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  Cowboy Pick-Up

  Vonna Harper

  Friday night at the Sidewinder bar is exactly what rancher Darnelle needs. Nothing like some cold beer and hot men to make her forget her hard-working days. Then a tall, lean cowboy in a Stetson walks in and suddenly it’s going to take more than frosty brews to cool her blood. Introducing himself as Tadd, the just-off-the-range wrangler makes his move. She accepts. Okay, more than accepts. Gives as good as she gets.

  To hell with their appreciative and half-drunk audience. To hell with possible consequences. Darnelle’s going to ride her cowboy before the night’s over. Of course there’s a little matter of his determination to beat her to the punch, but a girl’s going to have her fun. Against the bar. On top of the table. Mare and stallion.

  The deeds done, there’s nothing left to do but go their separate ways, right? Maybe not, because sometimes a one-night stand has an unexpected twist.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Cowboy Pick-Up

  ISBN 9781419930430

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cowboy Pick-Up Copyright © 2011 Vonna Harper

  Edited by Shannon Combs

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication February 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cowboy Pick-Up

  Vonna Harper

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Chapter One

  “There’s going to be hell to pay if I don’t get laid tonight.”

  Laughing, Loria punched her friend Crissy on the shoulder. “Oh you’ll get your itches scratched, no doubt about it.” She slapped the warped and splintered door to the Sidewinder bar. “Same as me.”

  “You’d better after all the work you went to clearing the decks so you could come here, to say nothing of pouring yourself into those jeans. Are you going to be able to sit in them?”

  “If things go according to plan, I won’t be sitting.”

  “Got ya.” Smiling broadly, Crissy reached for the door handle. “Let’s go meet us some cowboys.”

  From the moment the two women pulled into the gravel parking lot clogged with pickups and stock trailers, the sound of country and western music had reached out to play with their senses. Hearing honky tonk sent energy pounding through Loria, not that she needed a reminder of how long it had been since she’d felt a man’s body pressed against hers.

  Eager for the night to begin, she hip bumped Crissy aside and opened the door. Guitar twangs and a deep male voice singing about hard drinking and hot women all but knocked her back on her boot heels.

  “Holy shit, the place is rocking,” Crissy exclaimed.

  “Sure is. Looks like all the wranglers are back.”

  Feeling as if she was about to enter a wild animal enclosure, Loria stepped inside. Even before her eyes fully adjusted to the blood-colored beer signs shining at her from the walls, her body told her the Sidewinder was packed. The central Oregon town where she’d lived her entire life sported newer, cleaner and better maintained watering holes, but the Sidewinder was where the sprawling county’s real cowboys hung out.

  Which was one hundred percent why she was here.

  Pulling in the scent of male, denim and leather, she stepped onto the scarred wooden floor. The bar stools, as well as the tables, were taken by mostly lean-assed men. Although she caught sight of a few women, she barely nodded at them.

  Cowboys watched her and Crissy. Sucking in her stomach, she concentrated on making her ass sway. Okay, so her physical lifestyle called for short nails, calluses and a permanent farmer’s tan, but there were benefits—specifically a firm yet feminine body.

  She hadn’t worn a bra under her pale-blue long-sleeved snap shirt.

  “A tad bit of testosterone in here,” Crissy fairly yelled into her ear. “Feel it?”

  “Feel? Hell, I’m practically swimming in it.”

  “It’ll get even better once we have a drink in us. Beer or whiskey?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Loria said as they approached the glass- and bottle-cluttered bar. “Ten to one we won’t have to buy.”

  “You think I’m going to take that bet?” Crissy laughed. “Damn, I swear I feel as if I could take all of them on.”

  Loria waved a finger at the bartender and then swept her gaze over the packed space. In daylight the Sidewinder was downright depressing. However, tonight was a different story. Three couples gyrated on the small dance floor. They were practically fucking standing up, fully clothed, arms around necks and pelvises locked together. Watching them, she felt heat begin at the top of her head, slap her cheeks, burn her neck then swept over her breasts with their already hard nipples.

  Three weeks without sex had turned her inside out.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?” the bartender asked.

  Recognizing Harry who was part owner, Loria asked what beer was the coldest.

  “It’s all good, you know that,” Harry shot back with a fake injured tone. “That’s what you’re here for, right? The booze.”

  Loria, Crissy and Harry laughed at the joke. Then before the women could place their orders, a couple of tall, slim men sidled up to them.

  “You fillies shouldn’t be wasting your hard-earned money tending to your thirsts when we’re around to spoil you,” the taller of the two announced. “We just got paid. No better place to spend it than on a couple of fillies.”

  Laughing, Crissy announced that she’d just turned thirty and no longer considered herself a filly. However, far be it for her to disappoint a man hell bent on getting rid of his excess cash. Laughing back, the man she’d been talking to draped an arm around her shoulder.

  The other man started to do the same to Loria.

  “Sorry.” Loria pushed his arm away. “I’m not that easy. Besides, you smell like a horse that’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

  “If you want cologne and manicures,” the man grumbled, “you’ve come to the wrong bar.”

  “Oh.” Loria smiled to soften the impact of her words. “I’m in the right place. I’m just not done looking at the merchandise.”

  Grumbling something that came close to getting him a knee between his legs, the man stalked off. Loria had never seen him before, not that she cared.

  The man who was still hanging on to Crissy—he said his name was Brent—offered to add her beer to his tab. She took him up on it, and when it was delivered, took a long swallow. That done, she slowly, thoroug
hly took in the room again.

  Telling the man who’d tried to come on to her that he smelled like a sweaty horse applied to most of those in the Sidewinder tonight. These were the real deal, wranglers with bowed legs and hair permanently creased from their Stetsons. Squint lines had been carved deep into the corners of their eyes. Their hands and forearms were scarred from barbed wire, and she had no doubt that most bore old broken bones and fresh bruises compliments of unruly horses and dim-witted beef cattle. They spent weeks out on the county’s high desert ranges keeping an eye on said cattle.

  Well, one of those cowboys was going to get the chance to spend the night with her.

  Her jeans trapped her pussy, and her thighs felt as if she was wearing a girdle, but that wasn’t the only reason she was so aware of her body. More than a handful of eyes were taking note of her braless state.

  Another wave of body awareness sped through her, prompting her to throw back the straight dark-brown hair she usually kept contained in a loose braid. Having it around her shoulders and brushing her cheeks and throat added to the sense that she was truly feminine.

  Ah, there, someone trying to catch her eye. She clutched her cold glass. Her belly clenched. Moisture heated her barely there panties. Talk about getting turned on double time.

  Although Crissy had wandered off, Loria pretended she was describing the man sitting between two other cowboys at a small corner table.

  Can’t tell how tall he is sitting down, she mentally told herself. But his shoulders are higher than those of his companions. Black hair under his equally black Stetson. Needing a haircut, not that I’m complaining. He’s looking at me as if I’m the only woman in the room, and those eyes—holy shit, if they aren’t black, they’re darn near. Short-sleeved shirt. Good. And those forearms. Damn, take a look at the muscles. Oh yeah, back to those shoulders. Hell, he could throw me over one of them and march out of here with my boobs smashed against his back.

  The dark-haired man was getting to his feet, hands planted on the table, body leaning forward as his unseen legs easily accepted his weight. Paying his companions and drink no mind, he slid around the too-small table and headed her way.

  He walked slow and steady, solid thighs and neat hips caressed by jeans that looked as if they’d been in service for a hundred years and knew his body intimately. The bulge between his legs stopped her midswallow. No doubt about it, he was doubly well hung.

  Closer. Gliding, despite his faded boots. The pace making her think of a cowboy approaching a skittish calf. If she were a calf, he’d calm her with a deep whisper and gentle hands, and in minutes she’d stop trembling and trust him with her life.

  Tonight she ached to trust him with her body.

  “Looks like you lost your friend,” he said when he was in front of her and she was craning her head to see into his no-doubt-about-it black eyes. “I hate to see someone like you alone.”

  “Someone like me?” Her hold on her glass tightened. “What do you think you know about me?”

  Boldly letting her see what he was doing, he ran his gaze from her face to her breasts. “You’re a woman proud of what nature gave you. Not afraid of telling a man she wants to get laid.”

  “Interesting observation.” Although she was tempted to stand on her toes, her boots weren’t made for that. For a man who looked as if he didn’t carry around an extra ounce, he sure as hell made a physical statement. Not only was he every bit as tall as she’d suspected—a couple of inches over six feet—his shoulders were out to there and could upend a steer without breaking a sweat. As for how he handled women—

  “You looking for anyone in particular?” he asked. “Maybe I fit the bill.”

  His hands were by his hips. Just the same, her throat felt as if he’d flattened a palm over it. “I’m not sure. You didn’t shave today.”

  He rubbed his jaw, something she wished she was doing. “Nope. Doesn’t look as if I did.”

  “Why not?”

  A shrug of those awesome shoulders sent more wet heat to her crotch. “It crossed my mind but by then we were reaching the loading pens.”

  The loading pens were next to the railroad. Once cattle were loaded onto the cars, they were taken far from where they’d grown up and fattened on acres and acres of remote land. She knew his total focus had been on ensuring the valuable livestock’s safety.

  “And now you’re celebrating by getting drunk,” she observed, though she hadn’t seen any sign of that. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”

  “Tadd. And yours?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Tadd? Yeah, sure. You can call me Darnelle.”

  “Glad to meet you, Darnelle.” He extended a deeply tanned paw at her.

  Feeling strong and bold, she placed her hand in his, but as he closed his fingers around hers, she nearly lost her hold on her beer. A little dribbled out.

  “Look out.” He righted the glass. “You don’t want to waste—”

  “That’s all right.” Okay, so he wasn’t letting go of her hand. It wasn’t as if she’d lose composure. “I didn’t pay for it. Besides, I’m not sure I want it after all.”

  “That so?” He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, you look like a whiskey woman to me, the expensive stuff.”

  “No rotgut, all right? I have a sensitive stomach.”

  “It looks just fine to me.”

  Holding her ground, she pulled her hand free and then reached behind her so she could place the beer on the bar. “You came to that conclusion about my preference for whiskey just from our talking for a few seconds?”

  “I’m an observant man. Have to be. Otherwise I’d lose calves to coyotes and cougars.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never thought of myself as a calf.”

  “Then what do you think you are?” He again cocked his head. His gaze held on her breasts.

  “A woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.”

  “And what is it you want?”

  “Oh.” She took in an exaggerated breath and thrust her breasts in his direction. “I believe you know the answer to that.”

  Not taking his attention off her face, he closed both hands around her hips. “Say it, then.”

  Her heart kicking up, she folded her arms under her breasts. “To get laid.”

  His mouth twitched. “By me?”

  “Maybe. If you can prove you’re man enough.”

  “I can.”

  “Prove it, then.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Here and now.”

  Still holding on to her, he indicated their surroundings. “We’ll have witnesses.”

  “That’s a problem? You’re shy?”

  “Hell no. And going by your lack of support.” He jerked his head at her breasts. “You aren’t either.”

  Wanting to be sure she had his full attention, she waited several seconds before speaking. “That turn you off? Maybe you want modest and circumspect.”

  Instead of answering, he let go of her left hip, snagged her wrist and drew her hand down to his cock. Understanding perfectly, she cradled his no-doubt-about-it erection.

  “No,” she told him, “you aren’t turned off.”

  “Next step,” he muttered, “calls for deciding where we’re going to get it on.”

  Damn it, despite her bold words and hopefully bring-it-on expression, inside she was shaking. If he caught on to her trembling, would he believe she was having second thoughts? Hopefully not because excitement and anticipation fueled her.

  “All right,” she said. “Location.” Leaning to the side while still holding on to his erection, she looked beyond him. “How about the table where you were sitting? Think you can get your friends to make room for us?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. How about you?”

  “I pay their salaries so yes, my hands will do what I say.”

  Because there was no way could they thread their way to the table grasping each other the way they were, she reluctantly released
his cock so he could run interference. Her palm buzzed with memories of his contours as she focused on his taut ass beneath the practical denim.

  Tadd only had to jerk his head at the two cowboys to get them to stand. They backed up so they were leaning against a wall with their drinks held in dirty hands and their expressions saying they were eager to see what was going to happen next.

  Instead of doing the gentlemanly thing by offering the closest chair to her, Tadd spun it around and plunked himself down so he was sitting on it backward. He propped his arms on the wooden back.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said. “For me to be willing to buy you a drink, I insist on seeing what I get for my effort.”

  Fisting her hands by her sides, she slid forward until she was inches from him. Being taller than him felt damn good, a sensation she didn’t figure would last. “What if I say I’ll do the buying once I’ve determined that I’ll be getting my money’s worth?”

  “The way I look at it—the way I’m looking at you—there’s no room for money in those painted-on jeans.”

  “Maybe I’m carrying plastic.”

  “Only one way to be sure.” Reaching around the chair back, he patted her butt cheeks. “Nope. Nothing there. How about in front?”

  She waited for another semi-intimate search. Instead, a cat-cornering-a-mouse grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “It just occurred to me that you might have money stashed in a private place. Only one way to be sure.”

  Even with him staring at her as if he was about to pounce, she took in their surroundings. In addition to the two men against the wall, others were now giving Tadd and her their full attention. So this was what exhibitionism felt like.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked, her muscles suddenly loose and her head roaring.

  “A strip search is time-consuming when I prefer an activity that’s more personally satisfying, if you get my drift.”