Rough Riders Bundle 1(books 1, 2, 3) (70 page)

Macie didn’t move outwardly, yet inwardly a small kernel of hope grew.

“I’d rather have the real you than just a half dozen static images of you looking at me like you used to. After I sobered up—”

“Sobered up?”

“Yeah, I kinda went on a bender after you left, and your dad and I rolled around in the dirt, and then Gemma kicked me off the Bar 9. My life was pretty much shit. My brothers showed up and showed me the error of my ways. Not with their fists for once, which my body is thanking them for profusely. Turns out I was wrong about them too.”

Carter finally looked her in the eye. “I destroyed the pictures, Macie. Not because you wanted me to. Because the thought of anyone ever seeing you like that, not only naked, but with your heart and soul wide open tears my heart and soul clean out of my body. The right to share that or show it doesn’t belong to anyone but you. I hope I haven’t destroyed my chances with ever getting to see it again.”

“And your art show?”

“Still happening in three days. Turns out I have more than enough pieces without the pictures of you.”

They stayed in place, watching one another.

“Macie. Talk to me. I love you.”

She studied him. “Why do you love me?”

“What?”

“You told me you loved me, but why?”

Carter stared at her, taken aback.

“Why?”

“Because you’re brave.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand. “Don’t bring up your fear of storms, darlin’. I’m talking about you bein’ brave when it comes to living your life.

“You’re a fighter. It’d be easy for you to say, ‘My father neglected me my entire childhood, so screw him.’ Instead you’re here, fighting to have a real relationship with him.

“Because you’re accepting. You don’t try to change people. You accept your dad for who he is
now
. And his feelings for Gemma never made you seriously question his feelings for you. Mostly, the accepting thing gets to me because you get me, the real me and accept me for who I am. You’ve taught me to accept myself. I’ve never thought I was worthy of the kind of love you’ve given me. And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, giving it back, times ten.”

When she still didn’t say anything he added, “And because you make the best goddamn pie I’ve ever tasted.”

Macie had never been so scared or so hopeful or so paralyzed by emotion in her life.

Carter began to walk toward her. “Be brave, Macie. Fight for me. Love me. Accept what I’m offering you. Take a chance on me.”

“Carter—” He seemed upset she hadn’t thrown herself into his arms. She put one hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Please.” His eyes searched her face. “Oh, my sweet darlin’, why do you have that horrified look?”

She whispered, “Because the person you described? That’s not me. I’m not brave. The thought of putting down roots scares me to death. Most of my life I’ve run instead of staying to fight because I’ve never had anything worth fighting for. I accept you, the real you, but will you accept me? The real me? The unsure, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants person I feel like inside every day?”

“Macie. Didn’t I just tell you—”

“Listen to me, Carter McKay. I don’t have huge ambitions besides living my life happy. I like working in a diner. I don’t aspire be a polished woman hanging off your arm at big, fancy art shows.”

Those blue, blue eyes flared anger. “I’m sorry, did I ever say I wanted or expected anything from you besides what you are?”

“No, but—”

“Did I say, ‘Macie, go to cooking school’ or ‘Study this book on the influence of cubism on 20th century art’? Hell, what kind of ambitions do you think I have? Last time I checked, darlin’, I lived in a crappy rented trailer in nowhere Wyoming, and my income is close to poverty level.

“I’ve acted more immature in the last two weeks than you have in your whole life—and why the hell am I telling you this?” He tossed up his hands. “I’m supposed to be selling you on spending your life with me, not encouraging you to run, though, now, it probably sounds like you should get as far away from me as possible.”

And then she knew. When Carter didn’t offer her flowery promises, sweet words and romantic bullshit about the perfect life they’d have together as they rode off into the sunset, she knew they’d be okay. They’d make it work. She just had to be brave and fight and take a chance on him. On them.

Macie stood on tiptoe and got right in his face. “I’ll admit, your lines have improved since the first time I met you, cowboy. But if you ever use them on another woman, I’ll kick your butt worse than my dad or your brothers ever thought of.”

Then
she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

“Thank you. Oh, Macie darlin’, I love you. I love you so damn much.” He peppered her face with kisses. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. So sorry. Thank God I didn’t lose you. Thank God.”

Carter didn’t let go of her for the longest time.

“No more nude pictures of me ever, Carter. Promise me.”

“I promise.” He smiled down at her. “Marry me.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Shouldn’t we wait and live together first?”

“No. I want my ring on your finger. I want to start the rest of our life out right. No running away when the going gets tough, for either of us. We stick together for better for worse, forever.” His eyes turned serious. “Besides, I already asked your dad if I could marry you.”

“Did he say we’re too young to settle down?”

“He said age was just a number and there are no age restrictions on when you might find true love. But most importantly, he said
yes
.”

How had she gotten so lucky to have not one, but two good men in her life?

“Want to meet the rest of the McKay family before we head home to the Bar 9?”

Home
. That sounded nice. “They’re here?”

“Yep. They fell all over themselves to be here when I told them I was taking my girl dancing.”

“You don’t dance.”

Carter twirled her in a clumsy circle and tromped on her toe. Then he stopped and cradled her face in his hands. “Macie, with you in my life, I can probably fly.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You are such a dumbass, Carter McKay. But you’re my dumbass and I love you.”

And they raced outside to dance together under the Wyoming stars, young, hopeful and wildly in love.

*

Thank you for reading the second installment in the McKay family saga! If you’re so inclined to spread the word and the love about the Rough Riders world, please leave a review at your favorite e-bookseller site.

Rough Riders, Book 3

To the rough, gruff men—and the women who love them.

‡

A
my Jo Foster
had loved Cord McKay her entire life.

It didn’t matter he was thirteen years her senior. Or he’d once dated her older sister. Or his little sister was her best friend. She fell for him hard the day she’d fallen off her horse.

That hot, dusty afternoon teased the edges of her memory. She’d been clip-clopping along on the gravel road connecting the Foster and McKay ranches when a rattler spooked her pony and bucked her off. She’d twisted her ankle on the unexpected dismount, unable to scramble away from either the angry snake or the truck barreling toward her.

Her life flashed before her eyes.

But the tires on a big Ford dually locked up and the truck skidded to a stop. A young man jumped out, swooped in and picked her up. His work-roughed hands tenderly brushed rocks from her knees and wiped the tears from her dirty face. He carried her to the passenger side of his truck, burned rubber over the snake and drove her home, keeping hold of her hand as she sobbed.

Amy Jo had a devil of a time climbing out of his rig, not because of the injury to her ankle, but mostly because she hadn’t
wanted
to get out. She remembered sitting in that truck cab, surrounded by the scent of horses, of chewing tobacco, of hay, dust and the underlying tangy aroma of his cologne, and she’d wanted to stay right there with him forever.

With his dark good looks, bold smile and gentle ways, Cord had become her ideal, her dream, her savior, her prince charming in battered cowboy boots and a sweat-stained white Stetson.

No man had ever held a candle to him.

She’d been a whopping five years old at the time.

So, Amy Jo secretly worshipped Cord McKay throughout the years. Even after he moved to Seattle. Even after he returned to Wyoming married to a floozy from the West Coast. Even after the woman birthed a son. Even after the idiot abandoned Cord and their baby Ky.

She’d especially loved Cord then because she’d ached to pick up the pieces of his broken life. To make him whole. To crack the bitter shell he’d erected around his heart. To show him real, everlasting love was worth waiting for. In her core, her heart, her very soul, Amy Jo knew she was meant to be that one special woman.

Problem was she hadn’t been a woman at the time either; she’d been a shy eighteen-year-old girl.

Too young.

The other problem was Cord hadn’t seen her beyond the clumsy blonde pig-tailed friend of his little sister. Or as a family acquaintance with a neighboring ranch. Or recently as his son’s babysitter.

That’d been the worst kind of torture. Being in Cord’s house. Hearing Ky rambling from sunup to sundown about his father. Seeing Cord’s unmade bed—one side rumpled, one side pristine. His lone coffee cup in the sink. Catching a whiff of his shaving cream as she lingered in front of the same bathroom mirror he used every day.

Seemed Amy Jo spent her life waiting for her chronological age to catch up with the age of her soul. Waiting for other people to believe she was old enough to know her own mind, even when she’d made it up at the tender age of five.

Now that she was twenty-two, she could stake her claim.

Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, she adjusted her cleavage in the skin-tight shirt the color of ripe apricots. She applied a coat of shiny pink lip-gloss. Finger combed her hair and inhaled a deep breath.

In all the hours she’d fantasized about Cord McKay, he’d never really noticed her.

Come hell or high water, Amy Jo would change that tonight.

‡

C
ord McKay scowled
at his beer. He scowled at everyone in the whole damn bar. Why had he come here?

Right. No reason to be home, sitting alone, wondering what the hell to do with himself. Couldn’t do chores at night or else he’d be doing that. He’d rattled around the empty house for the last two days at loose ends.

Earlier, when he’d slipped on a Matchbox car and nearly fell on his ass, he’d automatically yelled, “Ky, come down here right now and pick this up…” The silence hit him like a load of hay bales. His son wasn’t there. Ky wouldn’t be around for another forty-two days.

Not that Cord was counting or anything.

The band struck up a cover of George Strait’s “All My Exes Live In Texas” and boots thumped as dancers crowded the tiny wooden dance floor.

Cord upended his beer and tugged his Stetson down his forehead a notch. His ex didn’t live in West Texas, rather on the West Coast. The twangy tune served as a reminder of the disturbing events of the last month.