ROMANCE: YOUNG ADULT ROMANCE: WESTERN ROMANCE: The Smoking Cowboy (SPECIAL FREE BOOK INCLUDED PLUS FREE GIFT) (CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE)

by Debbie Gordon

  The smoking cowboy

  BWWM Western Romance

  DEBBIE GORDON

  Copyright 2015

  All Right Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Debbie’s Other Cowboy Romance Stories

  …Synopsis…

  Sophie’s boyfriend is trouble, but that’s all part of the college experience right? When Sophie finds herself getting kicked out of college because of something her boyfriend had done, she can’t believe it, but she keeps his secret.

  Sophie’s mom can’t believe her daughter has been kicked out of college and, as a punishment, she sends her to work on a ranch in Texas. Sophie can’t believe that her own mom is sending her so far away, but when her mom makes it clear that it isn’t an option, she realizes that all she can do is hope for the best.

  When Sophie gets to the ranch she discovers that her all her hopes have been answered in the form of the hot ranch owner’s son James. James and Sophie get along great, but when Sophie finds herself lying to James things starts to crash down around them.

  At the start of the new college year Sophie finds herself fleeing the ranch, as her old life catches up with her new one, but as they collide she finds herself having to make some decisions, which could change the route of her life. What will Sophie decide to do and most importantly, will being heartbroken lead her to do the wrong thing?

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Note from Author

  Chapter 1

  I can feel the smoke rolling over my tongue, as I exhale. It tastes like herbal tea, but it isn’t. I look over to my right, but my eyes take longer to adjust than my head does, and I space out for a minute. I can feel the rolling clouds drifting into my brain, as the smoke pours out of my mouth. That’s strange, I think to myself, as I completely forget about why I’ve turned. I watch the smoke leaving my body and wonder how the clouds have formed in my mind. Perhaps, I ponder, as my eyes finally adjust to their new placement, perhaps, the clouds are made out of pure THC and I’m just blowing out all of the other impurities.

  “Are you passing?” John asks, as he notices that I’ve turned to look at him.

  My eyes are focused. I can see him under the incandescent light of the unshaded bulb, which swung in the breeze when the window was open. He’s wearing a green hoody that looks crumpled and slept in, a top of blue jeans that are stained, but look cleaner than the top. His dark, honey coloured hair is messy, as it falls down below his ears and doesn’t look, as though its ever seen a brush. I don’t mind though, I dig the look; this is what college is all about right?

  “Yeah.” I say in a croaky voice, as I try to hold the fresh smoke in my lungs. I keep my eyes in front of my face, as I watch to see whether any smoke escapes. It doesn’t. I pass the joint over to John, who lazily moves his hand to meet mine. He looks, as though he hasn’t slept in a week. Dark circles underlined his eyes, which were red and strained. He always looked like that though, and I knew that he never struggled to find the hours to sleep. In fact, sleeping was something he did nearly, as much, as smoking.

  “Thanks babe.” He says, as he looks over to me, and smiles.

  I know I’m smiling back, but I can’t feel my face. Can I normally feel my face, I wonder, as my fingertips rise up to my cheeks and start prodding? I can feel that. I let my hands fall to my lap, as my brain catches up to what I must look like. I wonder if I’m blushing. I would normally blush over something like that, but I still can’t feel my face, so I can’t be sure.

  I watch, as John takes another drag off of the joint. He does it slowly, as he tastes the smoke, before it goes down his throat. I can see the smoke, as it runs through his body. His eyes glaze over just a little more. If I didn’t know them so well, then I might not have been able to tell, but I could. I turn my head back to face the television, which is on in the corner of the room.

  There’s some kind of brightly coloured TV show on. I’m thinking that John has put children’s TV on because it looks like a cartoon. I don’t mind though. I’m not even watching it properly; instead, I’m just watching the colours, as they dance over the screen. I feel John silently laughing next to me. The couch moves slightly under his chuckles and I feel a wave of seasickness coming over my stomach. I wait for him to stop laughing and then close my eyes in relief, as the feeling passes.

  The television suddenly gets louder. I can hear the sound effects of a door being knocked on and I try to focus on the screen. There isn’t a door though and I wonder what’s happening. I hear the knock again though and this time I start to wonder whether it’s even real or not. I look over at John to see whether he’s heard it, but he’s asleep, the joint’s gone out in his hand. I lean over ad gently pull it from his fingers.

  I hear the sound again, but this time I follow it. This time I let my eyes to instructions from my ears and I find myself looking at the door. Is someone knocking on the door? I ask myself, as I wait to see whether it happens again, and it does.

  “John.” I say quietly, as I shake him in the attempts of waking him. “John there’s someone at the door.” I say again quietly, so that whoever it is can’t hear me.

  I can feel my paranoia spiking, as the heavy knock came again and I realized that whoever it was, knew that we were in. I look at the joint in my hand and then take another drag from it, to calm me down. It’s probably just one of John’s friends looking for him. He’s probably meant to be meeting them or doing something, I reasoned with myself, as I found myself standing.

  The walk over to the door took longer than it should have done. There were only maybe twenty steps from the couch to the door, but the clouds in my head were drifting slowly, and that pace had taken over my whole body. I reached the door eventually and waited, just to see whether they were still there.

  They hadn’t knocked since I’d started my journey to the door. Perhaps, I’d overreacted, perhaps they had gone and they didn’t know I was in. The knock on the door came again, but this time there was urgency behind it, this time it was administered with authority. I could tell from the sound that this wasn’t one of John’s friends. They all knocked with the same slowness that my body was embracing now.

  I knew I had to answer though. I could tell from their patience already that they weren’t in a rush to leave. I twisted the lock, which kept my fortress safe and I pulled open the door. Shit. I thought to myself, as the college dean stood glaring at me from the other side.

  Chapter 2

  My mom’s eyes never left me on the journey home. I could feel her anger hitting me in the face, as it rolled through the air. My stepdad was driving the car and he didn’t say anything. He never really said anything when it came to me. If anything though, I respected him for that. It was like, he knew that he would never b
e my dad and so, he’d never tried to be. He left the discipline to my mom, who was so angry that she hadn’t even started to shout yet.

  The whole drive home was in uncomfortable silence. The whole five-hour journey home was in complete silence, not even the radio to break the overwhelming nothingness, which was all consuming in the little car. I tried not to look at my mom. Every time that I did, she seemed to know and she would meet my eyes with her own, transferring the anger directly to me.

  My brain was running in slow motion, as I tried to think of every possible consequence my choices might not bring to me. I still hadn’t fully sobered up from that morning. After the dean had told me that I’d been kicked out, he’d given me the night to pack my things. I’d used the night to get higher than I’d ever been before, I mean why not? What did I have to lose?

  I could hear my mom’s nose whistle, as she breathed. The air conditioning had recycled the air in the car to the point where it didn’t feel like air anymore. It felt, as though it had been manufactured, it had a strange damp smell to it, which made me feel sick. I could feel my body jolt forward a little, as the car started to slow down. Out of the window I can see my home, the place where I grew up, the place that I had been desperate to escape from, the place that I had found myself returning to.

  I step out of the car and the air is chilly on my bear arms. The weather that morning had been scorching, but I guess five hours travelling might be enough to take you away from the sun. I can smell the damp grass from the garden, the scent is heavy in my nose and doesn’t fill my lungs in the same way that sun heated air does.

  I don’t wait for my mom to get out of the car, as I walk up the small gravelled drive, which leads to the house. The wooden stairs creak, as I walk up onto the porch, where a small swing still sits and dances with the breeze. When I was little my dad and I would sit on the porch, as he read me stories before bed, but that was a long time ago and, so much had changed that the memory only brought me sadness now.

  I walked passed the swing without looking at it and unlocked the door. It opened quickly and, as I pushed it open I let my eyes roam on what it was protecting. The house hadn’t changed since I’d been home at the holidays. The same sagging, floral couch sat miserably in the living room. It was at an angle, which seemed strange, until you realized that it was pointing at the TV. The television was the only thing in the house, which had changed in the last ten years. My stepdad had insisted on getting a new one when he had moved in because our old one was beyond a joke.

  I walked quickly up the worn out carpeted stairs, which moaned under my weight. As a child I had thought that monsters had lived under them, as they groaned and moaned and mumbled, but it was only, as I grew older that I realized the real danger was actually just falling through them. I got to the top of the stairs and headed for my room. I knew how my mom worked. She wouldn’t want to talk to me until dinner, when she knew I wouldn’t just be able to walk out.

  I closed my door and took in the room, which I had thought that I had gotten away from. The same band posters were hung on the walls. The same sweet wrappers, which I had eaten at the holidays were scattered over my bedside table. The whole place seemed untouched since I had last been there, which was good, because that meant that my mom hadn’t been rooting through my things.

  I walked over to my bed and dropped to my knees. If my mom had walked in at the moment, then she might have mistaken my position for prayer, but that wasn’t what I was doing, as I sank further so I could see underneath the bed. I let my hand reach out in front of me, as I felt for the lose floorboard. I heard the creak, which told me that I’d found it and I let my fingernails sink into the cracks.

  It lifted with ease and I let my hand sink underneath the floor, as I reached blindly for what I knew was there. My hand hit plastic and I let my fingers wrap around it, as I acted like a grabbing machine at a funfair. I pulled the plastic bag up into the light of the room and blew off the dust, which had given the green stuff inside a grey tinge.

  Well, I thought to myself, as I opened the bag and buried my face in the smell, which it had been containing, at least I had enough to last me a while, before I’d have to go cold turkey. I listened to the noises in the house. The TV was on and that meant my stepdad had sat down for the night and I could hear the normal noises of a kitchen being used in food preparation. Great, I thought to myself that meant I had enough time to have one before dinner.

  Chapter 3

  As I walked down the stairs, I looked at the photographs, which were the only proof that time had passed in the small house. It was like I was seeing all the important moments of my life, all frozen in time. It was a stark reminder to everything that was meant to happen and everything that never did. I looked at the last photo at the bottom of the stairs; it was me on my first day of college.

  I could hear my mom placing plates in the living room, which doubled, as our dining room. The television was still on and that meant that it would be staying on. I could hear cheering and the sound of a ball hitting skin, which told me that my stepdad was watching some kind of football game.

  When I walked into the room, I could feel the atmosphere change, as my mom finished placing the plates and stood looking at me, with her hands on her hips. She looked like some sort of cartoon character with red cheeks and an angry scowl, and I had to remind myself not to laugh, as the clouds over my brain almost told me that it was a good idea. I looked down at the floor, so I wouldn’t have to fight the urge.

  I pulled out the closest chair to me and sat down on the aging fabric, which was revealing more stuffing than it was hiding. As I sat down, I felt the chair bow a little under my weight and I made a mental note not to rock on it, whilst I was eating. I could still feel my mom’s eyes on me, as I tried to avoid meeting them. I knew what was coming next. I knew that this meal would turn into a constant word assault from my mom because she had me trapped.

  I heard her walking away from me, as I let my eyes glance up a little. My stepdad had turned around to watch my mom leave and our eyes met, as his returned to the TV. Our gaze held for just long enough for me to translate the look in his eye to pity. He pitied me. I could feel my cheeks flush in annoyance and hurt pride. I didn’t need pity. They didn’t even know the whole story.

  My mom’s shoes clicked against the hardwood flooring, alerting me to her return. I let me eyes fall back to the empty plate, which sat in front of me. Just like everything else in the house, they were plane and stained with age, but my mom ran a tight ship and you couldn’t say they were dirty. I could hear the sound of filled dishes being placed on the middle of the table. I didn’t look up, as the smell of my mom’s cooking filled my nose and sent my hunger into overdrive. Play it cool, I reminded myself, as I reached out for the closest plate.

  “What are you doing with your life Sophie?” My mom asks directly with no warm up questions.

  I chew my food slowly, as I think about her question. I didn’t have time to finish what was in my mouth though, before my mom started to speak again.

  “I don’t know why you do this? You got in to college. Why did you have to mess that up? You could have been anything, you know that right?”

  Great, I thought to myself, as I swallowed; now I was getting the guilt trip. “I’ll work something out.” I said, as I shrugged and shovelled another forkful of food into my mouth. My mom could talk a person’s ear off, but she sure could cook too.

  “You’ll work something out? That’s not good enough Sophie.” My mom said, as she huffed with frustration.

  “Well, I can’t do anything else. It’s not like I can reverse time.” I said, as I felt my eyes starting to roll. Everything she was saying was pointless. I knew what had happened. I know what the consequences were and there was nothing that could be done now. All I could do was think of a new plan and move on. I didn’t need my mom reminding me about what I had thrown away. I didn’t need her telling me that I’d messed up or that I should have done things differently, I alr
eady knew that.

  “Actually there is something you can do.” My mom said with the sternness that only a mom could muster.

  I looked up, as I caught the tone. I didn’t know what she was going to say next, but she had my attention and she knew that. I met her eyes for the first time that night and held them, as she glared at me from across the table.

  “So, I was talking to my friend the other day.” My mom said, as though she just catching up over the dinner table.

  I could tell from the way that her lips had turned up into a smile though that I wasn’t going to like the ending. It was the same smile she gave me every time she was proud of the punishment she had created for me. I waited silently, as she held the moment.

  “Do you remember Liam?” My mom asked, as she pointed the question towards me.

  I thought about it. My brain was taking a long time to run through the index of people I knew. My mom’s friend Liam, was he the one who lived out in Texas?

  “He’s the one who owns the ranch? You spend a couple of summer’s there years ago?” My mom said, as she jogged my memory for me.

  I remembered Liam he was the one who lived in Texas. When I’d been little my mom and dad had driven out there each year, and we would spend a couple of weeks there on holiday. Liam had a son who was about my age and we had been pretty good friends during my visits. I nodded to let my mom know that I knew whom she was on about.

  “Oh good you remember.” My mom said and then hesitated. I could tell that she had done it for effect. She was enjoying the moment far too much in my opinion. It wasn’t like I’d gotten myself knocked up or anything. I could always reapply for college next year.

  “I do.” I said, as I pushed her to continue the story.

  “Well, I thought, since you have nothing to do all year now.” My mom said and then paused again, but this time I had an idea of where the story was going.