Page 1 of My Cowboy Temptation

Chapter 1

Callie

Crap,crap, crap.

How could I let myself lose track of time like this?

Coming to the coffee shop was supposed to calm my nerves before my big interview, not be the cause of more anxiety. But once I held the pencil in my hand and saw this new idea start to take shape on the paper in front of me, I got lost in the drawing and completely forgot about the time.

I throw my sketchbook into my bag, scoop up my coffee, and sail toward the door. Hopefully I’ll have a few extra minutes to change into something more appropriate for my videoconference with internationally renowned London-based artist Theodore De Longer. The idea is to impress him with my skill, my poise, and my reliability so he’ll want to hire me as his new artist assistant—not confirm for him that despite my degree from Cal Arts and my growing portfolio, I’m a redneck bumpkin from Nowheresville, Montana.

I push open the door and race forward, squinting against the sunlight that temporarily blinds me. I don’t see the giant blocking my path until I nearly barrel into him.

Two hands settle on my shoulders to keep me from falling over before releasing me. “Easy there, Callie.”

Even though my eyes are still trying to focus and block out the bright sunlight streaming behind him, I recognize the deep, gruff voice instantly, and goose bumps prickle up and down my arms.

Blinking a few more times, I look up into the face of the man I’ve tried my best to forget these past six years. The man I’ve been breathlessly waiting to catch sight of in the weeks since I returned home to Castle Falls, Montana, without any luck. A fact that’s hard to believe since the man works as the manager on my dad’s ranch, and I’ve been back there three separate times.

Unless he’s been purposely avoiding me.

“B-Brody.”

Dark brown eyes stare back at me, eyes that seem as haunted and sad now as they did when I was a kid, and I wanted nothing more than to put a smile on his face. There are more creases around his eyes now, creases caused from working long, back-breaking hours on the ranch, hours that no doubt have also gifted him with the strong, thick muscles on his six-foot four-inch frame.

The hair on his beard is still the same rich brown color with shades of red mixed in, and I wonder, like I have so many times before, what it would feel like pressed against my mouth, or the side of my neck or, if I’m lucky, to the sensitive skin between my thighs as I hold him in the most intimate kiss.

Brody Dalton is everything I always thought a cowboy should be. Massively strong, whip-smart, commanding, and respected. And since my teens, I also recognize him as the sexiest, most virile cowboy I’ve ever seen, one who I wished would see me as someone other than a little girl.

Which is why when I was seventeen and on a high from my cheer squad winning regionals, I followed him to the barn and kissed him good and hard, only to have him rear back in horror before stammering an apology and clearing the hell out of the barn and my path for the next year, until I finally left for college.

I imagine his reaction had something to do with the fact that he has been my dad’s best friend for the past thirty years and his most loyal employee out at the ranch.

That’s right. Brody Dalton, the only man I’ve ever wanted but couldn’t have, is my dad’s best friend. Making my wanting him completely insane. Depraved even.

Neither of us says anything as we stand there staring at each other on the sidewalk, both of us taking our fill of the other as the seconds tick by. Like if we blink, one of us might disappear.

And like that, all the feelings I thought I got over are rushing back to me, rekindling a deep yearning for this man, a yearning with an intensity that I’d forgotten.

I thought my decision to return to my hometown was an attempt at recapturing my creative mojo, to get a break from the L.A. scene and figure out my future. But standing here now, I see that maybe I was back here for another purpose entirely. To confront the man who has haunted my dreams and find out, once and for all, if there could ever be a future between us.

For now, though, I really do have an appointment to make. If I’ve learned anything in the past few years of being an artist, you should always keep your options open in case something doesn’t pan out.

“Sorry,” I say finally. “I’m running late and didn’t see you.”

There’s a slight tug of a smile on his lips. “No worries. Don’t let me keep you from your meeting,” he says and touches the front rim of his Stetson.

And before I can reply, he’s striding away, his hulking form getting smaller as he continues down the sidewalk.

So maybe Brody Dalton didn’t say anything particularly memorable in our brief meeting that should encourage me. And his steadying touch when he held me might have been fleeting and innocent. But I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face at his parting figure.

Because I saw a flare in Brody’s eyes as he stared at me, felt that singular connection in the space between us, like there was some invisible rope tethering us together, which tells me he isn’t as immune to me as he likes to pretend.

This is only the beginning. I’m sure of it.

* * *

There’snothing like a favorite song playing on the radio to bring me back to a better time, my best friend in the seat next to me singing along, and the wind blowing through my hair as we drive home on the highway after an afternoon of shopping. A time when my whole life and its possibilities were just ahead of me.

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