Page 9 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“Riley! There you are!” A coltish girl with her hair skinned back in a high ponytail ran across the dirt and grass toward them.

She wore a tank top and leggings tucked into brown cowboy boots and had a sweatshirt tied around her waist. Another girl, similarly dressed but with Goth-looking hair streaked with several colors ran with her.

“Do you still have time?”

“I always have time for my favorite people and horses.” Riley smiled and tugged on the teenager’s ponytail.

“Mr. Cole Jameson, this is my cousin and my niece Petal Telford and her bestie Arlo Cross. Cole is visiting from Texas and is a friend of Rohan’s and has some business in Marietta—nothing personal. ”

That put him in his place.

“Yes.” Both girls made fists and pumped them in the air before bumping them together, spreading their fingers and making an exploding sound.

“Succotash,” Arlo added, lingering on the last sound.

“Why succotash?” Riley wondered. “I’m not sure what that is. Food?”

“I thought it sounded cool.”

Riley smiled, and Cole caught his breath. She looked young, free, confident—what he wanted for her. So horses would be a must for her. Not a problem on the Jameson Ranch.

“Girls, I booked the small arena farthest away from the grandstands for an hour this morning,” Riley continued breezily, “and we also have short exhibition times—twenty minutes Friday afternoon and Saturday and Sunday morning in the same arena so you and Cinnamon will have a feel for the spacing.”

“Yes,” the girls chorused again and did the same fist pump, bump and explosion.

“What are you exhibiting?” Cole asked, curious. He’d known she’d been a barrel racer as a kid and teen, but she’d said music had pushed most everything else aside when she’d been seventeen.

“Trick riding,” Petal said. “Riley’s been teaching me for a couple years, and now Arlo’s starting too.”

Cole’s stomach bottomed out, but he kept his instinctive reaction under wraps.

He’d seen trick riding during his years on the teen rodeo circuit, and while breathtaking and fascinating in the abstract, thinking of Riley standing on a horse, somersaulting off and running beside or flipping herself back up again or hanging off the horse while it galloped made him feel ill.

He could just imagine how his cousin Elijah, foreman of the Jameson Ranch, would laugh at him now considering his headshaking and suppressed laughter last summer when their paw-paw had cooked up a scheme to introduce some traveling docs to the sights and pleasures of Texas cowboys—meaning his grandsons.

Cole was off the market and still deployed, but Elijah had been mad, whereas their other cousins had been different colors of amused and resigned.

Luckily for Elijah their paw-paw’s knee replacement surgery had put a kibosh on the scheme this past summer, but Cole had no doubt his paw-paw would be back up on a horse ready to matchmake and manipulate the next gen of Jamesons by next June.

At least he was out of that silly game.

Arlo and Petal’s gazes glued to him curiously.

“My dad was in Special Forces. Remington Cross. Thank you for your service, sir.”

“I’ve met Cross,” Cole murmured, a little stunned, trying to figure out how a man who was considered a ghost and one of the best hunters and prisoner extraction team members anyone could pray for had not only mustered out but had a teenage daughter.

Maybe that’s why he was considered a ghost. No one had really known him.

“Did you serve with my dad?” she asked curiously.

“Never had the pleasure,” Cole murmured. “I knew him more by reputation. It was solid.”

He didn’t know what else to say and was highly aware of Riley watching. A tendril of hair had escaped her pony, and it took a lot of willpower for him to not tuck it behind her ear.

Petal faced him, expression serious. She shook his hand as firmly as Arlo had. “Welcome to Marietta and thank you for your service. Want to watch us do tricks?” An impish smile teased. “I bet Riley will want to show off for her brother’s friend.”

She gave the last word an extra syllable, and he could almost hear the air quotes. Riley squirmed and that decided it. She was determined to shake him, and he was going to change her mind.

“I’m always up for a show,” he deadpanned, earning a funny little sound from Riley and two more fist pumps, bumps and explosions.

“We’ll introduce you to Cinnamon. Let’s go,” Petal said, tucking her arm through Arlo’s as they took off running.

Cole touched her hand as Riley turned to follow. “What kinda tricks are we talking about?” It didn’t sound as flirty in his head when he’d said it, but Riley’s cheeks were rose pink. He brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone and ran his thumb over her tempting bottom lip.

“Stop,” she whispered shakily, catching his hand. “We’re not doing any of that here.”

“Where would you like to go to do it?”

“Stop teasing. We’re not doing that anywhere.” Her eyes were huge, her breathing elevated, and he could see her nipples had pebbled under the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

“Baby, we are,” he said. “Maybe not now or this afternoon, and definitely at your pace, but we are so doing…that.” He put his arm around her, angling toward the horse barn.

His fingers splayed on her hip, and he leaned down, lips brushing her ear, sending a shiver of heat through his body all the way to his toes. “That and so much more.”

*

Act normal.

Riley nearly laughed. Who knew what that meant now?

Her brain kept spinning and spitting out the unbelievable fact that Cole was no longer sending random text messages but here. And wanting to start something instead of ending it. It was a fantasy and nightmare rolled into one, and her body and mind couldn’t settle on an approach.

If only she could Cher it and ‘Turn Back Time,’ she’d slap herself and insist she suck it up, stand on her own and stick it out. Alone. She never should have texted him for help that she was sick, desperate and hysterical and hiding behind a dumpster in an alley with half her clothes.

She’d put him in a terrible position. She’d made the mistake. She’d needed to pay the price, not the quiet, enigmatic Texas cowboy with the beautiful eyes in the stark face and sinewy body that moved with grace but looked like it was carved from the granite of the Absarokas.

Shame washed over her. It never stopped when she thought of those nearly two tumultuous humblingly hard years in LA.

The ‘saving’ hadn’t been necessary in the end, so she’d trapped a good man for nothing.

Just looking at him fired up every nerve in her body, and she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, her feet, her mouth. She’d always been athletic and graceful, and Cole had her off-balance. She needed to focus on Petal and Arlo and Cinnamon. Keep them all safe.

“Maybe you should go find Rohan, catch up, but zip it about the rest.”

Yeah, she was being as rude as she sounded, but Cole didn’t seem offended.

“I’m sure he’ll find me,” Cole said.

“Where’s Cinnamon’s saddle?” Petal asked.

“In the trailer,” Riley nearly smacked her forehead. “I’m distracted today.”

“I bet.” Arlo shot an all-too seeing look at Cole. “I’ll get it.”

“No, I’ll…”

“I’ll get the saddle,” Cole said decisively, holding out his hand for the keys.

“But…”

“I know where you parked.”

She was discomfited by the look in his eyes that said something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“Fine.” She slapped the keys in his hand. “Cinnamon has two. It’s the saddle with the high cantle and horn. There are some stability grips hanging below. Bring those as well.” She kept her voice clipped, professional—the horse trainer, not the damaged, inconvenient wife.

Have you ever written a song about goats?

Never. We have cattle, horses, dogs and barn cats, but no songs about any of them, and no goats. Why goats?

Surrounded by goats. Not by choice.

LOL. That doesn’t sound stealthy.

Tell me about it.

Goats and yoga are a new trend—something to consider.

Never. But if you write a song about the combo, I’ll turn up the volume.

Never.