scanning up over what were clearly rock-sold abs hiding under the fabric, to his massive shoulders, chiseled jaw, and dark blue eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Trying to think, she focused on his right hand. Another sharp jolt of fear, the primal kind, tore through her system. She sucked in a deep breath, grasping at straws. “Please put the gun down. I don’t mean any harm,” she squeaked, with her breath stuttering in her throat.
Harlan sneered.
What if all those rumors about him were true? What if he was a lunatic? Georgia considered making a run for it over the rock-covered hill to her right, or through the open field of weeds on her left. She’d meant to check in with her mom that morning, but got so distracted prepping for the interview she never g
ot around to calling her. No one knew where she was. They'd never find her body.
"Come out from behind that gooseberry bush, and keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
Trembling, Georgia feebly lifted her arms and slowly crept out from behind the foliage. Her hands were shaking like dry branches in a tornado, her knees wobbled so violently she thought for sure she’d trip over her own feet again and take a header. She swallowed, searching for moisture in her straw-dry mouth and scanned the vast acreage around her, hoping for a way out.
Harlan kept his gun trained on her while he sauntered past her and checked behind the shrub. For what?
Chapter Two
IT’S A GOOD THING HE found her instead of his unpredictable and potentially dangerous neighbor. But why the most beautiful woman Harlan Beckett had ever seen was straddling his and old Jeb Mahoney’s property line in high heels and tight jeans was anyone’s guess. But Harlan had an inkling.
After confirming there wasn’t a drug deal going down behind the vegetation like the last time he was out checking fences, he’d bet a nickel and a donut he had another stalker on his hands.
It never failed to amaze him when someone managed to track him down, even all the way out here in Lonesome, on the fifty acres he shared with his brothers. This one was the prettiest stalker yet, but with only one oar in the water she wasn’t worth a second look. Batshit crazy. Been there. Done that. “What brings you out here, darlin’?”
The gorgeous blonde propped her delicate, trembling hands on her curvy hips. “You, sort of...”
“Cutting right to the chase. I admire it, I do, but you best turn around and go back to wherever you came from, darlin’. Harlan’s love kitchen is closed today.”
“Ha!” She threw her head back, puffing, trying to fool him, faking bravado. She shifted from one long, sexy leg to the other. “Not a chance. I’m here to interview your brother Boone. And do you mind putting your gun down...?” She frowned. “I thought you country boys were supposed to be polite.”
“You’re awfully confident for an uninvited snoop. Takes real guts to be shouting orders at someone pointing a gun at your cleavage.” Harlan eyed her again, letting his words sink in, hoping he sounded scary. After what happened to him, he couldn’t trust a damn soul, no matter how innocent they appeared.
Rethinking his need for a weapon, he studied her clothes. Her jeans were so tight he’d see the outline if she was carrying a gun. Harlan holstered his pistol. “I’m going to let it go this one time, sweetheart, but you’re trespassing.”
“Thank you.” She groaned, sounding agitated instead of grateful.
Harlan contemplated her pretty brown eyes, then her breasts and luscious hips. Mercy.
“Up here, please.” She ordered primly, straightening, pointing to her face. “So, about that interview? I can assure you I'm not a trespasser. I have an appointment with your brother and got a little...sidetracked.”
Harlan considered the way her blouse was haphazardly tucked in and chuckled as the pieces came together. “You weren’t taking a leak behind that gooseberry bush, were you?” Keeping a bead on her, he enjoyed the way he made her cheeks turn all shades of pink.
“No.” She tipped her head back, exposing her elegant neck while she inspected the clouds. “I-I was. I had some very impor— It’s none of your business what I was doing.”
“Whatever you say, darlin’.” Harlan shifted. “Wouldn’t be the first time some stalker peed out here. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He laughed. “You won’t find a gas station for another twenty miles.”
“If you’re finished hallucinating about bathroom breaks, your brother is probably wondering where I am. I’m letting the stalker comment slide, by the way.”
Harlan let her words drift into the wind. She was the one hallucinating now if she thought he’d let her anywhere near his brother. After the press destroyed Harlan’s career, he made it his mission to protect Boone’s. He planned to let the intruder off the hook for trespassing, but other than that, who the hell was she to ask for one damned thing?
She folded her arms, which made her ample breasts plump up, making him wonder if she had one of those push-up bras on, or if all that delicious creamy flesh was hers. Is she purposely trying to distract me?
“It’s getting late. I dropped my phone,” she explained, pointing over her shoulder, “so if you would kindly get in touch with Boone now, I’d appreciate it—"
“I never agreed to anything,” Harlan barked, coming out of his trance.
She held her ground and tapped her foot, which brought his attention to her long legs and then her curvy hips, to her waist, then her blouse and back down again.
“Your brother will be very disappointed if you don’t,” he heard her say somewhere in the back of his mind, far, far, away from her legs. “Boone wants to do his first-ever interview with me, specifically.” The motion of her hand flitting in the air snared his attention. “It took us ages to set this up. He’ll be upset—"
Harlan leaned back, resting on one booted foot. He folded his arms now, studying her from under his brim, trying to read her. Boone hadn’t mentioned any interview, and they talked about everything. “Who exactly are you?”
She sighed and blew out a long breath, shaking her head at the ground as if he was some sort of mind reader and should already know. “Georgia Monroe. Music journalist and reviewer. Maybe you’ve read some of my articles in Billboard or Vanity Fair?”
“Not ringing any bells sweetheart.”
“How ’bout Rolling Stone? I’ll do an honest, fair story on Boone, I promise. If you don’t believe me, call Garth Brooks. Go ahead, ask him.”
“Never heard of you.” Though he’d give her credit for coming up with such an inventive, thorough crock of shit so quickly.
Georgia straightened, boldly meeting his eyes. “Please call your brother. Let him know I’m here.” Dropping her head, she rubbed the back of her neck and then peeked up. “Look, I think I’m a little lost. Maybe you could ask Boone to meet me here? Please? I need this.” She clenched her teeth, like she was about to blow a fuse...or cry. “Or let me use your phone and I’ll ask him myself.”
“Or what?” Reporters were excellent finaglers and liars. Harlan studied her face like a map. Clear, bright, smooth skin. She probably got whatever she asked for. He cursed himself for letting his resolve liquefy.
Harlan reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone—for Boone’s sake, and no other reason.
Her feet literally left the ground in a full jump. “You’re serious? Thank God. This has been a bad day, I swear,” she laughed, seeming to get her hopes up.
He hit speed dial and Boone picked up on the first ring. Harlan kept his voice down a notch while watching her. “You expecting a reporter?”
“I’ll find my phone and be ready to go by the time he gets here,” Georgia babbled, hurrying past him to the gooseberry bush.
“Yeah.” Boone seemed out of breath.
Damn it. “So you did give a reporter the address? To our fucking house?” Harlan fumed. “What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you consult me first?”
“Because I knew you’d get pissed and I need the publicity.” Boone shouted, rustling the phone, taking a deep breath. “Look, I scheduled it today because I knew you’d be home and could help me vet her.”
“Is that a fact?” Harlan followed Georgia to the other side of the plant, keeping a vigilant eye on her.
“I was hoping she'd be late. Listen, Georgia Monroe is big time. My flight was delayed, and it’s going to take me a while to get there, so can you...I don’t know...check her out? Give her a tour or something. Make sure she’s not slime?”
Harlan watched Georgia circle the bush like a lion stalking prey in an obvious attempt to confuse him. “How late?”
“About an hour or so? You busy?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She had her back to him now, with her hands on her hips, mumbling about something and probably stil
l glaring at the shrub.
“Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit,” Boone said, and hung up.
Harlan shoved the phone in his pocket just as Georgia got on her hands and knees. What the hell was she doing now? She lifted her butt and started gingerly moving the branches one by one and feeling around the base of the plant. “I dropped my phone in here somewhere,” she explained over her shoulder. “I need to find it before Boone gets here.”
Just because he didn’t trust her didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying the view of her gorgeous, round ass. And damn if his cock didn’t twitch at the sight of her bent over, wiggling in those jeans. What in the dang blazes am I going to do with this one?
With an idea running through his brain, Harlan took his time, considering the ramifications of his plan, all the while contemplating her curves. Coming to his senses, he peeled his eyes away from her, refusing to let her sidetrack him. Harlan wasn’t going to let her ruin Boone’s career, no matter what.
“Can you call it with your phone and help me? I think I had the ringer on.”
“You’re never going to find it in that overgrown mess. Besides, I don’t have time for this shit. Come on. You’re leaving.”
She swung her head around, giving him a double take, making her long blonde hair swish over her shoulder.
“You’re not suggesting that I leave without my phone?”
“I don’t have all day,” he stated flatly, tired of listening to the whole “lost my phone” routine. Harlan wouldn’t be surprised if she had the thing stashed down her panties and was recording their conversation.
She scrambled to her feet. “When will Boone be here?”
“Boone’s not coming.”
Chapter Three
IS THIS SOME KIND OF trick? She stepped back, keeping an eye on Harlan. “What do you mean he’s not coming?”
“Follow me.” He gave her a smug glare. “I’ll bring you to his house.”
