One to Take (Stuart & Mariska): Sexy Cowboy (One to Hold Book 8)

S
tuart Knight is
a wounded Marine turned Sexy Cowboy. Mariska Heron is the gypsy girl who stole his heart. Now they’re fighting for their Happily Ever After…

“
A
dream brought them together
... A nightmare has the ability to tear them apart.” –Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads

L
ife is never simple
.

Even perfect couples face storms.

The question is whether our love is strong enough to survive.

I believe it is.

S
he told me to leave
.

If I leave, I take her with me.

~Stuart Knight

A
STAND-ALONE NOVEL
in the “One to Hold” universe. Prepare for strong language, panty-melting sexy times, and heart-squeezing angst. Readers 18 and older only, please.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

O
ne to Take

Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2016

Printed in the United States of America.

Cover design by Steven Novak,
Novak Illustration

Photography by R + M Photography, rplusmphoto.com

Cover Model, Alfie Gordillo

A
ll rights reserved
. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

A
cknowledgments are
the hardest part of the book for me to write. So many people play a role in the evolution of my books, as I sit here trying to think of them all, I’m petrified I’ll forget someone.

For starters, I’m so thankful for Mr. TL, my amazing husband, who I still remember wore cowboy boots on our first “real” date. Thanks for being my best editor, my toughest critic, and my most encouraging supporter. You’re my sexy cowboy.

To all the loyal fans of the series who have patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) waited for this book, and to the new readers who I hope fall in love with Stuart and Mariska for the first time—THANK YOU for reading and believing in me.

It touches my heart when people love my novels because I write them from the heart, and these characters become very real to me. So HUGE THANKS to my beta readers, to Ilona and Candy, to all the bloggers and advance review copy readers, who started messaging me weeks before release date raving—you make my
life
.

THANKS so much to my author-friends who read early versions and encouraged me, to Aleatha Romig and Ilsa Madden-Mills. I can’t express how much you mean to me.

Super Thanks to Elle Ramsey for helping me keep all the plates spinning these past few months! You’re an amazing helper.

Thank you to Steven Novak for always giving me a beautiful cover design, and to Alfie Gordillo who insisted I at least
look
at his cowboy photos. (
Har-har
—I know. My job is SO tough, right?)

Thanks to Lisa at TRSOR for helping me spread the word and always being such a great resource! Thanks also to Heather Thompson for that incredible book trailer.

Last but not least, Thanks to my BABES and to my “A-Team”!!! I LOVE you ladies more than I can ever say! You help me, you encourage me, and you keep me motivated more times than I’m sure you’re even aware. MWAH!

Finally, to everyone who believes in faith and love and second-chances, Thank you.

Tia <3

“
N
O
!” I scream, kicking the covers off my legs as quickly as possible, slapping back the hands. A large one reaches for my arm, and I slap it away. “Don’t touch me!”

I frantically push higher, my back against the headboard. My stomach cramps so hard, I bend forward. Sweat coats my skin in a thin sheen, causing my entire body to shake.

“Mariska!” Stuart’s voice finds me in the darkness. Commanding even in sleep, he steadies me with his strength. With a trembling exhale, I collapse to a sitting position on the pillows. “You’re okay. It was a dream.”

Just a dream.
The room slowly comes into focus as I blink away the haze. Tan walls dotted with brown wooden shelves. Our blankets are a jumbled heap at my feet, and the familiar, comfy suede leather chair faces me from across the room. I’m warm and dry and safe.

I can just make out the broad, sculpted shoulders of my fiancé silhouetted in the dim light, and I reach out to smooth his dark hair, a messy bedhead. I can’t see his hazel eyes, but I know they’re serious, focused as always.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry…” I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t had such a vivid nightmare in years. Not since I met Stuart.

“I’ve got you.” Strong hands pull me to his chest. “You’re okay.”

One final tremor, and my muscles begin to relax in his embrace. I rest my cheek against his bare skin inhaling his warm scent, cedar and Stuart, and we slide down into the blankets. He pulls them over us and a deep sense of protection calms my fears as I lie in the shelter of his arms.

He rubs my back slowly, slowly soothing us both with his touch. “Go back to sleep now.”

I hold him, listening as his breathing gradually returns to normal then to the slow rhythm of sleep. I can’t sleep. Even safe in his strong arms, my eyes are wide open. I try to make sense of the dream, replaying all of it. It wasn’t anywhere I recognized. Everything was unfamiliar to me.

Blinking in the darkness, I wish for my dream journal. I wish for my grandmother, my Yaya. She could interpret dreams, but I never could. I only have them, then I have to wait for the events to occur to understand the meanings.

I don’t want the events of this dream to occur…

A shimmer of fear moves through my stomach, and I clutch Stuart tighter. His muscles flex as he pulls me closer. Several long, troubled minutes pass before I’m able to close my eyes again, but the nightmare lingers in my subconscious.

J
une in Montana
is nothing like December. The last time we were here, at Stuart’s uncle Bill’s ranch, the vast expanse of prairie was pale beige and deep brown under a steely winter sky. Now the grasses are deep green dotted with darker sagebrush. Bluebonnets mix with bright yellow balsamroot, and in the distance, the mountains are a smoky purple haze rising above it all. Waterfalls roar over black rocks along the Missouri River, and as always, the Technicolor sky spans as far as the eye can see into the horizon.

My fingers itch for my paintbrushes. Standing on the aged rail fence clutching my coffee cup, I decide to drive into town for supplies. I’ll stretch a canvas and spend the afternoon lost in a sea of acrylics, capturing as much of this gorgeousness as I can. The Indian blanket itches as I pull it tighter around my shoulders. I sip the hot, dark liquid and close my eyes, imagining how it will look—bold colors and strong lines, fierce as the landscape.

With a start my eyes blink open as the heavy metal gate groans. Six horses burst through it at different speeds, some trotting, others loping. Their pungent, earthy scent fills the air as they spread out in the enclosed pen. I watch them toss their heads in the cool morning air, stamping their hooves, and admiration warms my chest. They’re mystical and gorgeous, especially Freckles, the Appaloosa. Her white-grey coat is speckled with black dots, and her mane is jet-black over her pale face. She looks like a ghost, and she’s just as flighty and unpredictable as one.

She’s the spirited mare who got Stuart and me together the first time I was here. If she hadn’t tried to kick me, he wouldn’t have put himself between me and her hooves, but I don’t hold it against her. It was just the push he needed. I’m not sure my stubborn cowboy would have ever lowered his guard enough to let me in without her help.

Dakota and Cheyenne jog past. They’re large, chocolate-brown, and so gentle a child could ride them. Ranger is the brown and white Paint Stuart prefers. He loves to run. Scout is the Palomino.

Just then a smaller grey Appaloosa glides across the yard, nickering and tossing her black mane as if she’s offended. My eyes widen—she’s new and I love her on sight! I watch as she scoots in beside Freckles. It must be her foal.

“You know I don’t like waking up alone.” Strong arms surround me, and Stuart kisses the back of my neck.

“Mm,” I melt into his firm chest. “Is that an indirect order, soldier?” I tease.

“Yes.” He nips my earlobe, and a little thrill makes my shoulders jump.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, turning to face him. “I wanted to be outside and watch the sun rise.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night.”

The wind pushes through the yard in a strong gust, and I clutch my coffee cup and the blanket tighter. Tall and slim, the lines of his muscled arms show through the grey Henley he’s wearing.

“Hey!” I cry. “You’ve been in my suitcase! That’s mine!”

He only laughs. “You stole my favorite shirt. I stole it back.”

“It’s my favorite shirt now.” Pressing my face straight into his sternum, I take a deep breath. “It smells the most like you.”

His arms are around me and the morning chill is lost in the warmth of my love for this man. Another burst of wind hits me from behind, sending my long hair swirling into my face in chestnut ribbons.

Stuart catches one side holding it back. “We’re moving in together. You can stop stealing my clothes.”

A tingle of joy moves through my stomach… At least I think it’s joy. I recently found out it could be something else, but for the moment it’s still my little secret—and I’m about to die waiting to tell it! One more doctor’s visit, and I’ll be ready. I want everything to be certain before I share my amazing news.

As my mind travels, concern fills his eyes. “What was your dream about?”

Images of dark alleys, panic, and those terrible whispers return to my mind, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. It didn’t make any sense.”

“You haven’t had nightmares in a long time.”

“Not since the fire in the desert.” Our eyes meet, and I touch his cheek.

My nightmares of his injury while serving in Afghanistan, of the explosions and the carnage, of him being dragged away while his partner was left to die on the sand flood my mind. They were the reason I came here to find him when I barely even knew his name. It was the only time I’d ever dreamed about someone besides myself.

We’re quiet a moment as he studies my face. “If you figure it out, you know you can talk to me.”

“That’s the problem. I never figure it out until it’s too late.” My teeth clench, and I blink away from his gaze. He’s still serious, but I don’t want to think about my dreams. I don’t want them spoiling our waking hours.

I turn to face the yard again, and a shrill whinny draws my attention. The cute little gray horse is prancing across the grass with Freckles. I watch as she rears her dark head. Right in the center is a bright white circle like a moon.

“Who is she?”

Stuart steps beside me to the fence, looking over at her. “Seems Freckles had a lost weekend.”

Wrinkling my nose, I can’t help laughing. “Lost weekend?”

“She ran away, and Bill thinks she must’ve hooked up with a wild mustang. All his males are geldings.”

“So she’s a year old?” I watch as the small horse ventures closer to where we are, only to toss her head and run back across the yard.

“About.” He crosses the fence and steps into the pen, making a clicking sound as he approaches her.

“Will Bill keep her?”

“He hasn’t decided yet. Either way, she needs to be broken before he can sell her.”

She watches him approach, feet planted. Stuart’s faded jeans are slung low on his hips, and I lean my head to the side, resting my cheek against my hand as I watch my sexy cowboy work.

“You can do it,” I say as he gently touches her head. “She already trusts you.”

The small horse’s muscles tense as his hand moves to her neck, but she allows him to stroke the fur under her mane. As he gets closer to her body, though, her front hooves do a skippy-dance, and she darts away.

“Bill’s been working with her some,” he says, walking back to where I stand. He glances at the little filly trotting around the yard, finding her way back to her mother.

“I wish I could work with her.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t answer me. His lips twitch, and he studies me briefly before nodding. “I could teach you. While we’re here at least.”

“Stuart! Would you? I would love that so much!” I’m squealing as I bounce on my toes, trying not to spill my coffee.

“Let me talk to Bill, make sure he doesn’t have other plans for her. If he says it’s okay, I’ll get you started.”

“Oh my god! It’s going to be so much fun!”

“It’s serious business.” His expression grows stern. “You have to be calm. The way we handle her sets her up for future interactions with riders, and Bill’s already worried she’ll be flighty.”

“Like Freckles.” I stop bouncing immediately and force my cheeks to stop smiling. “I’ll be very calm. No emotion.”

He swings a leg over the fence and drops down beside me. “Emotions are okay, just remember you’re the boss.”

I level my gaze at the horse, doing my best to imitate his expression. “Right. I’m the boss.” My eyes slide to him. “Does this boss thing also work on you?”

That makes him grin, and he puts his arm across my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Walking away, the bounce is back in my step. “I’ve never had a horse before. Can I name her?”

“She’s not really yours.”

“I know, but it’s like she’s mine… if I’m training her.”

“Not really.”

“Stop being a party pooper!” Another gust of wind sends my hair flying around us.

Stuart glances down at me, and the green in his hazel eyes twinkles through the brown. “What would you name her?”

“Jessie.”

“Is that significant somehow?”

“My mother’s name was Jacinda.” My heart warms as I think of another possible use for her name.

He nods, “Then Jessie it is.”

Ron has arrived when I return to the barn after breakfast. He’s my uncle’s only ranch hand, and like Winona, he came with the place. As such, I’ve known him since I was a kid.

He greets me with a familiar pat on the shoulder, and I see his formerly jet-black hair is now heavily streaked with grey. Just then Bill walks through the paddock, making his way to where Jessie is corralled beside Freckles.

I watch him go and notice a hitch in his stride. Sylvia’s words are on my mind,
He’s not as young as he used to be.
At some point he’s either going to have to sell this place or give it to one of us.

As if reading my mind, he lets out a mellow growl. “Damnedest thing about getting old…” He passes a hand over his thick grey mustache, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What?” I follow to where he’s watching Jessie stamp around on fresh hay.

“Starting over with a new colt feels like a shit-ton of work to do. Getting bit, getting thrown… Hell,” he sighs. “I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

Looking over his shoulder, I watch the little filly at the back of the stall. She’s feisty like her mother, itching to run and full of spirit. At the same time, she’s a beautiful horse. She’d bring a decent price if she were trained and sold.

I rest my forearms on the top rail beside him. “Mariska wants to learn to train a horse. She’s got her eye on this one.”

“That so?” He steps back, and somehow I get the feeling he knew what I was going to say before I started.

“I said I’d teach her the ropes. Unless you’ve got other plans for her.”

“Mariska?”

My eyes narrow. “The filly.”

He slaps my shoulder and laughs. “I think Mariska would make a fine horsewoman. It would save me a lot of trouble, too. Have at it.”

Turning my attention to the colt, I make a clicking noise with my mouth. She shakes her head but doesn’t try to get away. Bill steps up beside me and rests his arms on the stall door. His collar-length grey hair is thick and swept back from his face, and a tan Stetson is on his head.

“You’re planning to stay through the summer?” he asks.

Looking down, I think about the right answer. My mother guilt-tripped me into coming here on the premise that my uncle needed my help running the place. Mariska is out of school for the summer, and my business partners are relaxed enough to let me take an extended vacation. It helps that one is my younger brother Patrick and the other is my former commanding officer Derek Alexander.

“We’ll stay a few weeks,” I finally reply. “As long as you need me.”

He nods and pushes off the door. “I got a meeting in town with Evan Robertson this evening. He wants to discuss grazing fees for letting his cattle on our land. Feel like tagging along?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, he heads toward the door. One thing my uncle and I have in common, we don’t waste words. I study the horse a few minutes longer, a smile nudging at my lips when I remember how excited Mariska got about the idea of training her. She bounced up and down like a little kid with a new toy. Only she’s not a kid. She’s a beautiful, sexy woman, and I’ve been thinking about her body all day, since I woke up alone in bed this morning.

“Play nice with my lady,” I say under my breath before turning to go.

We’ll stay for now, but I’m not moving to Great Falls. I have no intention of derailing Mariska’s studies or dragging her out here to the middle of nowhere to be a rancher’s wife. It’s a hard life she’d have to tell me she wanted first.