by Jodi Payne
First Rodeo
The Cowboy and the Dom: Book one
Jodi Payne
BA Tortuga
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
First Rodeo: The Cowboy and the Dom, Book One
Copyright © 2019 by Jodi Payne & BA Tortuga
Cover illustration by AJ Corza
http://www.seeingstatic.com/
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
ISBN: 978-1-951011-02-4
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. 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 the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Tygerseye Publishing, LLC, www.tygerseyepublishing.com
Electronic edition published by Tygerseye Publishing, LLC, October 2019
Printed in the USA
Contents
Introduction
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
Want More?
Afterword
Book Two: Razor’s Edge
Razor’s Edge: Chapter One
About Jodi
About BA
Available from Jodi & BA
Also Available from Jodi
Also Available from BA
As always, to our wives.
Introduction
We’re all romance readers, and as authors we understand what you’re looking for in a romance. We want you to know before you begin reading that each of the three books in The Cowboy and the Dom Series has a fully realized, romantic ending. However, the overarching suspense element will leave readers on a cliffhanger after books one and two, to be fully resolved in book three.
With that in mind, we won’t keep you waiting long. Here what’s coming:
The Cowboy and The Dom Series
First Rodeo
Razor’s Edge - Coming January 2020
No Ghosts - Coming March 2020
1
“What the fuck are you going to do, baby brother?” Bowie stood at the gravesite, staring down at him like Bowie always had. Gigantic prick. “Do you think you’re going to fucking fix this? James is dead.”
Like Sam didn’t know that.
Fury flashed inside him, hot and fueled by an agony he’d never expected, and he turned, his fist shooting out and catching Bowie right in the uniformed gut.
Rule number two: never monologue.
That surprised Bowie enough that it doubled him over, and Sam got an uppercut in. He had to get his shots in while he could. His big brother outweighed him by sixty pounds and towered over him by damn near a foot and, he had to be honest, had ten years of being a Ranger behind him.
“Motherfucker!” Bowie reached for him, and he danced out of range.
“You kiss my momma with that mouth, grunt?” He went for Bowie’s trick knee, thankful he had his shitkickers on. That pointed toe was useful, and he had a chance to fell the giant.
Rule number three: once you get them down, keep them down.
Used to be that him and James would work together to take Bowie down. That was never going to happen again.
Never.
The thought of that closed casket, that slashed-up face he’d had the misfortune to identify hidden under the oiled wood, made him gag and stumble, and Bowie took advantage, the fists on the back of his neck enough to face-plant him in grave dirt.
“Rule number one, baby brother. Don’t start shit you don’t have the strength to finish.” The hands around his throat were strong, the tremble in them only noticeable because they were so tight.
The sound of a pistol cocking was sharp and clear, and the fuzzy image of Aunt Linda wavered in his sight. “Boys, if you upset your momma and daddy, I will be put out. Get your skanky asses off the ground. Y’all are in your Sunday clothes.”
“Seriously, Aunt Linda?” Bowie muttered. “Even I didn’t come to the gravesite armed.”
“I know you boys. Can’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Get your asses up. Now.”
Bowie stood up and hauled him alongside, just as easy as pie.
“Now apologize,” she demanded.
“He started it.” Bowie was still a suck-up.
“Jim Bowie O’Reilly! You apologize to your baby brother for putting your hands on him right now!” God, she was a harpy—broad as a barn and fierce as any woman who had raised her own siblings had to have been.
“Sorry, asshole.”
“Yeah. Me too. I just…” Sam waved one hand toward the grave. This wasn’t right. James was supposed to be in New York, living this amazing life with lights and a zillion friends. Bowie had the adventure, James had the city, and he was supposed to stay home here and…hold down the fort or something. He was the baby, and… “It should have been you, Bowie.”
Everyone expected that awful phone call. Every time Bowie was deployed, they lived with that quiet fear.
James was a motherfucking school teacher. An elementary school teacher who didn’t get tattoos or take drugs or—
“Sam!” Aunt Linda sounded horrified.
“What? It’s true!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Suddenly Bowie looked…diminished. Gray and tired and older than the seven years that separated them. “Fuck you, Sammy. I know. So what the fuck are you going to do about James? I have to report back to work.”
“I’m going to go clean out his place.” He was between jobs. Hell, he was between lives—college was pretty much done with him, he’d educated himself into obscurity in ranching, and God knew, no one needed a broke-dick cowboy with a master’s in art history, a shattered leg from bronc riding, and a temper that tended to flare at inappropriate-at-best times. He would go clean things out and see if he could encourage the detectives to find out…anything.
“You sure you’re not going to short out, Sammy?”
“Fuck you. I’ve been to Dallas, Austin. Hell, I went with James to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I ain’t a kid!”
“You’re my kid brother, Sammy, and I only have one left now.” An expression of pure agony crossed Bowie’s face, and Sam turned his back so he didn’t have to see it.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got the time, and Momma’s got to take care of Daddy.”
Things hadn’t been good, but the news of James’s murder had made the little baby strokes turn into a real one, and while Daddy wasn’t cri
ppled or nothing, no one was going to let him fly. Not yet.
“Come on. They’re waiting for y’all down to the big house. You know there’s food and all the Ladies Auxiliary waiting to make a fuss.” Aunt Linda didn’t so much as let a tear go, but she did slip her Saturday Night Special into her pocketbook. “Brother Martin will want to bless you both and lay hands.”
“That son of a bitch touches me and I’ll rip out his spleen,” Bowie growled, and Sam had to smile. That was his big brother.
He could hear James, right now, echoing in his head.
Be good, Jim, honey. You’re teaching Sammy bad habits.
God, it was never going to be right. Never.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
He turned and headed for his truck. James wasn’t here. That was a grave, a body, a stone. He was going to go find James where he’d lived.
2
Thank God this was New York City, the only town he knew of, except maybe LA, where yellow police tape didn’t slow anyone down. Aside from the cops, he was the only one there, the only one who cared. Thomas had about as much privacy as he was going to get.
He leaned against the side of the building as the NYPD took the tape down, balled it up, and stuffed it into a nearby garbage can. The evidence markers had been gone for a couple of days, the chalk lines were gone now too, and even the bloodstains in the concrete were already fading. Another day or two and there wouldn’t be any evidence left that James had died here.
But Thomas wouldn’t forget. He couldn’t get away from it. He lived here, worked here, walked the same goddamn streets as whoever was responsible. He still carried around memories of his time with James that he’d never share with anyone. He carried around the plans they’d made and a future that could never happen now.
He hadn’t received an invitation to James’s funeral. This would have to be his closure, watching the investigation into his lover’s murder become routine, move on to the next “phase.” Watching all the evidence disappear.
That was perhaps the most awful addition to his grief. He understood that James couldn’t be wholly out to his family back home in…well, somewhere in East Texas, but understanding it while James was alive and in his arms was one thing. Coming to grips with his exile now was something else entirely. He was bitter; he was angry. Not at James, not at anyone in particular, just at a world that made them hide. He felt humiliated, and that wasn’t a pill he could swallow without choking on it.
Everything about his life was deliberate, yet at the moment, he was experiencing a lack of control he’d never imagined possible.
One of the cops walked over and offered him a smoke. Colletti was his name. “Wouldn’t you rather be home?”
“This is as close as I want to get right now.” God, listen to him. He refused the cigarette, but just barely. Vices sounded like such a good idea.
“Dobson is going to call you, routine stuff. Did they ask you not to leave town?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t an imperative, but it was strongly suggested.” Insult to injury.
Officer Colletti gave him a nod. “We’re done here. Take care, Mister Ward.”
“Thanks.”
The squad car drove off, and New York seemed impossibly quiet all of a sudden.
A man with a duffel and a cowboy hat walked up to the stoop, and for a second, Thomas’s heart stopped. He closed his eyes until he could breathe again.
Fuck, tourists were everywhere in this city. He just hadn’t been prepared for one in a cowboy hat. He took a breath and headed down the steps. He needed a coffee.
They passed each other, the man meeting his eyes and nodding. “Afternoon.”
“Where are you going?” He knew those eyes intimately. He reached out and grabbed the man by the arm, that hazel making his heart pound. “Who are you?”
“Who the fuck is asking, motherfucker?” The little guy just popped right up into his face, those eyes flashing.
Christ, the cowboy sounded just like James too. Only James would have known better than to meet his eyes.
He stood his ground, inches away, instinct and training helping him stare the kid down. “You’re an O’Reilly. Which one? Sam, right? The bronc rider? You’re too small to be Jim.”
“Bowie,” the kid corrected immediately, even as he nodded. “Who are you?”
Nobody you’d know.
“Right. Bowie.” He let go of Sam’s arm. He knew he should back down, but it took real effort. “I’m Thomas Ward. I…knew your brother.”
Fuck. I loved him.
“Knew him? Y’all worked together?”
What was he going to do? He wasn’t going to out James now. What would be the point? It hurt, though, denying James and jumping back into a closet he’d slammed the door on as soon as he’d stepped foot in this city years ago. “No. We are…were really good friends. He told me all about you guys.”
“Oh. I’m here to…clean up, I guess. Stuff.” Sam tilted his head. “Is this your building too?”
“Uh.” Well, fuck. James had always said Sam was bright. “No.” He’d asked about moving in together. James had been thinking about it. “I was just missing him.”
“Oh. I—come on up, huh?”
“Really? I’d appreciate that. Thank you.” Just the idea made his heart ache, but he also thought maybe it could help. He just needed to keep it together.
“Sure. I never got a chance to meet any of James’s friends. I always wanted to, but it never quite worked out.”
Not so surprising. He followed Sam back up the familiar steps and through the breezeway doors. From behind, climbing the steps to the second floor, he might as well have been following James, as he’d done plenty of times. They were built almost the same, though Sam was a bit more compact.
Thomas could hardly believe his luck in timing. Another two minutes and they’d have missed each other completely. He wasn’t sure what was on his calendar for the afternoon, but whatever it was could wait. He wanted to spend as much time with Sam as he could. He wanted to listen to his lover’s brother talk, to know whatever Sam would tell him.
Sam looked for the number, then unlocked the door and stood there for a second, hand on the knob, like he was frozen.
Yeah. It was meaningless that he’d been over that threshold dozens of times. He knew just how Sam felt. He took a breath and rested his hands lightly on Sam’s shoulders. “Go on. I’ll help.”
“Sorry. I—” The little guy shook himself, squared his shoulders, and forced himself inside. The place was so fucking normal—James’s books and papers waiting to be graded, running shoes by the door. It was like James might just walk out of the bedroom, laugh, and tell him to quit ogling his baby brother.
Oh. He really hadn’t meant to…Sam just felt so familiar. He pulled his hands back and crossed his arms over his chest.
He told Sam he’d help, but he wasn’t sure how he was actually going to manage that. He decided he’d better sit before his knees gave out, so he slipped past Sam and sat down on James’s couch. “God, it even smells like he’s here.”
“Yeah.” Sam stood in the doorway for a long minute, swallowing convulsively before lurching to a window and working it open. He stood there, forehead on the glass as he breathed. “Warm in here.”
He watched Sam’s back. “I’m so sorry, Sam.” The cowboy’s distress made him need to get himself together. He could almost hear James asking him to look after Sam. Thomas took care of people all the time. Taking care was in his bones, part of his DNA.
He got back on his feet. “How long are you in town? Can you take your time with this?”
“As long as I need. I want—I need to know who did this. I need him to pay.” Sam stood and turned, met his eyes. “Do you think he had beer? I need a beer like I need another breath.”
Thomas turned and headed for the refrigerator. “You can take the cowboy out of Texas, but you can’t take away his beer. Maybe he even has two.” Sure enough, he pulled a pair of bottles out and used t
he opener stuck by a magnet to the door. “Here.”
He knew about wanting someone to pay. He was losing a lot of sleep over that. He wanted to know why too, if there was a why. “I’ve been following the investigation. They don’t have anything they can share yet.”
“Yeah. That’s what they told me. They’re busy. I’m pissed. Maybe I can help.”
He wanted to suggest that it was probably best to leave these things to the authorities, but this wasn’t really the time to be discouraging. Sam could figure that out for himself.
“James loved this apartment.” He wandered through the living room to a short hall and right into the bedroom. “He liked the light that came in through the windows in here, and the view of the square.”
Sam followed him but didn’t come into the bedroom. He stayed at the threshold, watching Thomas like a hawk.
That was like James, the way Sam watched him.
“It took him a long time to find this place. He was living in this four-bedroom monstrosity downtown with three other people when I met him. All teachers at the same school. It was chaos. Books and papers everywhere. Their dining room didn’t have a table; it had a whole bunch of desks, two printers, and a TV instead. He was so glad to get out of there.” He realized he’d been looking out the window, just babbling, and he shook his head. “You probably know all of that, sorry.”
