UPDATE: The winner of the signed copy of Cowboy Lust is…JOYE!
Congrats, Joye! Email me to arrange delivery of your prize!

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Today’s the start of the countdown to the release of Cowboy Heat. Over the next couple of weeks, we’ll share snippets from our stories, give away prizes, and tell you a bit about what inspires us. This isn’t my first collection of cowboy stories for Cleis Press. That would be Cowboy Lust, and I’ll give away a print copy of that book today to one lucky commenter. NOTE: I’ll choose the winner Sunday night!

As to what inspired my story, “One Track Cowboy”, feast on the view below. That photo was taken in Palo Duro Canyon in the Texas Panhandle. It’s the second largest canyon in in the U.S., and incredibly beautiful—especially in the springtime, which was when this photo was taken. The canyon itself is a national park, but what’s cool is that private ranches rim the canyon. While I don’t name the canyon in my story, now you know the inspiration…

After tracking two lost hikers, a park ranger and a local rancher lose themselves to a wild passion

We followed a dry creek bed with a gradual decline toward the river bisecting the park. As it was early summer, the water was still high against the banks. Inviting. My horse was certainly eager. I let her have her head, and she trotted toward the edge of the water. I dismounted, dropped her reins and let her step into the water, her head ducking to snuffle and drink.

The chink of metal and dull thud of leather hitting the ground sparked my interest, and I came around my horse, watching as Zane tossed his saddle beside the packs already on the ground.

“I take it we’ll be here for a while.”

“We’ve pushed the horses hard.”

He didn’t give any more of an explanation, but I read the challenge in his gaze. I nodded slowly and turned back to my horse, following his example to relieve my mare of her burden.

When I loosened the cinch around her abdomen, the saddle lifted away unexpectedly. Zane hadn’t helped me with my gear since we’d started. Now the simple action turned me on more than a hot glance might have. His body was tight. His movements a little less graceful than usual. When he set down the saddle and straightened, I could see why. The bulge that lay trapped against his thigh was unmistakable.

My mouth went dry. “Think the water’s cold?” I asked, inanely. The water was certainly cooler than the air. But, I needed to say something other than: “I hope that erection’s for me.”

I did my best to keep my gaze on his face, but couldn’t help flitting down to check out his impressive hard-on. I felt as gauche as a teenager.

“Bathe,” he said quietly, then turned and began to strip.

I liked his economy of movement. The unfussy way he tugged and pulled and quickly dropped his clothes in a heap beside his feet.

I admired his nakedness, the round firmness of his backside, the ropey muscles framing his spine. When he reached behind him for his ponytail and began to sift the braid free, my mouth pooled with saliva. His hair was black and shining blue where the sun hit it. Thick. My fingers curled at my sides.

And then he turned, his gaze raking over me. His mouth tightened. Was that annoyance? I noted his expression, only fleetingly, because my gaze dropped straight to his cock, which was extended, the blunt cap glistening with a hint of moisture. It was long and thick, the shaft straight and rising from a dark, sparse thatch of hair.

“Do you need help?” he asked, voice silky like I’d never heard it before.

A quiver shook my belly, making my knees weak, and I knew if I tried to take off my boots standing, I’d fall on my face. I didn’t answer, simply waited as he narrowed his eyes and strode toward me, his height and masculine breadth casting a shadow.

He reached first for my hands and pulled off my leather riding gloves. Then with an arch of his brow, he knelt on one knee, tapping the side of one boot until I gripped his shoulder and lifted my foot. He took off each boot then swiftly undid my belt and jeans and pushed them roughly down my legs, taking my cotton underwear along with them. He didn’t pause to stare, didn’t say a word as he waited while I stepped free of my clothing. Then he stood, hands going to the buttons of my plaid shirt, opening them with determined efficiency, and then dragging my sports bra over my head and off my arms.

His gaze raked my nude body, and then he turned and walked back to his bags. He shook soap and shampoo from a plastic carrier and walked to the river’s edge where he dropped them on the rocks before striding into the water.