Daddy in Cowboy Boots (Montana Daddies Book 9)
Page 1
Daddy in Cowboy Boots
Laylah Roberts
Laylah Roberts
Daddy in Cowboy Boots
© 2020, Laylah Roberts
Laylah.roberts@gmail.com
laylahroberts.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 express written permission from the author / publisher.
Cover Design by: Allycat’s Creations
Editing: Celeste Jones
Created with Vellum
Contents
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Books by Laylah Roberts
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
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Books by Laylah Roberts
Doms of Decadence
Just for You, Sir
Forever Yours, Sir
For the Love of Sir
Sinfully Yours, Sir
Make me, Sir
A Taste of Sir
To Save Sir
Sir’s Redemption
Reveal Me, Sir
Montana Daddies
Daddy Bear
Daddy’s Little Darling
Daddy’s Naughty Darling Novella
Daddy’s Sweet Girl
Daddy’s Lost Love
A Montana Daddies Christmas
Daring Daddy
Warrior Daddy
Daddy’s Angel
Heal Me, Daddy
Daddy in Cowboy Boots
MC Daddies
Motorcycle Daddy
Hero Daddy
Protector Daddy
Haven, Texas Series
Lila’s Loves
Laken’s Surrender
Saving Savannah
Molly’s Man
Saxon’s Soul
Mastered by Malone
How West was Won
Cole’s Mistake
Jardin’s Gamble
Men of Orion
Worlds Apart
Cavan Gang
Rectify
Redemption
Redemption Valley
Audra’s Awakening
Old-Fashioned Series
An Old-Fashioned Man
Two Old-Fashioned Men
Her Old-Fashioned Husband
Her Old-Fashioned Boss
His Old-Fashioned Love
An Old-Fashioned Christmas
Bad Boys of Wildeside
Wilde
Sinclair
Luke
1
Linc felt like a creeper.
But he couldn’t help but be drawn to the giggles drifting out of the open window from Charlie and Clint’s living room. He stood in the shadows on the porch, staring in as they danced around.
Yep, definite stalker vibes.
Sadness filled him. He was happy so many of the men on Sanctuary Ranch had found their other half, but he couldn’t help but feel lonely.
As Ari moved away from the couch, he spotted a woman with gleaming dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail kneeling by Charlie. Who was she? She moved her head, smiling up at Charlie.
Dear Lord, she was beautiful. His heart started beating faster.
Easy, man. You don’t even know her.
Something told him, though, that this girl was special. He watched as she gracefully stood. She was petite but with an abundance of curves he longed to run his hands over. Her gaze dipped down as Ari gave her some money.
Shy?
He watched as she walked out of the room, her arms precariously filled with two large containers. Well now, that wouldn’t do. Tiny thing like her shouldn’t be carrying around anything heavy.
She could hurt herself.
Walking around the porch, he headed to the front door, making it there just in time to see her heading towards the steps. The tubs in her arms covered her face and he watched as she stumbled, misjudging the step. The containers went flying through the air and he leapt forward to catch her as she cried out.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he set her down on the porch. Her scent drifted towards him. Cinnamon and apples. Yum. Made him wonder how she would taste.
Not wanting to let go, he held her a bit longer than was appropriate before he stepped away. Hopefully, she’d just think he was making certain she was steady on her feet. Damn though, he wished he had the right to sweep her up into his arms. To feel all that softness pressed against him.
Easy, man.
She was staring up at him, her lips parted slightly.
“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Oh…oh yes. I’m fine.” Her voice was slightly husky. Fuck. Him. How could someone so sweet looking have such a sexy-sounding voice?
“What are you doing carrying around all that stuff? You should have asked someone to help you,” he scolded her gently.
“That’s okay, I’m used to carrying it on my own. I just misjudged where the step was. It’s not the first time it’s happened. You saved me from another skinned knee, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But I don’t like the idea of you hurting yourself. Next time, you get someone to help you, okay? Little bit like you doesn’t need to be carrying such heavy stuff.”
“It’s not that heavy.” Her gaze went down, her shoulders curving in.
Fuck. What had he said? Was he pushing too hard?
Ease up.
“Hey, everything okay?” he asked.
“Oh yes.” She laughed nervously. “I better pick everything up. I hope nothing’s broken.”
She turned away from him and he had to fight his instincts to pull her back, to press her against him. To admonish her that she shouldn’t be walking down steps without holding his hand.
Yeah, that would go over well. She’d likely run a mile, trying to get away from the crazy dude. He followed her down the steps.
“I’m Linc by the way. What’s your name?”
“Marisol.”
Marisol. Pretty.
“Nice to meet you, Marisol.” He stacked the containers on top of one another before she could do it. “Now, where am I taking these?”
“Oh, you don’t have to carry them for me.”
He was silent. Did sh
e seriously think he was going to just stand here and let her carry them? What kind of men was she used to? His nana would have whipped his ass for letting a woman carry something when he had two able arms.
Eventually, she caved. “Uh, if you could carry them over to my car for me, that would be great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You, uhh, you work here?” she asked.
She sounded so uncertain and he could have kicked himself. Here she was, alone in the dark with a strange man who hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself properly.
“I do. I’m the ranch manager.”
She stopped beside a small, beat-up car. Even with just the security light to guide the way, he could tell it was a heap of junk.
It wasn’t a car he would ever allow his woman to drive. If she had to drive somewhere without him, then she’d be in something safe.
Not a tiny death trap that looked like it should have been scrapped years ago.
“This is what you drive?” He couldn’t keep the disapproval from his voice.
“Yes,” she said quietly. She opened the trunk and he stuck the containers inside. He was aware that her shoulders had slumped again.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that even in the dark I can tell this car needs some work.” He ran a hand along the side of it, feeling the dents and scratches. Had someone used it as a damn rally car?
“It’s my aunt’s,” she confessed. “I’m just borrowing it.”
Her aunt let her drive this?
“Thanks for carrying my stuff and for, uhh, rescuing me before.”
“No problem,” he replied easily. “You ever need a knight in shining armor. Or a hero in cowboy boots, you know where to find me.”
She laughed. She obviously thought he was joking.
If only she knew, he was very serious.
Miss Marisol hadn’t seen the last of him.
Marisol had a new hero to fill her dreams. She still couldn’t believe that he’d come to her rescue the way he had, sweeping her up as though she was a lightweight when she definitely was not.
The man had to have muscles on muscles. He’d definitely felt very firm. Of course if she was actually dreaming, he wouldn’t just let her drive off. He’d flip her over his shoulder and carry her away to his cabin in the woods, lock the door and ravish her. Then spank her ass. Then cuddle her.
And repeat.
A sigh escaped her lips. A girl was entitled to dream, right?
Of white knights and damsels in distress.
Or maybe a hero in cowboy boots and a curvy nail technician?
“Urgh, Marisol, you have no chance with that guy,” she muttered to herself as she pulled out of the driveway of Sanctuary Ranch.
Her aunt had been thrilled when she’d been asked to come out here for Charlie’s bridal shower. Sanctuary Ranch was owned by the Jensen family. Apparently, they were a big deal around here. Wealthy. Connected.
Marisol had been worried that the women tonight would all be stuck-up snobs. Sometimes she found that she was treated less as a professional and more like a maid at these sorts of parties. She was there to do nails and facials, not serve food or clean.
But the women tonight had all been lovely. Fun. Friendly.
A pang of loneliness hit her. What would it be like to have friends like that? Who would dance and laugh and be there to support you?
Marisol had always been painfully shy at school, it had been hard for her to make friends. She’d been looked down on. The poor orphan. Pitied. Ridiculed.
But Charlie and her friends hadn’t been like that tonight. She’d spent the evening painting nails and doing facials after a full day of working at her aunt’s day spa and as fun as it had been, she was exhausted.
All she wanted to do was go home, shower then curl up with one of her Daddy Dom books in bed. She had a new one from CJ Bennett she was dying to dive into. Pretty much all of the small wage her aunt paid her went to buying books.
They were her escape.
Only, she knew she wouldn’t be dreaming about any of the heroes in her books tonight. Nope, she’d be dreaming about a broad-shouldered cowboy with a voice like sin. A voice that had made her insides dance, even when he scolded her.
Oh, who are you kidding? Especially when he scolded you. Like you haven’t dreamed of a man who was protective, loving and sometimes stern.
The way he’d scolded her for carrying those tubs on her own had made her insides tighten. Heck, she didn’t know who he thought would carry them for her. But it was sweet that he’d cared. After all, she was a complete stranger to him.
And she’d likely never see him again. She didn’t have any reason to go back out to Sanctuary Ranch. He definitely didn’t have any reason to come to the spa where she worked. It wasn’t like she ever really went anywhere else. Most of her time was spent working or at home, doing the housework.
Any free time she had was spent reading and daydreaming about handsome, sweet, sexy, bossy Daddies.
In cowboy boots.
Oh, yes, please.
She caught a glimpse of the time on the dash of the old car and swore under her breath.
Shit! If she didn’t get home soon, her aunt was going to have a fit. She pushed down on the accelerator, taking a corner fast. A smile lit up her face. She loved driving fast. And while this old rust bucket of a car might not have a working heater or decent suspension—she bounced with each hole in the road—it did have a bit of horsepower.
Turning another corner, she let out a giggle at the rush of adrenaline. She shot down the straight road. Headlights headed towards her on the other side of the road, and she dimmed her lights, but didn’t slow down. She had a good speed going now.
“Go, baby, go,” she cheered.
Then her good mood plummeted as she heard a siren go off behind her.
Mierda! No.
Not good. Not good.
The other car had turned around and was heading back her way. She hadn’t even noticed that it was a cop car.
Drat. Damn it. Her aunt would kill her if she got a speeding ticket. She slowed and put on her indicator, driving off to the side of the road.
The cop car pulled up behind her, the headlights flooding her car with light. Nerves filled her stomach. It’s all right. It’s not him. Not all cops are bad.
Rosalind had filled Marisol’s head with stories of corrupt police officers. Of how all cops were to be feared. Were evil. Once she was older, she realized her aunt had done that on purpose, that she’d likely made most of those stories up in order to make Marisol mistrustful of the police.
Then when she was ten, her aunt had been arrested and Marisol had been questioned by a police officer on a power trip before social services arrived. He’d yelled at her, threatened her, terrified her. But she’d never said a word to him. Or anyone since about what happened. Still, it had further ingrained a fear of the authorities.
You have nothing to be afraid of. Just take the ticket and drive away. Nothing to be scared of.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten speeding tickets before. Just never at nighttime. On such a quiet road.
He could do anything to you and no one would ever know.
Okay, she had to stop.
What was a cop doing out here at this time of night anyway? There was a knock at her window and she jumped, letting out a cry.
Shit! She held her hand to her heart. He’d scared her half to death. What did he think he was doing?
He’s probably trying to get you to wind down your window so he can talk to you . . . idiot.
“Right, right,” she muttered to herself as she reached over and wound down the window.
“Evening,” a friendly voice said.
Even psychopaths can sound friendly. Assassins can sound friendly. School principals can sound friendly.
But they all have the potential to make your life a living hell.
“Miss? You okay? Miss? Are you hyperventilating?”
“I’m really sorry for speeding, I won’t do it again. I promise. I mean, I wasn’t going that fast, right?”
“You were going ten miles over the speed limit.”
Crap. Crap. “Is that bad? That’s bad, right? Please don’t take me to jail and lock me up in a cell with some scary woman doing time for cutting off her husband’s penis. Because if she could cut off a penis then what could she do to me? I have no self-defense skills. None. My only skills are nails and facials and I don’t think that’s going to help me against someone who can turn a bar of soap into a shank.”
“Can you turn a bar of soap into a shank?” the cop asked curiously.
“Yep, I saw it on one of those real-life crime shows. Or was it a fictional crime show? I’m not sure. Do prisoners get bars of soap?”
“Well, we do let them wash themselves. We’re not completely heartless.”
“I’m doomed.”
“Okay, someone has been watching way too much TV.” The voice still sounded calm, even amused.
“Sorry,” she muttered. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to calm herself down. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was on something.
“So do you do this a lot?”
“Ramble on about penises and shanks?” She gaped up at him.
He’s not him. He’s not him.
He cleared his throat. She got the feeling he might be trying not to burst into laughter. She didn’t know why he would be laughing. None of this was funny.
If she didn’t end up in a cell then her aunt was going to kill her for getting a speeding ticket.
“Ah no, I meant speeding. Since you seem to have this fear that I’m about to drag you away to a jail cell I wondered if that meant you had a whole ream of unpaid speeding fines.”