Page 3 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

C ole felt her heart slam against his forearm and then pound quickly like hummingbird wings.

Her legs trembled, nearly giving out. Her breath fractured.

He’d surprised many targets during his career, and never once mentally calculated the words to lecture them about their lack of awareness afterwards.

Or apologize for startling them.

Fear and concern and fury hit at the same time, but he leaned into experience and training and shut it all down. She was terrified, and terrified women weren’t safe.

“Fight me,” he whispered in her ear.

“Wwwwwha…?” She could barely eke out that syllable, and that wouldn’t cut it.

“Fight me. I taught you.”

“Cccccole?” she squeaked, tried to turn around. He held her firmly but not enough pressure to hurt, though another jerk wouldn’t be so gentle. They both knew that.

“Fight back.”

“I don’t want to…hurt you.”

His dark laugh was unexpected.

“Try,” he invited, relieved to feel her heart rate begin to settle, and her diaphragm expand with a full breath.

“We practiced this,” he reminded her. “What do you do first?”

“You show up after almost six years with no warning and no texts for four months and expect me to remember how to fight you? Careful. I just might remember how.”

Her voice had a snap of flame. Good.

He drew deeply on patience, trying to ignore her scent that teased him, the way her hair was fragrant silk against his lips. “You have options.”

“Lucky me.”

He bit back the smile and gave in to the indulgence to breathe deeply in the fresh citrus scent of her stunning hair.

“You’re wearing boots.” For a moment the long ago image of her pink cowboy boots studded with embroidered daisies and rhinestones and the short button-up denim skirt flashed in his memory, and Cole struggled to focus.

“Surprise, surprise on the boots,” Riley drawled, and he nearly gave up and just spun her around to kiss her and see her stunning eyes darken—safety lesson be damned.

“You could kick my instep hard. Heel or toe. Fast. Then spin, fast uppercut to my groin with your knee, then go for my eyes.”

He had countermoves that a drunk in a bar or a handsy cowboy in a dance hall wouldn’t have a clue about.

“Eeeeew. Eyes? I can’t do that.”

“That’s why I taught you. Why we practiced.”

She spun around and took a step backwards, but only ended up stumbling on his large foot and would have crashed into the metal gate if he hadn’t caught her arm.

He schooled his expression. Riley Telford.

No longer nineteen and a budding country artist turning into a pop star, but more beautiful than he’d remembered.

Rarely had he been able to FaceTime so the snippets of texts over WhatsApp had been all he’d had to cling to over these past long years.

“Try to take me now.” He forced the words when he really just wanted to look his fill.

“Cole.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. She looked left, then right, her expression tinged with guilt and caution. “What are you doing here?”

Lot of answers to that question. He went with the top.

“Came to see you,” he admitted, watching her expression for minute changes.

Her dark blue eyes purpled, long dark lashes curled, giving her a youthful innocence that should have put him in full protector mode, but no, lust crawled through his body like a drug he hadn’t wanted to take.

Her face was exquisite—smooth golden skin stretched over delicate features, high cheekbones, narrow, straight nose, pointed chin, and her lips—dark pink naturally and pillow plump and inviting.

She’d lost weight—more lithe but still had the athletic look and feel of a cowgirl.

Damn. How had he walked away? She was his.

In name only.

“Wwwwhy…” She moistened her top lip and then her bottom one. “Why come back?”

So many answers. What did she want to hear?

He had no hold on her heart. He knew that.

He’d been first a polite obligation. Then a protector.

But he intended to be more. He reached out and cupped her strong jaw with petal-soft skin, and emotions he hadn’t counted on surged through him.

And so did desire. He’d felt numb for so long, shut down, operating on automatic because it was his job and his duty.

But damn, it was glorious to feel alive again.

“It’s time.”

She shuddered but instead of pulling away or slapping him—he steeled his heart for both—she stared at him helplessly. Again, he felt the hummingbird-wings thrum of her pulse, this time in his hand.

Her fear infuriated him.

But the way she surrendered to his touch threatened to sweep the legs of his control out from under him. Never had he needed his years of ranch and army discipline more.

“Hey, Riles. What the hell?”

He recognized her brother Rohan’s voice, heard the quick-trigger fury and swoosh of movement. Training took over and he spun around, boxing her behind him to meet the threat.

*

This was not happening.

Cole was here.

And now so was Rohan. Worst-case scenario. And of course Rohan was misconstruing the scene—at least she thought he was.

“Back away from my sister, Romeo.” Rohan charged in, fast and deadly, looking almost like a stranger as he morphed into the specially trained soldier she’d tried not to think about since he’d come home.

“Rohan, chill, it’s not what you think.” She steadied herself, determined to defend Cole. She shoved at his tense body—sheesh, was he made of granite. She stepped closer to defray his fury just as Rohan swung with his fist and Cole ducked.

Riley heard the whistle of air, but she was on the ground, slamming her head against Cinnamon’s gate before she registered the punch. She stared up at the sloped metal roof, trying to figure out what had just happened—she felt weird—just as she saw Rohan fly over her and crash into an empty stall.

“Are you crazy?” She blinked, trying to clear her head. “That’s my brother.”

She struggled to sit up, but everything seemed off-kilter, and she paused on her elbows.

“How bad are you hit?” And then Cole was there, his fingers probing the back of her head.

“Ouch,” she said while, with his thumb of his other hand, he gently stroked along her cheekbone that no longer felt numb but was screaming. “Ouch and ouch.”

She stared at him. It had been nearly six years.

No visits but a lot of late-night texts on WhatsApp—nothing romantic.

But their truncated texts had always felt intimate.

Secret. Something just for them. But she knew she’d read too much into them.

She was just a dumb sister of his friend—the friend he’d just hurled up and over a corral fence.

Rohan was up on his feet, scrambling up the fence.

“Come at me again, I’ll put you down for longer,” Cole promised.

“Jesus, Riley.” Rohan crouched beside her. “I am so sorry. How bad?”

Her cheek throbbed like a hammer strike over and over.

Cole and Rohan loomed, and Rohan looked so…so…everything—angry, guilty, suspicious.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her vision graying, tunneling, and her chest compressing.

She recognized the signs of an impending panic attack.

They’d become more frequent, not less, as time passed, especially as she took a more public role at the ranch.

She’d stopped trying to link up with friends.

Do an open mic. Take a girls’ weekend away. Too unpredictable.

She learned to stave most of them off early but not with Cole—why was he here?—who noticed every detail and her brother worried and watchful.

“Not now. Not now. Miracle Lake.” She remembered her mantra—well not really a mantra, but something to think about, focus on.

Though he was blurry, Rohan’s face was scrunched with worry. “What the hell, Riles? Back off, Cole. This is my sister. What the hell are you doing here anyway? Ever heard of texting?”

Riley tried to focus her thoughts. Find control, but the throbbing made her want to hit something. Then cry. Rohan’s worry was making him aggressive.

“Riles, get up. We’ll get you to the medical tent.” Rohan slid his arm around her to pull her upright, and her stomach lurched sickly.

“I’ll carry her,” Cole said.

“Like hell,” Rohan shot back. “I can take care of my sister.”

“Yeah. Saw that.”

Riley closed her eyes. Breathe. Right. She was supposed to breathe and count and do something else. Visualize. But what?

“What the hell, Riley? What’s wrong? Did you hit your head? You’re bleeding. Holy hell. You’re bleeding. Riley.” Rohan’s voice was agonized, overwhelmed her more.

“I’m supposed to count,” she whispered trying to hold on to reality. She’d read that online. Not panic. Not remember. Not slide back there.

She had to take care of her brother. He felt bad enough. And she didn’t want Cole to know she was still a mess. Keeping her eyes closed helped.

“Rohan. I have a first aid kit in my driver-side door. Black Ford F-150 Texas plates next to Riley’s rig.”

Her heart bumped in alarm. How did he know her rig?

Focus.

Miracle Lake. Dive in. Ice cold. Hot sun. Swim under water. Surface, roll over and float arms wide. Embrace nature.

“She needs an ambulance.” Rohan pulled out his phone.

“No. Ro. I’m fine.” Riley gulped in air, not wanting to release the image and come back to reality. Their voices sounded under water, and her ears rang like the church bells Sunday morning at St. James. “I’m fine. Don’t scare Mom. I’m running point, this rodeo, and I’m not letting her down.”

Cinnamon snorted and banged against the railing with her hoof. Once. Twice. Riley’s heart sped up. Cinnamon. She’d be scared. Smell the blood.

“Girl, I’m fine. Fine. Fine, fine,” she whispered.

“Get the kit,” Cole said, his voice low.

“You get the kit,” Rohan bitched back. “I’m not leaving my sister.”