EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
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Copyright© 2018 Stacey Espino
ISBN: 978-1-77339-561-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
And suddenly you know: It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.
― Meister Eckhart
ROUGH AND READY
Heels and Spurs, 1
Stacey Espino
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Robyn snorted, nearly choking on her martini. “Stop!”
“What?”
Shelly, her friend and co-worker, gave her a look of mock innocence. They’d been talking about men, sex, and everything in between. When an older couple gave them a hard look after Shelly said the word “cock” a little too loudly, Robyn couldn’t keep from laughing. The situation was as hilarious as her own sex life, or lack thereof. She was thirty-seven and had never dated a man worth keeping. They all seemed so superficial, but after two decades of failed relationships, she started to wonder if maybe she was the problem.
The older couple moved out of ear shot. “Anyway, as we were saying, I think size does matter,” said Robyn.
“So you don’t believe it’s how they use it?” Shelly snickered, picking at the mixed nuts at their table.
“To a degree, I guess.”
“Well, you can’t make that kind of statement unless you can back it up,” she said. “Have you had a really big co—”
Robyn pressed a finger to her friend’s lips. “Oh no, you don’t. If you forget, we work with most of the people in here.”
Metrosexual was always bustling on Friday nights. Being dead center in the business district, it was a quick escape for suits after a long week at the office.
“Fine, then answer the question.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” In truth, she wasn’t too sure. Her friends believed she was more experienced in the bedroom than she actually was. And she’d never really had an orgasm-worthy encounter. Maybe she was meeting all the wrong men.
Shelly finished off her third drink. “Robyn, you can tell by their hands and feet. Really. Haven’t you heard the old adage? The bigger the boots, the bigger the—”
“Got it!” she snapped, looking to both sides. “But maybe it’s more than size or how they use it. I mean, I’m not getting any younger. I think I might need more than sex from a man.”
Shelly frowned. “Put that thought out of your head if you want to keep sane. Trust me, there’s no such thing as a happily ever after. Not in this life, and certainly not in this damn city.”
“I guess.” She swirled her drink around the glass, watching the liquid move like lazy waves, suddenly feeling very, very sorry for herself.
“You need to get laid before we head to Hicksville next week. You’ll drive me nuts on the trip. Fairy tale sickness never did anyone any good.”
“What’s that, exactly?” asked Robyn, almost afraid of the answer.
“I know your type. You think every guy you meet is the one, your soul mate, different from all the others. In reality, they’re all the same. Price Charming doesn’t exist.”
Robyn forced a smile. In her circle of friends, life was a thrill-ride, a fast-paced adventure with no time for inner reflection. Beauty, status, and money were everything. They were paralegals at a hectic legal practice. As long as she didn’t stay quiet for too long, she never had the chance to realize how shitty her personal life actually was. Maybe it was for the best. She had to stay high on life in order to avoid it.
On Monday, they had to travel north to farm country to deal with land disputes involving a proposed oil pipeline. Big money was involved, so Robyn had little choice but to agree to her boss Calloway’s assignment. She was used to life in the courtroom, lunch downtown, and drinks with friends by night. Leaving her comfort zone to spend a week or more in questionable motel rooms wasn’t her idea of a good time. In fact, the idea of sleeping in a strange bed made her anxiety levels shoot through the roof. At least she was partnered with Shelly, so she wouldn’t suffer alone.
“Remember Trey from accounting?” asked Shelly. “He was sweet as pie until I spent the night with him. Now he can’t even look me in the eye.”
“He’s a pig. You should have known better.” Trey was a notorious office playboy. Robyn had nearly succumbed to his flirting herself.
Shelly attempted to get the olive out of her glass with a finger. “Of course I knew better, but I fucked him anyway. You’ve seen him. Whatever, that was just an example to prove my point. Men can’t be trusted.”
They sat quietly at their window seats for the next twenty minutes or so, watching people walk by from behind the tinted glass. Her friend would occasionally offer strict fashion commentary. Many passersby were loving couples, which only made her feel more miserable about her situation.
Robyn absently studied the glow of the streetlights against the darkness of the evening, insects clamoring for position, and the familiar ache started deep in her gut. The emptiness continually ate away at her, leaving her little more than a shell of a woman. She’d conformed, tried to fit in, but it all meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. She craved authenticity, love, something worth living for beyond the almighty dollar.
Robyn checked her watch, an expensive knockoff Tudor. “I’ve gotta get home. I have a lot to get done before we head out Monday. What car we taking?”
“My SUV. Calloway’s reimbursing me for gas and mileage. I’ll pick you up at your place around three.”
It was a long drive to her apartment east of the city. The suburbs were the only place to find reasonable rent. She parked underground and rode up to the eighth floor. The elevator smelled like urine.
Once inside her apartment, she kicked off her heels and tossed her purse. She flicked on the table lamp and powered up her laptop—the usual drill. There were thirty new messages. She sat down, the soft glow of the computer illuminating the kitchen table. As she suspected, most were responses from the profile she’d added to a free dating site. She clicked open one message and immediately deleted it when she saw the pic of an elderly man in a Speedo.
Fuck this shit.
She was an educated woman. Surely she knew Mr. Right wouldn’t be waiting on a cheap dating site. Then why did she keep looking? Robyn ground her teeth together and shut the lid of her computer with exaggerated force. She’d have to settle for her battery-operated boyfriend. He was always eager to please. If only he could stave off the loneliness. Shelly was right. No real man would ever measure up to her hopes and desires. And the cold-hard fact really sucked.
Robyn unzipped her skirt and shapewear girdle as she headed to her bedroom. She looked at her figure in the full-length mirror, shifting her hips from side to side in the flattering shadows. If only she had more time to hit the gym. Apparently she had a little too much in all the right places. The girls at work said she needed to get work done—it was the norm for their circles, expected even. She wasn’t so sure she should take that permanent leap in an attempt to achieve perfection.
What was it about being alone at night that brought out all her insecurities? Withou
t all the hustle and bustle, just her thoughts, it was debilitating.
She looked down to the darkened streets below. The quiet was deafening. There had to be more to life than this. She’d missed the train, failed to settle down with a husband and have children at her prime. Now she just existed, coasting through life with no purpose. Loneliness devastated her at every opportunity. She noticed those extra white hairs and new wrinkles frequently cropping up. Who the fuck would want her now? She sighed and climbed into bed, deciding she needed to get a prescription ASAP, anything to get her through the evening hours. Did they bottle hope? Was there a cure for being pathetic? Maybe she just needed to get a cat.
****
Her bags were packed and ready by Monday morning. The dishes and laundry were done, assignments completed, clients contacted, and she’d gotten her nails and hair done yesterday afternoon. The morning light always gave her new optimism, the previous night’s desperation mercifully forgotten. She was ready to raise some hell in the backwoods with Shelly. She hoped they’d finalize things quickly and be back in the city much sooner than expected.
The lobby bell sounded right on time, and Robyn buzzed her friend in. She touched up her lipstick in the foyer mirror, unlocked the door, and then checked around the apartment to ensure all the lights were off. When she heard a male voice coming from the living room, her breath caught. She hadn’t even made sure it was Shelly buzzing. Idiot.
She cautiously peeked around the corner from her bedroom, wondering what she’d use as a weapon, if necessary. Her pepper spray was inconveniently in her purse by the front door. Her body sank in relief when she saw Shelly with the stranger. But who the hell was he?
“Hey,” she said as she entered the room, smoothing her hands down her hips to straighten her fitted jacket. Robyn tried to appear unfazed, even though her heart was still racing.
“Change of plans. Sort of,” said Shelly. “Calloway’s sending back-up.” Her friend winked.
“Good morning. Peter Brighton…” The man attempted to offer a hand, but Shelly reached for his forearm.
“He’s one of Calloway’s top guys, top of his class, too.”
Top of anything he wants. The guy was tall and lean, clean-cut, and had a swagger that screamed old money. This was the kind of man she needed to sweep her off her feet. She discretely took in the lines of his designer suit and the cute dimple that appeared when he smiled.
“So it’ll be the three of us?” Robyn asked.
Shelly picked up the small suitcase Robyn had set by the door and started to head out. “Three’s company, right?”
After locking up, she caught up with Peter and Shelly by the elevators. It was a bit awkward with the strange guy in tow, and she imagined countless hours in the car together would either be torture or the start of something wonderful. With a high profile lawyer as her boyfriend, she wouldn’t have to worry for anything. He’d love and take care of her, make the world and its worries disappear.
Ha, who am I kidding?
Once in the elevator, she noticed Peter grimace from the smell. She was utterly humiliated that he knew this was where she lived. He was probably used to the very best, some waterfront condo downtown. Why did Shelly have to bring him upstairs with her?
“We’re meeting a contact at a restaurant called Meg’s Longhorn,” said Shelly, readjusting Robyn’s suitcase strap on her shoulder. She didn’t bother asking for it back because she knew Shelly would refuse.
“A steakhouse,” said Peter with sudden interest. “In three hours we’ll be ready for a proper meal.”
Food was the last thing on her mind. Part of her resented the fact she was stuck on this road trip, but another part anxiously hoped for something more—adventure, romance, purpose. Maybe she was teamed up with Peter for a reason. Or maybe she really did have fairy tale sickness.
When they reached Shelly’s SUV, conveniently parked in the no-parking zone, she wondered who should take the passenger seat. Peter had major rank on her, but Shelly was also her close friend. Robyn took slow, measured steps so she wouldn’t be put in the position of choosing her seat first.
Shelly placed Robyn’s bag in the back beside a few others and then headed to the driver’s seat. When Peter opened the rear passenger door, she thought he was about to go in. Instead, he held it open for her to enter. She quickly climbed in and was surprised when Peter took the seat next to her, leaving Shelly alone in the front. It was the last thing she expected.
“Cozy?” he asked, that dimple making its appearance again.
“Very.”
This was getting more interesting by the second. A lawyer, with everything going for him, was actually showing interest. Was her luck in love finally changing?
After starting the car, Shelly scowled at her from the rear view mirror, but kept her mouth shut, which was unusual for her. Did her friend have dibs on Peter? Shelly never mentioned him before, but she did live moment-to-moment most days. Robyn decided to keep the flirting to a minimum until she had a chance to talk with her friend in private. It was going to be one long, uncomfortable trip.
Chapter Two
Yukon winced after dropping his weight on the first available diner stool. Every muscle ached, and all he could think about was sleep. His leather boot creaked as he rested his foot on the bar rail.
“Coffee?”
He nodded to Marcy, the regular waitress at the Longhorn. The scent of back bacon and chili reminded him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. And he was too tired to give a shit. It was eight o’clock at night, and he would have still been working if the setting sun hadn’t cut him short.
“You look like shit,” said Gage. The faint scent of tobacco marked his friend’s arrival.
Yukon didn’t even turn to the side, rather focused on the grease stains and callouses on his fingers. He was frustrated beyond measure after the fucked-up day he’d had. “The tractor’s gone to shit.”
“I told you last year it was on its last leg,” said Gage. He sat on the stool next to him, dropping his keys and a pack of smokes on the counter. “You’re stubborn as a mule.”
His ground his teeth but couldn’t keep quiet. “Stubborn has nothing to do with it. If I had the damned money, I’d get it fixed right or lease a new one.” His attention was diverted when Marcy set down his coffee. He took a cleansing breath. “Anyway, tomorrow’s another day, right?”
“The Palmer brothers have three new machines. They’ll harvest your fields—”
“For a hefty price,” Yukon interrupted. “We’re lucky to put food on the table these days. Same as everyone else.”
Most families in their farming community were hurting after the harsh season they’d had. A too-long winter followed by a dry summer had hurt crops. While prices were high on the market due to the shortages, farmers didn’t see a dime of it. Now, on top of a meager crop, his only decent tractor decided to fail him when he needed it most.
He took a sip of his black coffee.
“I’d help if I could. Fuck, you know that, don’t you?” asked Gage.
Yukon couldn’t stand pity. His friend was a cattle farmer a few ranches over. They’d traded manure for feed corn for generations. But Gage couldn’t control the weather or change Yukon’s bad luck.
Days like today he almost wished he could swap harvesting for shoveling cow shit.
“I know.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out two dollars. He slapped them on the counter before standing. Tonight he’d make for bad company, and he didn’t want to piss off a good friend. He’d head home and get as much sleep as he could before starting over again at five in the morning.
Marcy leaned over the counter before he had a chance to leave. “Ya’ll hear about Ms. Granger?” When neither of them answered, she continued. “Apparently she’s been going without. Mack stopped by and found out she hadn’t had a proper meal for days.”
Fuck.
“Well ain’t that just bullshit,” said Gage. “Why didn’t she say anyt
hing?”
Marcy only shrugged before heading off to help another customer. She didn’t need to explain because the answer was always the same. Pride. Their community may be hard hit, but its people were unbreakable and often pig headed—himself included.
He left the diner feeling worse off than when he’d entered. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair—the rich getting richer, the poor suffering needlessly. The cowbell clanged against the glass as the door closed behind him. The crisp evening air was a welcome relief after suffering under the sun all day. There’d been talk of a storm moving their way, but he doubted they’d see rain any time soon. He walked along the gravel drive to his pick-up truck, his thoughts pulled in too many directions.
It was only a five-minute drive to his ranch. He needed sleep in the worst way. Each bump in the road jostled him enough to keep him from falling asleep at the wheel. He pulled into the driveway. The flood lights on the barns were off, so he grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box before getting out of the truck. It was quiet, too quiet. Sometimes the lull of country living could drive a man to insanity. Only his footsteps against the brittle grass cut the deafening silence. He vaguely remembered a time when he savored the quiet nights, but his memories of the past were a blur.
He prayed for sleep, but knew it was unlikely he’d get much tonight. Yukon worried about Ms. Granger, suffering in silence only two minutes away. He’d make sure to head over first thing in the morning to see her needs were met. A cowboy couldn’t call himself a man if he ignored a widow in need, or any neighbor for that matter.
He opened the side door to the house and flicked on the light. The first thing he noticed was his brother passed out on the couch. He hadn’t even made it to his room. The scent of cheap whiskey hung in the air. Some nights Yukon wished he had an escape like alcohol, but turning into a drunk wasn’t the miracle cure to his troubles. He knew from experience that Parker only made his headaches worse by indulging himself.
Rough and Ready (Heels and Spurs Book 1) Page 1
