Page 14

The soles of my designer flats sink into the mud as the town car pulls away, kicking up a cloud of dust that coats my shorts and T-shirt. I immediately start coughing.

Wonderful.

My eyes take in the cracked earth, the rickety old wire fence, the green pastures, and open sunset-sky stretching above me like a prison cell with no roof. In front of me is the ranch house. Old wood, weathered by time–it might as well be a thousand miles from the New York City life that I know.

This is my punishment.

Dad didn’t ground me, take away my allowance, or even cancel my girls’ trip to Monaco this August. Nope. He just took my phone, all my cards, and dumped me here so I could, in his words, “learn some respect.”

All because I got expelled.

Well, technically I wasn’t expelled. I still get to graduate. I just don’t get to attend graduation or the last two weeks of school. And all because I told Mr. Morris to “start grading fairly and not giving As to the cheerleading team.” I guess that was a bit too far.

But what can I say? I’ve got a bit of a smart mouth, and I’m not afraid to speak my mind. Mr. Morris is a massive prick anyway.

“You can’t go through life mouthing off to people in positions of power, Lena,” Dad growled when he heard the news. “The world’s a rough place; you’re gonna learn that soon. I’m sending you to the ranch for a month. Colt’s gonna put you to work.”

Colt Ryder.

I froze like a statue when he told me that.

And now, I swallow hard, ignoring the way my heart flutters like a baby bird at the sound of his name in my head.

I haven’t seen Colt in years. The last time I was probably thirteen, and he was a grim-faced, sun-kissed, eighteen-year-old cowboy with arms like tree trunks and hands rougher than concrete.

Despite being the youngest of Dad’s workers, he was his most prized foreman. An ex-rodeo rider, raised by ranchers, built like an Adonis, who never once had a kind word for me. Even when I would follow him around like a pest, showering Dad jokes on him that I thought might get him to smile.

But he never did. Not once. I’m not even sure he’s capable of it.

Now I’m the eighteen-year-old. I’m still mouthy (obviously), maybe a bit of a brat, and I’ve been handed over to the one man in the world who probably loves the fact that for the next four weeks, it’s going to be his job to make me shovel horse crap.

“Well,” I mutter, grabbing my one bag and hoisting it over my shoulder. “This is going to be great.”

I can’t imagine how much mud is accumulating in the bottom of my shoes. I can even feel the wet soaking through the canvas and into my socks. It must have just rained, and I don’t even own a pair of boots suitable for a place like this.

As I approach the house, the screen door creaks and slowly opens.

I stop–well, actually, I freeze as Colt emerges from inside.

It’s him. It’s really him.

He leans against the doorframe, towering muscle and irritation, his broad shoulders threatening to tear the seams of his faded plaid shirt.

My gaze dips–against my will–to his thick forearms, corded with chiseled muscle, tanned from the sun and dusted with the kind of grit that doesn’t wash off without an extra hand.

He looks like punishment with a pulse, already figuring out just how much pain he’s going to put me through.

My whole body goes hot in an instant. Yeah, I remember him being hot, but what in the world happened? He’s not just hot anymore…he’s dangerous . What’s he doing working on a ranch? He should be in front of a camera somewhere, acting or modeling. Both?

A memory sparks in my mind from when I was thirteen and following him around the yard while he worked.

I was too short to step over a fence, and instead of just going back to the house, I started screaming at the top of my lungs until Colt reached back, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me over like it was nothing.

He didn’t even speak. He didn’t even look at me, but my body remembered his touch for days. Even though I knew it was totally wrong and he was way too old for me.

I bet he doesn’t even remember it…

“I knew you’d be late getting here,” Colt says, his voice like gravel in the hot sun. “That behavior stops now.”

I blink. “Gee, it’s nice to see you again too, Colt.”

He drags his eyes up my body, sending a shiver through me that I desperately try to hide. His gaze halts briefly at the hem of my jean shorts, and I think I see his jaw clench.

Is he checking me out? He can’t be, can he?

Not with that expression. He looks like he’d rather I be anywhere but here. No, it’s more likely he’s thinking about how annoying I’m going to be by getting in the way of his normal routine.

“We start at dawn,” he says. “Make sure you’re not late.”

“Start what?” I ask.

“Work,” he replies simply. “Though judging by those shoes, you don’t know what the word even means.”

Well, Colt may have gotten ten times hotter, but he’s also ten times more of a dickhead.

I guess that’s the tradeoff. Still, my eyes are drawn to the veins of his biceps.

They look like they’re ready to rip through the skin.

He’s built like a bodybuilder, but this isn’t some gym rat’s body to post on social media.

This is a man whose been carved by work, sweat, sun, and long, hard days in the saddle.

And that’s a massive turn-on, even if he does clearly hate my guts.

“My shoes are cute,” I reply with a sassy shrug. “They’re expensive.”

His jaw ticks, and he looks down at them with those fierce blue eyes, like he’s disgusted by everything about me. “Not anymore they’re not.”

Then he turns his back on me and walks inside. The door remains open, which I take as an invitation and follow after him. “Dick…”

The inside of the house is warm and smells like thyme, garlic, and wheat. It’s rustic and lived-in but kept up and not a mess. I set my suitcase by the stairs and spot Colt over at the sink filling a glass of water from the tap.

He moves like he owns the place, but it’s my father’s name on the deed. God knows what would happen if I reminded him of that now.

Colt doesn’t even acknowledge me as I step into the living room. He just raises the glass to his lips and begins to drunk, his thick throat muscles flexing with every swallow. I try not to stare as he drinks–try and fail.

“So you’re my boss for the next month, eh?”

“Damn right I am,” he growls, setting the now-empty glass aside.

I nod slowly. “And…this work you’re going to make me do? What’s that exactly?”

Mimicking me, he shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever I damn well please.”

There’s that hot feeling flowing through my body again. This time it’s accompanied by tingles between my thighs. What is wrong with me? Why is it that this guy speaking like the most arrogant bastard alive is such a turn-on?

It’s harsh, dominant, bordering on bullying…

But I like it. And I shouldn’t.

“You better be nice to me,” I tell him. “Or I’ll just go home.”

Colt scoffs, shaking his head with something approximating a smile. “No, you won’t. Your dad told me not to let you run. If you try…” He lifts a long rope from a hook on the wall. It has a hoop at the end. “I’ll lasso you like a runaway mare.”

Now my body really reacts. Heat pools low in my belly, sending all kinds of wild sensations through my core. My cheeks go hot, and I shake my hair into my face to disguise the blush turning them red.

“So I’m a wild horse, am I?”

He walks slowly up to me, slips a finger beneath my chin, and lifts my eyes to his. Their blueness seems impossible. It’s like staring into the most gorgeous summer afternoon sky. “You might be,” he replies. “And you don’t want to find out how I break in wild things, missy. Trust me.”

If this were a movie, this would be the moment where I slap him or spit in his face. Or at the least turn my back on him and walk out.

But my legs simply will not move. My lips part, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe. His eyes burn into me like molten lava, and when he finally steps back, I manage to gasp for air.

“Get your bag,” he barks, walking past me. “You’re sleeping in the barn.”

My eyes widen. “You’re joking.”

He stops, turns, and stares at me with a face of stone. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

I watch as he walks back outside, then quickly grab my bag and hurry after him. More mud soaks through my shoes as I nearly fall over myself on the way to the barn. Inside, it smells like hay and old wood and the faint tang of horse sweat.

I glance at a handsome chestnut stallion and immediately trip over a hay bale. I yelp as I fall, but Colt saves me by simply catching me with just one of his massive hands and lifting me back to my feet.

My whole body is flushed now, and the memory from when I was young is replaying in full clarity in my mind.

He lifted me with the same ease–like I weigh absolutely nothing.

His smell enters my nostrils, awakening a scent-memory I had completely forgotten.

It’s like time traveling back five years to when I was just a kid with a huge crush.

“Careful, Lena. We’re not in the city anymore.”

At the end of the barn, there’s a ladder leading up to the loft. He takes my bag from me, and with a single throw, tosses it all the way up to the second level where I’ll soon be staying.

“Breakfast is at six sharp. Work at six-thirty,” he says, turning away. “Be there or go hungry.”

I look up at the ladder, then back to him. “Is this even legal?”

Again, he shrugs. “If you have a problem with it, just call your daddy.” He pauses, placing a hand to his chin. “Oh, that’s right. Your daddy has your phone, doesn’t he?”

Twisting my lips, I glare back at him. “You’re real charming, you know that?”

Once more, he almost smiles. “Welcome to the ranch, sweetheart.”

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Breaking Her In

A cowboy bully age-gap instalove forbidden romance

Her daddy told me to stay away from her. But one look at Lena, and I knew I was screwed.

She’s all grown up now—long legs, a sassy mouth, and fire in her eyes. When she's sent to the ranch, it’s my job to keep her in line. Teach her some discipline…not put my filthy cowboy hands on her.

She doesn’t understand why I keep my distance. Why I clench my fists every time she sways those hips. Why I walk away instead of pinning her to the barn wall and showing her who she belongs to.

It’s not because I don’t want her.

It’s because I want her too much.

Not for a night. Not for a taste.

Forever.

If I take her now, there’s no undoing it.

And when her father finds out, all hell’s gonna break loose.