Be careful what you ask for. It might come with spurs—and baggage.
The Paintbrush Series
After catching her boyfriend with his pants around his knees while a walking, talking cliché takes “dictation”, Suzanne Walters quits her job, quits her man, quits Texas and moves to Wyoming to find the woman she used to be. Unfortunately, her first five minutes in Paintbrush finds her facing down the town bully in the local diner—and running smack into the one thing she’s not looking for: a wet dream in cowboy boots, Jacob Bowman.
Jacob excels at two things—flying under the radar, and saving his pennies in hopes of running his own ranch someday. He can’t stop thinking about the fantasy in tight Wranglers who nearly mowed him down exiting the diner. The curvy, vivacious spitfire makes his mouth go dry. She’s got her eye on him, as well, but her determination to prove her independence is just as strong as the sexual pull between them.
Life’s knocks have given them both strong hearts, and even stronger wills. As danger looms, that stubborn pride could cost their one chance to discover if there’s something more between them than great sex.
Will they swallow their pride, or will they lose it all?
Warning: Cowboys and horses and bullies OH MY! Sweet, sweet loving and a little rowdy behavior.
The teen had her finger shoved in his chest and was apparently yelling at him for all her worth, judging by the frown and ever-waggling mouth.
Neither spared Zan a glance as she got out of the car, dragging the bag for Doc behind her. As she drew closer, she could hear the girl’s tirade.
“…shouldn’t have left the door open in the first place. Daddy told you I got a new puppy and now he may be lame thanks to you.”
With a final huff, the girl turned and stomped off. She threw a quick wave to Zan, but instead of a smile, her face had a pout like a four-year-old as her boots slapped the gravel drive.
Zan shook her head. Teenagers.
Back at the barn, the man stood with his hands on his jean-covered hips and his head hung low. He dug the toe of his cowboy boot into the ground until he wedged a rock loose. His denim shirtsleeves, rolled up to the elbows, exposed strong, muscular forearms. Muscles that came from hard, backbreaking, work—not some air-conditioned weight room. His dusty, black felt hat sat low on his head. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
Before she could reach him, though, another man came out from the barn doors. An older man dressed in similar jeans, but his thin frame made them hang with little appeal. His tan shirt had seen better days as his boney elbow poked out from a thread-worn hole. He carried his straw cowboy hat in his hand, ventilating the bald spot on the top of his head.
“Jacob, boy, why’d you let her talk to you like that?”
The man Lisa had chewed out lifted his head and turned toward the older cowboy. “She’s upset about her dog. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, but why’d you take the blame for it? You and I both know Eric left the door open.”
Zan’s eyebrows rose. Not wanting to disrupt the men’s conversation, and the natural nosey gene she inherited from Bonnie buzzing, she stopped and leaned against the barn.
“Hank, don’t go making any more trouble. Eric already feels bad enough as it is. There’s no reason to tell Willard about this. He might fire the kid, but I don’t think he’d do that to me. I don’t mind.”
“Well, you’d better—” Hank paused. He looked over Jacob’s shoulder. “Well, how do?”
Stunned, Zan couldn’t decide whether to bolt or pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. Finally, letting her embarrassment pass, she straightened and walked over to the men.
Jacob’s stance stiffened as he turned, only to relax a fraction when he saw her. With one finger, he pushed the Stetson back on his head. A wisp of dark brown hair fell from under the hat.
“Ma’am. Is there something we can help you with?” he asked; his dark, dark brown eyes softened as he smiled at her. They were the eyes that had haunted her dreams since coming to Paintbrush.