Page 9 of Breaking the Cowboy's Rules

Joanie laughed. “Chartreuse. It’s amazing. I’ve always loved it but can’t wear it. I look dead, but on the right person it just sings. You are that person. Just try it.”

Nico did. She looked like someone else. She hadn’t gotten used to her vivid red and gold hair yet, but her light hazel eyes seemed lit from within and her pale skin glowed and looked interesting. Her mouth was still too big for her narrow face, but the sweater’s soft material draped over her slim body and small breasts, emphasizing her subtle curves, and when she belted the tie wrap at her narrow waist, the cut showcased the slight flare of her hips. The wide scoop neckline drooped off her shoulders, highlighting her delicate clavicles.

“Those sweaters would fly out of here despite the high price tag if you stood in the window,” Joanie teased.

“The color is…” She hesitated, not sure how to describe it. “Something.”

“Something amazing,” Joanie breathed in awe, and it had been Joanie’s reaction that had triggered the impulsive “I’ll take it.”

She was definitely regretting that decision now as she pushed open the double swing doors to Grey’s Saloon like she was entering a western movie set. With Joanie’s whispered and heartfeltamazingstill feathering inside her brain and her edginess that had built up while she sat alone in her hotel suite, beating out her usual caution and reticence, she stepped inside a saloon—a bar—alone for the first time in her life.

More intimidating than she imagined. Cowboy hats everywhere. Laughing. Joking. Talking. Music. Community. And she was an obvious outsider. Why had she worn the sweater? The new jeans. The boots. She should have fit in, but she could tell she didn’t. She wanted to crawl out of this new skin and run to her car and keep driving. Even the country music was a foreign language she didn’t understand, though she spoke several languages and owned an apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement in Paris.

She couldn’t breathe, and her throat closed tight. No. Her brain, drunk on affirmation podcasts about reinvention and redemption and every other touchy-feely, thumbs-up philosophy for the past three days, clamored for her walk to the bar. Order a drink. Pretend to be someone else so she could escape who she was. She could improv her way to a new life from the soles of her new boots up.

She wanted this.

She needed it.

A new life.

A new her.

And yet rocketing off to Mars seemed easier than taking the next step.

And then she locked eyes with the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and everything else—the music, the voices, the giggling bridal party shouting and her jangling nerves—disappeared.

Nico drew in a deep breath and centered herself on the man.

Don’t block.

Rule two of improv or rule three? She’d listened to a couple of podcasts and then an audible book about improv as there was some disagreement. Of course there was. How would someone else make money? By now she should have enough knowledge to have a social interaction, but that was theory versus real life. And she’d always excelled far better at theory.

“Yes,” she said the word aloud, a talisman, and like magic, he strode toward her with a walk that melted her mind and heated her lower abdomen, shockingly abruptly like he’d pulled a chord to a part of her she’d spent most of her life ignoring.

Yes, and…

The first rule of improv.

“I’m Bodhi,” the cowboy said. “What would you think about changing my life tonight?”

His eyes were the strangest, most beautiful blue she’d ever seen. There was a navy ring around the iris, and she could happily drown in the warmth and confidence he exuded. Was that a pickup line? She’d never heard anything like it. Men didn’t talk to her like that. Ever. No one with any insider information would have dared.

It should have sounded stupid. Ridiculous. Over-the-top cocky and insulting. But he made it sound reasonable. Possible. Happily appealing.

“Yes,” she said, although her brain was beginning to scramble from his beauty and sexual heat that emanated from him like a seductive cologne, “and I’d like you to change mine.”

Following the improv rules.

And bold and honest. A first for her in a while.

His smile was as wicked as it was charming, and even though she’d traveled the world, had wielded a black Amex since she was a teen, and had undergrad and law degrees from an Ivy, Nico knew she was way out of her league.

“Darlin’, you have yourself a deal.”

*

She was theanswer to a prayer.

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