Page 1 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

He hadn’t slept last night, too worried about his younger brother Jasper’s latest respiratory infection.

Nineteen-year-old Jasper had been born with cerebral palsy and had struggles, but even with the disease, his infectious smile and endless optimism buoyed the family, lifting them during the darkest times.

Last night had been dark, too. Jasper couldn’t breathe.

His vest wasn’t helping. His supplemental oxygen failed to make a difference.

Even their mom, normally calm and together, panicked.

There was no ambulance to call. No one to step in.

So, Rye, once again, stepped in. Crouching in front of his brother’s wheelchair, he gently clasped Jasper’s face, telling Jasper to focus on him, and to breathe with him.

Rye held his brother’s gaze. Slow breath in.

One, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three.

Breathe in, one, two, three, four. Exhale slowly, one, two, three, four.

They faced each other, breathing together. It might have been just a minute or two, but it felt like hours. Breathe with me. One, two, three.

Rye ignored the drama behind him. He blocked out his father’s voice and his mother’s anguish and focused on the only thing that mattered in that moment. Jasper.

Rye didn’t know how long it took before Jasper was breathing, his lips no longer blue. The oxygen kicked in, and Jasper gave Rye a small nod of his head.

Then, and only then, did Rye acknowledge his fear.

He’d been afraid. They needed to live closer to a hospital.

They needed better care for Jasper. Rye had had it with Eureka, a town on the border of Montana and Canada.

It wasn’t the right place for any of them, especially not his younger brother, but Dad had been born and raised in Eureka and was loath to leave his hometown and his company.

Yet Dad didn’t pay the bills anymore. Rye did, and one of these days he and his dad would have to have a serious talk about the future, and Jasper, and his beautiful sisters, twenty-two-year-old Hannah and twenty-year-old Josie, because they had dreams, too.

They were smart girls, strong girls, and they never asked anything for themselves, but they should.

Rye had come to realize their dad wouldn’t encourage the girls to pursue their passion, which was why Rye had to. Life had to be more than just survival. Because just surviving wasn’t enough.

Off on the side of the road, Rye lifted the hood of his Chevy.

Steam hissed and water bubbled up from beneath the cap on the radiator.

It’d be at least twenty minutes before the engine cooled enough to allow him to continue on.

Rye should have replaced the radiator last year, but didn’t, not wanting to spend the money, not when it was needed elsewhere.

Pushing back the brim of his cowboy hat, he walked back to the trailer and checked on his horses.

Lately, he’d only been traveling with Nickel but one of the barrel racers on the circuit, who’d be competing this weekend in Marietta, had expressed interest in buying five-year-old Topaz, and while Rye was loath to sell a horse he’d hand raised and trained, selling Topaz would help pay Jenna’s tuition for nursing school.

*

Nickle bobbed his head, acknowledging Rye while Topaz stomped a hoof. Topaz, always impatient and intense, wanted to be free, wanted to run. While Topaz had fire, Nickle was his steady, reliable companion, ideal for roping events.

Rye patted both geldings, giving Topaz one extra because soon he would be gone, before walking back to the front of his truck. Although the steam was slowly evaporating everything still felt dangerously hot.

He felt dangerously hot. Juggling a four-day work week with weekends on the rodeo circuit had worn him down.

He didn’t hate roofing—it was his dad’s company after all—but he didn’t enjoy it, and it wasn’t what he wanted for himself.

Being a rodeo cowboy wasn’t his future, either.

It was hard on the body and hard on the family.

But at least being on the road gave him a chance to escape Eureka for a few days and make some extra money, income needed.

But it was hard to be away from everyone when Jasper struggled with and suffered infection after infection.

Rye pulled out his phone, checked messages.

Zero. No missed calls, either. That was a good sign.

But it didn’t ease the hollow ache inside of him.

When busy, he was able to ignore the emptiness, pretend it didn’t exist. He’d come to tell himself that the emptiness—part resignation, part dread—wasn’t real, but rather fatigue, and it would pass.

When he became more successful. When he made more money.

Always this need for money. He’d been responsible for his family for over a decade, but it hadn’t always been so desperate.

When his father worked, before his accident, everything had been easier, financially, emotionally.

There had never been a lot of money but there had been enough.

They had gotten by and even had a few luxuries.

Dinners out. A new van that could accommodate Jasper’s wheelchair.

His sisters had taken dance classes, and Josie had taken some voice lessons, and while there were no trips to Disneyworld, they would drive up to his grandparents’ farm in Alberta every summer and they’d all enjoyed that.

But once Dad was hurt, the trips stopped, the lessons stopped, the custom van was traded in for an older model that Rye adapted himself for Jasper.

A truck pulled up behind Rye’s on the side of the road.

Rye straightened and looked toward the black truck, one of those classic all-purpose work trucks that were neither new nor old, but practical.

A man was behind the wheel and a young blonde woman sat beside him.

Rye couldn’t help giving the woman a second look.

In the setting sun, she appeared gilded, her long gold hair an ethereal halo, her slender frame illuminated.

The man climbed out of the black truck, tall and lean with dark blond hair. He headed toward Rye. “Need help?” he asked, glancing at the propped hood.

Rye swallowed his embarrassment. He hated needing help and did his best to never ask for it. “Overheated but should be okay soon.”

“So, it’s not the first time,” the stranger said sympathetically.

“Unfortunately, not.”

“Jackson Flint,” the other said, extending his hand.

“Rye Calhoun,” Rye answered, shaking Jackson’s hand.

From Jackson’s size and grip, Rye suspected he used to play football. “I’ve put off getting a new radiator long enough. Clearly, it’s time I replaced it.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Marietta.”

“For the Copper Mountain Rodeo?”

Rye nodded. “You know it.”

“I live there. The rodeo’s celebrating a big anniversary. Eighty-fifth, I think.”

“With some nice prize money, too.” Rye looked back at his engine. “Can you recommend a good garage in town? Just in case.”

Jackson hesitated. “The Calhouns have a garage. Right at the edge of downtown. Tell them I sent you.”

“I will.” Interesting that the garage owners had the same surname as he did. It wasn’t often Rye ran into any Calhouns. He shifted the bar holding the hood up and then slammed the hood closed. “Thanks for stopping.”

“Want me to wait and make sure your truck starts?”

“No, but thanks. You have your girl waiting.” It was all Rye could do not to look at the blonde in the truck. “Don’t want to keep you.”

“Once you’re settled in town, come by FlintWorks for a beer. It’s on me.”

“The brewery at the old depot?”

“That’s it.” Jackson gave a brief nod and returned to his truck.

Rye watched him walk away before glancing at the girl in the passenger seat. She was looking back at him, a long, assessing look that made him hot and his body harden.

Even though she was someone else’s, he still wanted her. So odd, since he couldn’t remember the last time he desired anyone or anything.

He deliberately turned away and climbed into his truck cab, and once Jackson’s black truck passed him, merging onto the highway, Rye started his own truck and followed, careful to keep to the speed limit to prevent his truck from overheating.

*

Ansley Campbell held her long blonde hair in one hand as Jackson passed the blue and white truck and silver horse trailer, the rugged cowboy in the driver’s seat.

The sun’s long slanting rays had been like a spotlight shining on Jackson and the cowboy with the broken-down truck.

The cowboy had looked at her more than once.

Normally, she wasn’t interested in being checked out, but the cowboy didn’t seem like the flirty type.

If anything, he looked alone, tough, and a little weary, but that was also probably her imagination.

He was probably just ticked off he was having car problems. No one liked being on the side of the road on what had been one of the hottest days of the month, especially when pulling a horse trailer.

“He’s okay?” she asked Jackson, as Jackson picked up speed, traffic moving fast, everyone wanting to get somewhere.

“He says he is.” Jackson glanced up into the rearview mirror as if checking for the blue and white truck. “Luckily, Marietta isn’t far.”

“He’s going to Marietta?” she said, before putting two and two together. “He’s going for the rodeo?”

Jackson nodded. He looked at her, amused. “Want an introduction?”

“ No. I’m not interested in dating. Anyone.”

He laughed softly. “Simmer down. Everyone knows you’re devoted to your uncle and your art.”

“I am serious about my art.” And my independence , she silently added.