Sofia Hunt

The Cowboys Ride Again

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Chapter 1

Even her characters were bored with the plot of her latest novel and on the verge of a revolt. The ingrates threatened to take over her plot and force it in a different direction.

Natalie Andrews forced her fingers to type a few more dull sentences. Sitting back, she scanned the last few pages she’d written. Moaning, she covered her eyes, as if the problem would go away. Counting to ten, she waited, for what she didn’t know. She uncovered her eyes and peeked at the laptop screen. The words on the page mocked her. They were boring, really boring.

And speaking of boring, her problems went beyond a boring plot and bored characters who threatened to hijack her story. It was much worse.

Levi was bored.

With her.

She could tell. She read it in his deep heavy sighs, his barely concealed yawns, and, most of all, in his waning sexual interest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t smile when he saw her. Or that his face didn’t light up when she came into a room. It wasn’t that he flirted with other women or even paid them any notice.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love her. He did. She knew it as well as she knew how much she loved him.

Sex was the problem. Plain and simple. His sexual appetite went to the far side of adventurous. Hers, well, she’d been expanding her boundaries, but by comparison, her expansion was like travelling out of the state when he wanted to travel out of the country. Lately, a niggling feeling warned her she’d better buy a plane ticket for an international flight or lose him.

He wanted more adventure, while she didn’t even know what more there was to want.

Okay, not exactly true. She’d seen those movies he’d made when he’d worked his way through college as the infamous “Cowboy Long Dong.” They’d acted out just about every one of those scenes with a few glaring exceptions. It was the exceptions he resisted trying. He didn’t think she was ready. But she was ready. She’d show him just how ready if he’d let her.

She’d throw away the last of her long-ingrained inhibitions and become the woman he needed her to become. Not just for him, but for herself, too, heck, even for her characters.

She’d walked out on Levi’s love once. She’d never do it again. She was a fighter, and she’d fight for her man.

Chewing on her lower lip, Natalie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and contemplated her next steps. Failure wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t go running home to Daddy, tail between her legs, begging his forgiveness. He’d shackle her under his iron control again. This had to work. She’d make it work. This time she’d be different. This time she’d prove her love. Whatever it took, she’d do it. She wouldn’t be a quitter. Never again.

Sighing, she checked her watch. Levi’s plane would be halfway back from Texas by now. Business, he’d told her. Bullshit, her instincts said. Yet, he wouldn’t cheat on her. She was certain. He’d needed space. That was all.

She turned back to her laptop. By day she was a caterer, by night she secretly wrote hot romances as Mia Lang. No one knew her true identity except for Levi and her agent. She planned to keep it that way. Lately, her agent had been begging her to write hotter, go further, and explore the forbidden. Even her characters, Carla and Rich, demanded kinkier sex scenes. Yet her fingers refused to type the words. She re-read her last scene. This book wasn’t working any more than her sex life was working.

When she’d shown up on Levi’s doorstep last year, they’d explored those horizons, tested those sexual limits. Lately, all they did was missionary style, almost like Levi was afraid to push her. She, in turn, an expert in flying under the radar, kept quiet. They both ignored the elephant in the room.

A loud rumble vibrated through the cool spring air. A vehicle badly in need of a muffler moved closer every second. She frowned. They weren’t expecting anyone until today. It wasn’t like guests just dropped in to visit this remote Montana ranch.

Natalie stiffened, afraid to look out the window. This couldn’t be the guest Levi expected to arrive tomorrow. Even now, he was rushing back from Texas a day early to greet his old friend. He’d danced around her questions, except to say they’d been good friends and went way back, and Traci was in a bit of trouble. How could she possibly compete with an old friend? Especially an old friend from Levi’s professional football days or his college days?

Yet, his friend wasn’t expected until tomorrow. It couldn’t be her. Nor was the visitor one of their workers. Natalie had given the ranch hands the day off, and there wasn’t another soul for miles.

Tamping down her concern, she rose to her feet and crossed the slate entryway to the front door. Her socialite mother had drummed good manners into her for years, which obligated her to greet their uninvited guest. Pausing, she grabbed the pistol from the drawer in the hall tree. Manners were one thing—good sense and caution were another. A girl had to protect herself.

Opening the door, she waited and held her breath, the gun clenched tightly in her hand. The piece-of-shit truck barreled down the driveway, gravel flying, muffler dragging. It skidded to a halt several dozen feet from the front door. The thing coughed and died a slow death when the driver turned off the ignition.

A stocky male body—oh, yes, a very definite male body—emerged from the rusted-out truck. His tight sleeveless T-shirt hugged every muscle on his ripped chest. His shoulders rivaled a bull’s, and his narrow hips led to huge thighs. He appeared to live in a gym lifting weights.

Her author alter-ego kicked into high gear as her brain hummed with plots starring this man as the hero. Meanwhile, the rest of her body wanted part of the action. Her traitorous heart skipped several beats, as her eyes feasted on the man. He was drop-dead, drop-into-bed gorgeous. And she shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that. She was in love with someone else, and this man was a stranger, a dangerous, seductive stranger who sent a tickle of arousal thrumming between her legs.

Levi accused her of watching too much true crime on TV, and this was a perfect scenario for a rapist or murderer or both. Woman all alone on a remote Montana ranch. Charming stranger drives in and asks for work, or a can of gas, or a cup of sugar, or an extra large condom. Stupid woman invites him in for lunch. He devours the lunch, finds a use for the condom, and then proceeds to torture and bludgeon stupid woman, disposing of her nude body in a stock tank on the back forty.

She had no intention of being a stupid woman.

Her guest grabbed a worn duffle bag from behind the seat and slammed the pickup door. Turning, he spotted her on the front porch. Her eyes locked on the largest silver belt buckle she’d ever seen. Her grandma could have used it as a serving platter at Thanksgiving. She couldn’t make out what it said without staring. He caught the direction of her gaze and smirked.

“Stop right there.” She forced steel into her voice.

He ignored her and stepped forward.

She leveled the gun at his chest with shaking hands. A slow smile tickled the corners of his sexy lips. Undaunted, he walked toward her. His grin turned cocky. He stopped two steps below her and assessed her, starting at her feet, pausing at her big breasts, and ending with her face. His brown eyes sparkled with confidence and approval. Her body responded with a tugging between her legs, a reaction previously experienced only with Levi. Yet, this man elicited a sexual response just by scanning her body.

His brown eyes clashed with her blue ones. With the intensity of a lightning storm, sparks arched between them. Sexual chemistry combined into an explosive mix. The faint scent of masculine aftershave hung in the air.

Annoyed with him and herself, she tightened her hold on the gun. He didn’t give a shit. The brazen ass swept his battered Stetson off his head. His black hair gleamed in the sunlight.

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon. Don’t take one step closer.” Her tone dripped ice, but her body radiated heat, a lot more than would be expected on this crisp spring day. She shivered and held the gun in a death grip.

“You might want to take the safety off if you plan on usin’ that weapon.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Who are you?”

He snorted. “So much for Montana hospitality.”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Just answer the question. We’re not expecting company.”

“I’m Trace O’Malley. You can call me Trace or Mal or whatever it suits your little heart to call me. Just don’t call me late to bed.”

“How about nothing, and you can hightail it right back to your truck with your little good ol’ boy Southern balls intact.”

He placed his hat over his heart. “Aww now don’t go breaking my heart thirty seconds after you’ve met me.”

“What’s your business here?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m lookin’ for Levi Kelly.”

“Levi?” Her hold on the gun relaxed.

“Yeah, I’m a day early. I was supposed to be here tomorrow.”

“You’re Traci?”

“Yeah, Levi does like to call me that. Knows it needles me. I’m his old buddy from Texas. We grew up together, did a little stint in the adult entertainment business together. May I say that you’re every bit as beautiful as Levi described.”

“Well, considering Levi wouldn’t tell me a thing about you, I’m surprised you know anything about me.” The heat of shame burned her ears, as her mistake became obvious. After all, assumptions made an ass…and all that.

“I know a lot about you.”

“I’m sorry. I was expecting a woman. Levi said you were an old friend.”

“I am. Not all of Levi’s old friends are women.” He perused her body again, appearing to enjoy the scenery. “So you’re Natalie Andrews, the woman Levi’s crazy about?”

Crazy? Levi? Natalie frowned and chewed on her lower lip. How could this complete stranger elicit such strong emotions in her?

“How about you lower that weapon, sweetheart, and invite me in?”

Natalie jerked the gun to her side and gestured for him to follow her in the door. He shut the door after himself, placed his duffle bag on the floor, and bent to unzip it. Only then did Natalie notice a little, furry head poking out of the bag.

“What is that?” She watched as a miniscule black poodle bounded out of the bag and proceeded to hop around on its hind legs, yapping wildly. A little pink bow was tied in its top knot.

“My dog, Gigi.”

“Gigi? Your dog?”

He scooped up the wriggling, pint-sized mass of energy and grinned. “She’s my girl.”

The man had to be gay. She’d never met a macho, straight man with a frou-frou dog like that.

Natalie breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, that’d squelch her instant attraction to him.

So far it wasn’t working.

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