Page 9 of My Cowboy Temptation

Chapter 3

Callie

Usually after a long,hard ride, I enjoy the quiet down time where I brush out Bandit, the horse I’ve had since I was fifteen, feeling for any injuries or soreness before I offer him some water and a few treats. It’s our bonding routine.

But when I reach the stable after my afternoon with a certain cowboy, I’m in no mood for anything but kicking something, which means I’m better off letting Childs, one of the ranch hands, take him from me as I storm into the house, well aware of Brody’s gaze following me as he joins Childs.

I almost hate him right now. Hate how he could so cavalierly toss me away, even after what was easily the most stimulating, life-altering kiss I’ve had in my life. A kiss that was better than anything I ever imagined.

I meant what I said. I’m not going to wait around for him to get his dick out of his hand and do something with it. I’ve waited for him since I was seventeen years old, and I’m about fed up.

Fed up with him and all men, really.

I find Everly lying on the bed in the guest room where she slept last night, gazing up at the ceiling. I feel like a shit friend as I realize that last night’s terror wasn’t just mine, and I haven’t been here to make sure she’s okay.

“Hey. How you holding up?” I ask as I come in and lie next to her on the bed. If anyone’s a hero in this story, it’s her. Doing what she does, trying to save all those kids from harm in that horrible job, even putting herself at risk as she does it.

I understand why she does it to some extent. She had a crappy childhood, losing her dad in a horse-riding accident when she was nine, leaving her to be raised by a crappy, selfish mother. A mother who preferred booze, drugs, and sex with the biggest losers in town to raising her daughter—even when one such loser tried to rape Everly and was only stopped by my dad.

We both had shit mothers, but at least I had my dad to take the sting out of it. She only has me. Everly’s become more like a sister to me over the years than a friend.

“I’m doing okay,” she says, smiling over at me. “I’m not about to bow down to bullies like Cody Palmer. Not with the Castles to have my back. But what about you? I know you were pretty shaken up last night.”

I shrug. “I’m okay, even though that ride didn’t calm me like I hoped.”

And there was a certain cowboy who I could blame for that. For a second, I consider confiding to her what’s happened between Brody and me. But how would I tell my best friend that what happened earlier was something that I’ve been fantasizing about for years?

I don’t know if I could stand to see the judgment in her eyes as I confess how I’ve been lusting after my dad’s best friend, a man who some might look at as more of an uncle to me over the years—not someone I should want to fuck.

No. She wouldn’t understand, and since I’m starting to feel less optimistic that anything will come of it, there’s no reason to put her—or me—through that kind of mortifying admission.

I sigh and instead choose another truth to confide. “It’s actually been harder being here at the ranch than I expected. I mean, I love my dad and this place, but suddenly having no home to go to other than my old childhood bedroom has me feeling like I’ve somehow taken a few big steps back in my career and my life.”

“It might not be for that long, though, if you get that assistant’s job. Have you heard anything more?”

I shake my head. The thing is, as much as I’ve pretended to everyone how excited I am for this opportunity to move to London and work for this famous artist, I’m kind of torn about whether this is really the right thing for me.

I mean, I know I’m still twenty-four, and in the grand scheme of things, I’m a total newbie and have plenty of time to make a name for myself and develop my own unique style, and this would be an amazing opportunity.

But another part of me wonders if I would be using this job as an excuse to run away from making some hard choices. Choices like whether I’m really talented enough for an art career. What if I’m only meant to be a hobbyist? Someone who can’t sell their work for shit and is left to gift their so-called masterpieces to friends and family who find a space for it in a rarely used guest room or in a basement laundry because they don’t have the heart to tell me they think it stinks.

Maybe being afraid to step inside my vandalized condo isn’t the only thing I’ve been afraid of the past few days. There are a lot of things I need to work through.

But not fucking today. I deserve a break.

“What do you say we get out of here? I know that Rita meant well with some of the things she picked up for us this morning, but I’m going to need a few more options than turtlenecks, crewneck tee shirts, and a multi-pack of white underwear.”

Everly laughs. “You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you buy out the entire selection of bras and matching panties in your size just yesterday?”

“Come on. We could reach Kalispell in half an hour.”

“I suppose I will need some new work clothes,” she says. “Maybe a decent pair of black pants that could tide me over until my next paycheck.”

I grin. Sounds like she’s in. And once we’re in the store and she’s staring in the mirror in wonder at how talented I am at finding the right styles for her gorgeous curvy figure, I’ll have an easier time convincing her to let me buy her some of those selections—if not all of them, since she makes practically nothing at that job of hers. “I’m going to go shower. Leave in twenty?”

“I don’t know how you managed to rope me into shopping two days in a row, but…yeah. Let’s do it.”

I spring from the bed and race up the stairs and down the hall to my room.

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