Page 1 of Her Filthy Cowboy

Chapter One

BRODY

I’m scowlingat my reflection in the mirror when my brother, Jace, walks into my bedroom.

“Reporter’s here.” He jerks his thumb toward the hall. “Want me to tell her you’ll be out in a few minutes?”

I sigh. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Then my head snaps toward him. “Hang on a second. The reporter is a woman?”

“Yeah, why?”

Shit. I meet my brother’s gaze in the mirror. “You ask to see her ID?”

You can never be too careful these days. It wouldn’t be the first time a groupie tried to pass herself off as a journalist to get some alone time with me.

Jace chuckles as he walks out the door. “Trust me, she’s legit.” He turns back to look at me and smirks. “And don’t worry. She’s definitely not a buckle bunny.”

I let out a small sigh of relief, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen.

I don’t want to do this damn interview for theFit Mountain Monthly, but my agent and sponsor insist it’s necessary for my image.

Winning the national bull riding championship was a dream come true, the culmination of years of blood, sweat and tears. The roar of the crowd, the weight of that trophy in my hands, the pride swelling in my chest...it was a high like no other.

But of course, I had to go and screw it up. Partied a little too hard at the after-party, let myself get caught up in the moment. And now there are all these photos floating around on social media, making me out to be some kind of wild party animal. It’s bullshit.

They know damn well how hard I work, the blood and sweat I pour into this life. I’m up at dawn every day, training, tending to the ranch. I push myself to the limit and then past it, all to be the best at what I do.

This house, this land—this is what matters to me. Being a good rancher, a dedicated brother, a man with dreams that go way beyond eight seconds on the back of an ornery bull.

As I walk through the living room, my eyes fall on the framed photos lining the mantelpiece. Me and my brothers, grinning ear to ear after a cattle drive. An old snapshot of Mama and Daddy on their wedding day. This is my legacy. This is what I want to be remembered for.

I stride into the kitchen, ready to paste on a fake smile and get this over with. But when I walk in, I stop dead in my tracks.

There, perched on a stool at the island counter, is none other than Savannah Sullivan.

The girl who’s starred in every single one of my dreams since the ninth grade.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Savannah. Last I heard, she was off living her big-city journalist dreams.

Savannah looks up at the sound of my footsteps. “Hey, Brody.” She slides off the stool and gives me a cute little wave. “Long time no see.”

My nostrils flare as I take in her appearance.

She looks sexy as fuck in a pair of fitted Wranglers that hug her thick thighs and a tight black T-shirt with a red flannel on top, the sleeves rolled up her forearms. Her brown hair cascades over her shoulders in loose waves, and it takes all the willpower I have not to run my fingers through it and tug her gorgeous body against mine.

I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. “Savannah.” My voice is like gravel. “What are you doing here?”

She blinks at me like it should be obvious. “I’m here for your interview.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’rethe reporter?”

A panicked look crosses her face. “Your agent didn’t tell you I was coming?” She grabs her phone and starts scrolling. “I’ve got the email right here if?—”

“She told me about it. I’m just surprised they sent you.”

“Why is that so surprising?”

“I guess I figured they’d want someone more... objective.”

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