Page 1 of Claimed By A Cowboy
Chapter One
Wynn
Jet lag is one heinous, unforgiving bitch.
Paired with a little heartbreak and a bit too much wine, I am on the wrong side of life at the moment. Lying in my big, lonely bed, I click through a dozen possibilities. Ireland. Peru. Spain. Smalltown Oklahoma?
Blinking bleary eyes, I sit up straighter in bed. Pulling my laptop closer on my crossed legs, I look harder at the screen. It wobbles and wavers for a moment before it steadies. Reading over the requirements and reasons of what I am looking at, I smile and nod.
It is time I took a trip for more than selfish sightseeing. Yes, I write puff pieces for all the locales I go to. I get the best hotel room, the nicest tables at restaurants, and I am treated to a little ass kissing.
When I started traveling five years ago, I was just a kid in a candy store. With no family ties, no responsibilities, and one friend I could count on, I set out to see the world. I had no idea what sort of life I was starting.
By some stroke of luck, some of my reviews for hotels or eateries started getting attention. When I started posting videos of me touring the places I was visiting, my entire world changed.
“We will cover the costs, you just go and do what you do best.”
It was the sweetest job offer I had ever heard of. I am paid to go all over the world, see the sights, eat the food, and meet the locals. My first few trips staying in hostels and hitting the dive bars had not prepared me for this life.
Making good money, having all my expenses paid, and being considered an important voice for the people is amazing. For the past few years, I have circled the globe more than once. I have stayed in five-star hotels in the biggest cities. I have also slept in huts in tiny villages.
I have not slowed down for one moment. I have not stayed anywhere for more than a few weeks. I do not have my own place. And my one friend, my best friend Jillian, has gotten married, had kids, and started her own coffee business without me being there.
“I am missing everything,” I had cried to her the last we had talked.
Her little girl is walking now. I held that baby twice. I missed her first birthday. I missed important moments in my best friends’ life. And I never made time for my own important moments.
“Come home. We miss you,” Jillian had lamented sadly, “date someone. Find what I found. Or maybeyou havefound what I found, Wynnie,” her voice got serious for a moment. “Not everyone is meant to get married, to have kids, to live behind a picket fence. You love what you do. You will know when it is time to stop, if it ever is.”
“How will I know? How am I going to know when I am done?”
“Because, Wynnie,” her tone was full of a smile and that smile was the one thing I had always been able to count on. “You won’t have anything left to see. You will find the one thing, or the one person, whatever it may be, that you want to stop for.”
That was two months ago, just before a trip to Fiji. There, I met a handsome man who made the trip special. Under glittering night skies, he told me I was beautiful with a rare soul. I almost fell for it. Refusing to sleep with him after knowing him for two days forced him to find an even rarer soul.
It had hurt more than I thought it might. Not because I felt something deep for him. Just because I had been forgotten with ease. It was the story of my life. I had not been wanted by my parents. Or any of the dozens of foster families I had lived with.
No one wanted me and that stung like a bitch.
“Jack and Jameson want you, honey,” I tell myself, sipping more of the Jack and Coke I have nursed my wounded ego with all night.
Eyes flicking back to the screen, I let out a sad sigh. I am going to do this for all the wrong reasons. I am going to make a fool out of myself because I am feeling lonelier than usual.
“Win a cowboy for a day,” I read the announcement loudly, reminding myself what I am up to. “Bid on a ranch hand to show you the ropes.”
Yes, this sounds like a good choice. For a good cause. Entering the needed information, I put a huge number in the bidding slot. I will pay whatever it takes to spend one day with a man who cannot discard me.
Giggling at the idea of me prancing around a ranch, I consider if I could write a piece for this ranch. Maybe it could help them get some fresh blood to the place. They must be a little desperate to pull this sort of stunt. A stunt I am going to pay heartily to be a part of.
“Cowboys can be so hot,” I say to an empty room. “I bet they would be so good in bed. Not that I would know, am I right? That night with Tomas in Rome does not count, Wynnie. Need penetration for it to count.”
Giggling again, I flip through the choices of cowboys. One has me going back to him a few times. He seems so somber. Sad, almost. Perched on a horse, he gazes down at the camera, no smile on his handsome face. He looks huge on the big horse, and I wonder about a scar that runs across his jaw and down his throat.
Wylder Fellows. Thirty-five years old, a horse trainer at the ranch, and a former rodeo star. An entire day with a tortured rodeo cowboy? Am I truly this desperate? To pay for someone to fake interest in me for a day.
“Yes, yes I am,” I answer my own question.
Emptying my glass of Jack and Coke, I let out a sad sigh. Staring at the photo of Wylder, I wonder if he might understand my loneliness. If he could, maybe an entire day with me might not be so bad. Could this stoic cowboy make me for at least one day that I am utterly alone?
