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Contemporary Single-Title Romance  

Excerpt:                

Perspiration trickled from the brim of Debra Walker’s cowboy hat. Sitting atop her eight-year-old buckskin mare, she made an impatient shift in the saddle. Blazing heat from the horse’s hide seared straight through her jeans into the backsides of her thighs.

The Denver Tri-County Auction Barn seemed as hot as an old wooden furnace this Sunday afternoon. Large oscillating fans hummed in vain, trying to circulate the hot and dusty July air.

Cooped up in a corner horse stall for the past eight hours, Debra tugged at the collar of her bulky denim work shirt and blotted the moisture beading her forehead and upper lip. Sweat and grime saturated a red tank top she wore beneath her shirt, only intensifying her discomfort.

Beams of late afternoon sunshine filtered through an exit door standing wide open. She was tempted to bolt—ride like the wind into the Rocky Mountain sunset. Disappear to a happier time in her life when she and her father used to camp for days up at Big Bear Pass.

But that was before her parents’ divorce, before she’d taken over the ranch … before her father had been fatally gored by a steer.

Static crackled over the loud speakers throughout the enclosed facility. “Lot number eighty-four!”

Debra flinched. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the leather reins. Loud thuds from horses kicking the walls in the neighboring pens drowned out the heavy pounding of her pulse.

She turned in her saddle and flicked a glance of dread toward the sticker on her mare’s hindquarters. Eighty-four. Her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. She felt like she was headed to the gallows for an execution instead of to the auction block to sell her beloved horse, Branded Sunset.

As she sucked in a painful gulp of air, Debra’s three cracked ribs were a constant reminder of how she’d failed her father in the end. Pungent aromas of manure, sweaty hides and sweet oats filled her senses, all bittersweet reminders of what she’d left behind.

Forever, if she had her way.

Flipping her long black braid over her shoulder, she tugged her cowboy hat down to her eyebrows and gave a gentle nudge with the heel of her boot. “Come on, girl. Let’s get this over with.”

Brandy’s hooves clopped noisily on a cracked cement corridor as they plodded toward the auction ring. Rows of wooden pens housed dozens of horses of every breed, size and color. Several colts skittered nervously, whinnying for their mothers. The less anxious animals shoved their noses into alfalfa-filled hay nets hanging in the corners of their stalls.

Brandy halted in her tracks. Her muscles bunched. Her ears pinned back.

Tied to the outside of a stall, a young Palomino colt gave a low warning snort.

Dreading a confrontation between the two horses, Debra gave Brandy a reassuring pat on the neck and urged her horse around the frisky yearling. “Easy, girl,” she soothed. “We don’t need any trouble today.”

A good five hundred head had cycled through the center ring since the sale began three days ago, and with an over-saturated horse market, the auction made for a disorganized, congested livestock barn.

Giving the colt a wide birth, Debra reined Brandy to the other side of the aisle. A big paint stepped into their path. Brandy shied and stepped backwards, bumping into the young Palomino.

A sickening thump sounded against Brandy’s rump. Brandy gave a shrill whinny and reared back on her hind legs.

Debra gasped and grabbed hold of the saddle horn.

The colt kicked again.

Not to be outdone by such a young stud, Brandy bucked and twisted her body, her rear hooves nailing the colt in the abdomen. With Debra’s weakened upper body strength, the abrupt jerk whipped her right out of the saddle.

Rustic posts and beams swirled together in a haze. She clenched her eyes shut, gritted her teeth and stifled a tormented scream in her throat as she slammed into a wooden fence. When she dropped into a pile of musty hay, prickly straw stabbed her in the butt, straight through her jeans.

The air whooshed plum out of her. But it was her chest that received most of the impact. It felt like she’d inhaled a thousand tiny razor blades as needles of fire radiated clear around her ribcage.

“You okay, ma’am?”

Her eyes stung. The wooden fence she’d slammed into blurred into a bank of fuzzy snow. Oh, God. This was it. She was going to die. Right here, right in the middle of a horse barn. She seized an agonizing breath then hung her head between her knees.

“Ma’am?” That same low baritone sounded above her head. “Do you need any help?”

Blood pulsed so loudly between her ears she thought she’d imagined the voice at first. Maybe she was in heaven and this was some kind of an angel here to take her out of her misery.

She blinked hard, her vision slowly clearing as she focused on a pair of fancy lizard-skin cowboy boots. They were large boots; huge, actually. Did angels wear cowboy boots?

A loud whinny penetrated the fog in her head and she realized she wasn’t dead. Worse, someone had actually witnessed her untimely and ungraceful dismount. The pain in her ribs suddenly mixed with the humiliation of being unseated by her own horse. Now she wanted to burrow a tunnel right into this pile of straw. Instead, she gave a slight shake of her head to let the man know she didn’t need any help.

“Both horses seem to be okay,” he said. “There’s no marks.”

Thank God. Living with the guilt of her father’s death these last two months had been hard enough. If anything had happened to Brandy, she’d never forgive herself. Hoping to hide the heated blaze of embarrassment that smothered her face like a hot, heavy saddle blanket, she went to tug her cowboy hat down.

Her hat was gone.

“Looking for this?” the man asked, holding her black Resistol in front of her.

She braced her elbows on her bent knees and managed a breathless, “Thanks,” then took the hat and shoved it on her head, yanking it clear down to her eyebrows.

“What do you think, J.D.?” a man hollered from behind. “She hung on better than any professional saddle bronc rider. I’d give her an eighty-two.”

Another man chimed in, “Nah, she deserves at least an eighty-nine.”

Debra cringed. Lifted her hand and waved, acknowledging the harmless gibes coming from the peanut gallery, all the while trying to hide the effects of the scorching heat that seared her chest like a branding iron.

“Give her a break, guys,” the first man named J.D. drawled in her defense. “This is a lot of horse for a pretty little gal like this to be handling.”

Pretty little gal? If she weren’t about to pass out she’d laugh at his comment. At five-eleven-and-a-half, she’d never been described as little. Big-boned, buxom, robust even. But as far as pretty went, the closest any man had come to telling her she was pretty was her father, which in her book didn’t count.

Hoping to appear somewhat in control, she flipped her heavy black braid over her shoulder and wiped her sweaty palms on her faded Rocky jeans. With gritted teeth, she pushed up with her legs and stood.

Bad idea. Blood quickly drained from her head. She swayed. A powerful arm wrapped around her waist. The next thing she knew she was pressed firmly against a solid wall of muscle. Searing warmth radiated around her ribcage like a thermal heat wrap.

“Easy, now.” A man’s voice sounded next to her ear, his mouth so close to her face she could feel the warmth of his breath on her heated skin. “Maybe you ought to have a doctor take a look at you.”

“Doctor?” she repeated, not fully comprehending what was happening. Her head floated as if it was filled with helium. She felt her hat slip off as she nestled her cheek against a firm pillow covered with soft denim. Earthy scents of the barn were now mixed with an intoxicating dose of woodsy pine, fresh mint, and the purely masculine scent of a man who’d put in a good days labor. Had she met up with her father in heaven?

It seemed an eternity since she’d felt his brawny arms wrapped around her, listened to his heart as it beat a loud, comforting cadence in her ear. Maybe the last two months had all been part of a horrible nightmare and she was finally waking up.

Static from the loud speakers crackled in her ears. “Lot number eighty-four! Second call!”

Debra gasped, nearly jumping out of her boots. Her eyes flew wide. It was only then she realized her fingers were curled into the denim material of a man’s shirt, a shirt stretching across a chest twice as wide as her father’s.

Oh, God. This was not a dream, and the man in front of her was definitely not Clyde Walker.

She shoved away, too embarrassed even to look this big cowboy in the eye. “Sorry about that, Mister. Guess I landed harder than I thought.” Her voice sounded short and breathy. She hunched over at the waist, bracing her hands on her thighs.

“Easy, darlin’,” he drawled, keeping a gentle grip on her upper arms. “Maybe you ought to sit down a spell.”

“No. I’m okay. Just got a little winded, is all.” She used the collar of her denim shirt and dabbed at her lips, hoping to sound more in control. “I’d better get going. I’m on deck, and after waiting around all day, I’d hate to get bumped to the end.”

“Tell you what,” he said, hunkering down beside her. He had her hat cupped over his knee as he spoke next to her face. “How about I ride your mare into the arena for you? Even the best horses get spooked in an environment like this.”

“Thanks, but I can take it from here.”

“It’s really not a problem,” he insisted, splaying his palm across her lower back. “You can stand by the auctioneer in case he has any questions.”

She had to grit her teeth. He sounded just like her father now. He’d never wanted her to be involved with the sale of his horses. He’d never wanted her involved with his ranch, period. Had hired hands to do all the dirty work. Said a secluded horse ranch was no place for a single young woman to live the rest of her life. Even sent her away to college to pursue a career.

But even four years of college hadn’t changed her mind, and she’d been hell-bent on proving her father wrong. She’d been put to the test the day he’d injured his back. For two years prior to his death, she’d worked around the clock, overseeing all the livestock, watching the market, even doing most of the training of the expensive horses herself.

It hadn’t been enough.

She hadn’t been enough.

A wrenching pain tore through her chest, and it wasn’t because of her injured ribs. Now, because of her, Daddy was buried six feet under with his boots on!

“Ma’am?” A large warm hand made a gentle caress over her lower back. “I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d let me get a doctor. My brother’s just around the corner.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “I appreciate your concern, but really, I don’t need any help.” She may have failed her father miserably in the end, but she was for darn sure gonna handle the sale of her own horse.

“Now don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, keeping a firm grip on her arm. “But you don’t look fine. Maybe you oughta—”

“I said I got it,” she snapped, sounding more irritated than she’d intended. Standing to her full height, she turned to face this overbearing cowboy, but instead of looking him in the eyes like she did most men, she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

She gulped. Now she understood why he referred to her as a little gal. The guy practically towered over her as he stared down at her from under the brim of a straw Stetson cowboy hat. Dark brown eyes locked with hers, preventing her from even blinking. A brown, trimmed mustache curled around his lips into a nicely shaped beard covering only his square chin, goatee style.

“Pardon me,” he drawled, thumbing his hat back on his forehead, openly scanning her from her hat down to her cowboy boots. “You’re not so little, now are you?” A toothpick dangled precariously from the corner of his mouth now curled into a lazy grin.

He rubbed his whiskery chin and stepped back a pace, giving her another once over as if she were on the auction block. “I was right about one thing. You sure are pretty.”

She couldn’t seem to get her voice to function; her tongue somehow stuck to the roof of her mouth. Living on a secluded ranch most of her twenty-four years hadn’t exactly provided her with a wealth of opportunities to converse with eligible men. Even in college, she’d commuted from the ranch every day, rarely staying after class so she could get home and help her father with the chores.

And after an incident with a ranch hand when she was sixteen, her father had made sure she’d kept her distance from the opposite sex—especially brawny cowboys like this one, whose biceps were bigger than her thighs. Remembering those arms wrapped securely around her waist just moments before, her heart did a little two-step with her stomach.

She caught a whiff of her own body odor and almost cringed. A rank blend of sweat, hay, and horsehide was no match for her baby-powder-fresh deodorant. Where was a horse trough when she needed one?

“Lot number eighty-four! Last call!”

She flinched. Her heart skipped a beat then pounded painfully hard against her ribcage. Dreading the idea of mounting her horse in front of these roughneck cowboys, she swept the reins over Brandy’s ears and grimaced. She could easily lead Brandy into the arena on foot, but this was the last chance to ride her. By golly, she wasn’t about to let a few injured ribs take this away from her, too.

Earlier, she’d used an old grain bucket to climb onto Brandy’s back, but she didn’t think her pride could handle much more humiliation today. Now she truly understood what it meant to cowboy up.

“Look,” she said, checking the cinch on her saddle, stalling mostly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m on deck. If you have any questions, we’re listed in the auction catalogue.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a nod. “Good luck in there, and by the way,” he added, leaning closer and catching her eye. “I’d have given you a ninety-five, easy.” He propped her hat on her head, tapped it down and then shot her a wink. His straight front teeth bit down on the end of his toothpick as his smile broadened, deepening a dimple in his cheek. The two-step between her heart and stomach suddenly turned into a full-blown jitterbug.

As he turned around, she could only watch as he sauntered down the wide aisles of the auction barn, his hips swaying in a slow, John Wayne kind of swagger as his large cowboy boots shuffled over the sawdust and straw-covered cement floor. He stopped at the exit door, standing nearly as tall and just about as wide. A stream of sunlight engulfed this huge cowboy and she wondered if he was some kind of an angel after all, sent by her father to escort her to the pearly gates.

She gave herself a mental shake. From the looks of things, J.D. was just another bullheaded rancher. Any gates that man would be escorting her to would be heavy and cumbersome and clear out on some pasture in the middle of God knows where. And if he was anything like her father, she’d be the one stuck opening and shutting those gates in all kinds of weather.

No, thank you. There’d have to be a hurricane in the Rockies before she’d step foot on a ranch again.

After the sale she was headed south to Colorado Springs. A new job awaited her at a company her father had co-founded over thirty years ago—before he’d given it all up to ranch.

Although it killed her to have to sell Brandy, Debra was convinced that moving into the city was the best decision she’d ever made. Other than college, she’d never really experienced anything outside of ranching. It was time to broaden her horizons. Hang up her boot spurs and utilize her bachelor’s degree to become a bona-fide, eight-to-five career woman. Working behind a desk had to be a heck of a lot easier than busting her butt on a struggling horse ranch.

More importantly, this new job might be her only chance to earn back part of her father’s legacy … as well as her pride.

Thankful the other cowboys left the vicinity, she wedged her scuffed cowboy boot into the leather stirrup and had to grit her teeth to keep the groan from escaping her throat. After a slight hesitation, she pulled herself up and swung her leg over Brandy’s rump, landing hard in the saddle.

She closed her eyes and bit down on the inside of her cheek, curling over the saddle horn. Perspiration beaded her upper lip. Droplets of sweat rolled down her chest between her breasts. As the ache waned to a dull throb, she hauled in another gasp of air and managed to pull her shoulders back.

With new resolve, she urged Brandy the rest of the way down the aisle and halted in front of a dilapidated wooden door, the only thing that separated Debra from losing a piece of her heart.

Of all the new doors that had opened in her life, this was one door she wanted to bolt shut!