Page 1 of Dirty Cowboys (Masked Men #7)

Indie

Three buildings make up the town’s main street.

There’s a general store that looks like it hasn’t been updated since long before I was born, a diner with a hand-painted “Best Pie in Town” sign, and a bar called Dust I was a little worried for a second.

After pulling into the parking lot, I locate an empty spot and park my car. Grabbing my phone, I head toward the bar, wearing my vintage cowboy boots, bought specifically for my move.

The bar’s door creaks as I push it open, and all conversation pauses as everyone looks my way. So much for the boots making me fit in; clearly, I still stand out like a sore thumb.

The interior is exactly what you’d expect for a small-town bar—dim lighting, worn wooden floors, a bar that has seen better days, and the lingering scents of dirt, leather, beer, and stale cigarettes.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the bartender, a woman in her fifties, says with a smile. “We don’t get many strangers in here, especially not ones as beautiful as you. What can I get you, honey?”

“Vodka and soda with lime, please,” I reply, sitting on an empty stool beside the bar. “And thank you for the compliment. I’m Indie Monroe—I just rented a place in town.”

“Marge,” she replies, pouring way more vodka into the glass than I’d get in the city. “The Patterson’s place, huh? It’s been empty for nearly two years. What brings you to our little corner of the world?”

She slides the vodka and soda my way, and after I squeeze the lime in it, I take a quick sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol. “I’m a content creator. I was tired of the city and wanted to see what it’s like to live somewhere...” I pause to think of a word that won’t offend her. “Authentic.”

A low chuckle comes from the booth behind me, and I turn to see a group of men who look like they stepped out of a cowboy movie.

The one in the middle has dark hair that peaks out from beneath his cowboy hat, and he locks his eyes with mine, making my skin prickle.

To his left, a man with a cocky grin lifts his hat as he winks, then tips his head, revealing his unruly blonde hair.

The third man studies his drink, unconcerned about what his friends are looking at.

The other men at the table just nod their heads at me.

“Authentic,” the blonde repeats, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “Now that’s a city-slicker word if I ever heard one.”

“Nash, be nice,” Marge warns with a smile. “Don’t mind him, honey. He’s got more charm than sense, but he’s harmless.”

“Harmless is debatable,” the man with the intense stare says.

“That’s Duke Callahan. He owns the Callahan Stone Ranch just outside town. And blondie is Nash Wilder, then Walker Rhodes beside him.”

Nash raises his beer in a mock salute. “Welcome to Copper Creek, Indie Monroe. Hope you find all the authenticity you’re looking for.”

There’s something in the way he says my name that makes heat pool in my stomach. I take another sip of my vodka to cool myself down. “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”

Walker finally looks up from his drink, his gray eyes meeting mine. “The Patterson place needs work. Roof’s probably leaked through the last two winters.”

“He’s right about the roof. If you need help with anything, just ask,” Duke offers. “We’re neighbors.”

“That’s nice of you,” I reply politely.

I finish my drink and ask Marge for another. I hadn’t planned to have more than one drink before venturing up to my new life, but no one warned about the cowboys here. Or that they would make me want them to do some very dirty things to me. “So you’re all ranchers?”

“Duke owns the place,” Nash says, which I already knew. “Walker and I work for him. Best boss in town, even if he can be a hard-ass.”

“I pay you well enough not to complain,” Duke replies, slapping Nash on the back of the head, making his hat tip forward.

Someone changes the music on the jukebox, and a couple of girls squeal. I swivel on my stool and watch as they laugh and dance together. I decide to go live from my account and let my followers know I’m alive.

“Guess who made it in one piece. Yes, that’s right, it’s your girl Indie. ”

I tell them about the drive and spin around in a circle so they can get a feel of the atmosphere.

“Yes, there are cowboys, but it wouldn’t be cool to film them without their knowledge.”

A body presses close to mine, and whiskey invades my senses as Nash appears next to me, throwing his arm around me and pulling me tighter into his body.

“If you say cowboy, I will appear.”

I chuckle as my comments go crazy. “I think they like you. Here you have it—a real-life cowboy in the flesh.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Marge says, placing a fresh drink in front of me. I move the camera around and she looks straight at the flashing light. “Don’t let the pretty faces and rough voices trick you. Cowboys might fuck you good, but they live to work.”

“Cheers to that,” a chorus of voices rings out from around the bar.

I do one last spin for my followers and end the live feed.

Marge slides Nash a whiskey, and he sends her a wink. With his arm still around my shoulder, he leans in again, the rough stubble from his beard tickling my ear.

“Margie was right, you know. Cowboys fuck reeeal good.” His smooth voice sends shivers down my spine. My cheeks flame, and I pick up a coaster and fan myself. Nash pulls back and chuckles.

As he turns and walks away, I watch the way his jeans shift over his perfectly sculpted ass.

My mouth goes dry, and I take another sip of my drink.

I wasn’t coming here to get drunk, but here we are, and now I’m tipsy and horny as hell.

I won’t be that girl though, the one that turns up in a new town and sleeps with the town player.

Not that I know if that’s Nash, but in small towns, news travels fast. Plus, I don’t just want a quick fuck.

I want to explore my fantasies, and that needs to be done in a way that stays private.

I sigh, and Marge walks over and leans down on the bar, getting on my level. “What is going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Have you ever had a secret you’re too afraid to tell anyone?”

She smiles, and the wrinkles around her mouth straighten. “Can’t say that I have, but then again, I’m an open book.”

“I wish I were that brave. It’s not even that bad.”

“What is it? Maybe telling a stranger might give you a feel for how people might react.”

She is right; I can’t tell anyone. I know they would judge me or maybe even think I’m a freak. I want to keep my personal life away from my followers and my family, yet I have a secret blog that is public .

“I have a blog where I write my deepest, darkest fantasies called Indie’s Inner Thoughts. I like knowing someone might find it and be into the same things I am.” As I lean in closer to her, I lower my voice. “Do girls even want to be called names during sex?”

Marge nods and opens her mouth, but then she looks up; I hadn’t even realized someone had joined us. As he slides his empty glass across the bar, Marge straightens and takes it.

“So, Miss Authenticity, how long are you in town?”

I shrug. “It depends.”

“On what?” Duke asks, his voice deep and raspy enough to make my thighs clench and my breath catch. He doesn’t miss it either, half smirking at me.

“On whether I find whatever it is I’m looking for.”

He leans his broad frame against the bar, angling his body toward me. His presence demands attention, and with the alcohol buzzing in my brain, I want to fall at his feet and obey his every word.

Marge slides his drink across the bar to him, and the amber liquid catches my eye as his calloused fingers wrap around the glass. He lifts it toward his mouth, his gaze locking onto mine, and instantly my pulse beats an erratic tempo in my neck.

I’m mesmerized, staring as the rim meets his lips, which curve up at the corners as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. The drink disappears in one mouthful, and my ovaries explode as I watch him swallow.

He sets the empty glass down, not breaking eye contact. A single drop of whiskey clings to his bottom lip, and when his tongue swipes out to catch it, I have to grip the edge of the bar to steady myself.

“Knock it off, Duke—the poor girl won’t be able to walk out of here.” Marge’s voice brings me back to reality, and I blink a few times.

He laughs and takes the fresh drink she hands him, winking at me before he walks back to his table.

“I think I have had enough to drink. Do you have Ridez or an Uber around here?”

Marge laughs as she shakes her head. “No, we have Wyatt and Josie.”

She raises her voice as she says their names, and two people younger than me walk over to the bar. The girl looks me over, and I see the way she shakes her head when she looks at my boots. The guy, however, seems to be way more interested.

“Indie needs a ride home; she’s staying at the Patterson’s old place.”

Wyatt smiles at me. “You have your keys?”

Standing, I slide the keys from my pocket and hold them up. As he reaches for them, I pull them back a little. “You’re old enough to drive?”

“Sure am. I’m eighteen and the best driver you’ll find around here. Been doing it since my foot could touch the gas pedal.”

Josie scoffs. “Stop flirting with the city girl. Someone like her would never look twice at someone like you. Let’s go.”

I settle my bill, then lead Wyatt and Josie to the rental car.

Compared to all the other vehicles parked, this one stands out, all shiny and new.

Wyatt gets excited and jumps straight into the driver’s side while I get into the passenger seat.

Josie says she’ll meet us there as she gets into the old truck parked on the other side of the bar.

Wyatt talks my ear off about the rodeo tomorrow. He speaks with so much enthusiasm, but nothing he says makes sense to me in my current state.

By the time we arrive at the small farmhouse I’ve rented, I’m sobering up. Josie pulls up beside us, and Wyatt says goodbye, extending an invitation for me to come watch his first bull ride.

I pull out one of my suitcases, the one I will need for tonight, then head inside to shower before setting up my laptop and pulling up my blog.

Small-Town Confessions - Part One

Posted by Indie’s Inner Thoughts

Hey ,

So, I’m writing this at nearly midnight, slightly drunk and definitely feeling some type of way about the cowboys in this tiny town I’ve landed in. You know me—I’m always honest here.

I’ve been thinking about my fantasies more lately. The kind that make your cheeks flush and your heart race. The kind I’ve never dared to speak out loud. But here’s the thing, I’m wondering if these rugged, sexy cowboys might actually be into the same things I am...

There’s something about a man whose face you can’t quite see. The way your imagination has to fill in the blanks. Fuck, it does things to me.

I’ve always had a thing for masked men. Maybe it’s the danger, or the fear. The way it strips away everything. If I can’t see his full face, I can focus on everything else. The way his hands move over my heated skin.

Shit! I’m making myself wet just thinking about it.

I’ve been fantasizing about being chased, as you all know. I want to be scared and chased. But the list is never-ending.

Do you know what cowboys have? Ropes. These men work with them every day, and they know exactly how to tie knots that can hold cows and horses.

I love the idea of being tied up by someone who knows what they’re doing. Who could make me feel completely helpless and safe at the same time, all while being treated like a piece of meat (I know that might be too much for some people).

And I really, really want him to call me names. I can only imagine how beautiful it would sound in a rough tone as he whispers a “good girl” or growls out “little slut.”

Currently accepting applications for cowboys!

Stay spicy,

Indie xoxo