When Delilah put out a call for submission for cowboy stories I knew I had to submit. And not only for the obvious reason. Sure the iconic apple cheeks of a fine man in wranglers, broad shoulders made for toting bales of hay and the roughness of work-honed hands got me thinking. But what I love more than any cowboy I’ve ever met are the strong and agile creatures that set him apart from the crowd.
Thanks to my horse-a-holic aunts, I’ve been perched on a horse’s back since before I could walk, and every day I could manage since. I’ve sprinkled my past and present babies throughout the post, except for the buckskin in the pic to the left who belongs to a friend. Wild and wooly, an old hack-around, spirited and hot (Like, Wendy, the grey in the picture), Western, English, or bareback…I’ll ride them all any way you please. So, hop on and let’s head down the trail through my story included in this amazing Cowboy Heat collection.
A busted-up rodeo champion finds the squirt he tormented in youth transformed into a fiery woman challenging him to become the man she deserves
Gravel crunched under the massive pickup’s tires as it left smooth pavement behind. Barrett’s chest constricted in response. Breathing became hard. Hell, the rebellion his insides pitched was close kin to a panic attack, but cowboys, whole or broke down, didn’t have such weak-kneed reactions. The panorama before him of vast rolling hills, green, cow-sprinkled grass and wide-open sky was home. Six years away hadn’t dimmed its beauty or his affection. Barrett rolled his shoulders and shrugged off the vibe. Nothin’ to get riled about.
Barrett crested the first hill and knew he had every right to feel screwed up inside. Two sorrel mares, one a good hand taller and three hundred pounds stouter than the other, blocked the gravel driveway. A petite woman with long, strawberry, wind-whipped hair, wearing boots and chaps, sat astride the smaller horse. Her elegant jaw set in a familiar expression of stubborn rage.
“Holy fuck!” The words left his mouth in a drawled whisper.
He halted the pickup and confronted her fierce gaze with his own. The air between them grew thick with tension like an ol’ western draw. Finally, she swirled a finger in the air, signaling him to roll down the window. Being a gentleman, he obliged.
She planted a delicate hand on her hip. “You didn’t really think you were gonna sneak back home while everybody’s gone to auction, did you?”
The air blew crisp and clean in his face as he draped one arm on the door. “Yeah, I’s countin’ on it actually.”
“Anyone you lookin’ to avoid?” she asked, straightening, her silky pink lips tightening.
That face, part angel, part nymph, never ceased to amaze him. Neither did the rest of her. His eyes dropped to her bite-sized breasts and his cock saluted, thickening in his jeans. “Naw.” His lips parted again, but the words died in an expelled breath. Too soon for all that.
Pale lids narrowed around flame-green eyes. Her nose twitched, drawing his attention to the spray of freckles that ran across its ridge and over delightful apple cheeks. Then her lips moved. “A wise man would, but since you aren’t—lookin’ to avoid anyone, that is—git your tush out of that truck before my panties melt off.”
Damn, if his chest didn’t tighten again. He pounded his fist against the sensation, adjusted his hat, and leaned closer to the fiery woman. “Excuse me?”
“That is the point of that sexy machine, to make women drop their drawers?”
The laugh came from deep inside, from a place so hidden light hadn’t touched it in years. “Sassy Britches, it’s been a while. You’ve changed, and then you haven’t.”
“Barrett Whitman, if you wanna make it home, you won’t call me that again. I don’t care if you are ‘The Bear,’ four-year-reignin’ National Rodeo Champion. Get your ass out the truck and on this horse.”
“Scarlett, you keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll be forced to tell your daddy. I’d hate for him to have to paddle your sweet bottom.”
She gave a girlie, “Huh!” and then wiggled narrow hips as she spoke. “If you’d been around, you’d know my daddy’s retired back home to Texas and your parents saw fit to put me in charge of the ranch. Now, scoot. Daylight’s wastin’, and we got some ground to cover.”
Tango, the best horse in the world, – he’s a quarter horse…of course – followed me around like a child. Here he is ground-tying like a champ.
Model, the sweetest most water loving thoroughbred you’ll ever meet.
These two ponies I rescued from absolutely abominable conditions, fattened-up, loved-up and trained for some sweet girls to ride.
All the best to you and your horse-babies, imaginary (I’ve had more than my fair share) or real!
Megan Mitcham, Author