Cover Copy
A Harley and a highway are all an Iraqi war veteran needs to soothe her restless spirit—until a pit stop puts her on the front lines of love . . .
Settling down is not an option for Mackenzie Parish. Since the end of her tour of duty, the ex-Marine has been on the road, doing what she can to ease the pain of her wounded shoulder and mind. But when her money runs out, she takes a job on a Wyoming ranch—and finds herself in unfamiliar territory once more . . .
Mackenzie’s lesson number one: a horse is definitely nothing like a motorcycle. But even knee deep in manure, and saddle sores aside, Mac finds comfort in the daily routine of hard work and the great outdoors. Only her bunkmate, Hank Nash, provides an unsettling distraction. The former champion bull rider has returned home to reconnect with his estranged daughter. Yet despite his own struggles, he has the patience to show Mac the ropes, and the sweet touch to draw her out of herself—and her violent past.
But when the ranch becomes the target of violent threats, Mac will have to choose between the call of the road—and the man who has helped her feel whole again . . .
Cowgirl, Unexpectedly
Lazy S Ranch
Vicki Tharp
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2017 by Vicki Tharp
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First Electronic Edition:
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0448-2
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0448-X
First Print Edition:
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0449-9
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0449-8
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband, who always supports me in all my endeavors, no matter how crazy they may seem. I love you!
Chapter 1
The road is my addiction, an incessant quest, a burning itch I can’t quite scratch.
After a year of living on the road, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever find what I’m looking for. I just hope I’ll recognize it when I see it.
Last night, I’d slalomed my Harley through Wyoming’s windy, mountain roads, challenging my still-healing body. Now my muscles burned in my back and shoulders as I scrounged around in my saddlebags for enough money to cover my bitter coffee and butter-bathed toast from the diner.
Where had the rest of my money gone?
A breeze kicked up and I zipped my grandfather’s WWII flight jacket to fend off the post-dawn chill. Off to my right, two pickups pulled up. A late model Ford diesel with all the trimmings and a two-door jalopy with its red paint sunburned away to bare metal, a frayed bungee cord strapping down the hood.
A cowboy in a pressed western shirt and jeans climbed out of the Ford, walked around, and then leaned against the driver’s side fender of the older truck. A deep tan told tales of his time out in the sun and his boots had enough scuffing to make me believe they were more than a fashion statement.
He settled his wide-brimmed hat low on his head to cut the glare of the sun. Dirty fingerprints stained the brim, and dried sweat ringed the crown. A teenager climbed down from her truck.
“This isn’t gonna work,” the man said, before the girl’s boots even touched the ground. He didn’t raise his voice, but tension arced between them, standing the hair on my arms and stirring Dread in my belly.
Yes, Dread. With a capital D. A salty old bastard of a marine that had claimed squatting rights in the pit of my stomach like it was his own personal foxhole. He’d moved in when I’d deployed overseas. He was mean. He was nasty.
And he’d saved this woman’s life a time or two.
He also never got the message he could stand down now that I was back stateside and sometimes spotted trouble where none existed.
“We had an agreement,” the girl said. “Figures, you’d want to back out of it now.”
I tucked my head and tried to ignore them. Since I’ve been back, I’ve tried to stay out of other people’s business and keep an eye on my own six.
“This is going to be hard enough without adding conditions,” the man said. “Have you considered anyone else’s feelings? What about your grandfather? Your grandmother? Don’t you think they’ve been through enough already?”
“So this is all my fault now?” The girl’s laughter rang as hollow as a cracked bell. “Perfect. Thank you for that. I knew this meet-up was a bad idea.”
At the bottom of my second saddlebag, I found enough dirt-encrusted coins to cover my tab, but somewhere on the road, I must have lost my last two hundred dollars.
Damn.
My skin prickled with heat and itched with the need to sweat like it used to when mortar fire crept closer and closer to the base’s blast walls. I sucked in a breath of frigid air and held it until the sting abated.
So, this is it then. The end of the road.
As I stepped toward the diner, the girl yanked open her truck door. The cowboy grabbed her wrist.
“Let. Me. Go,” the teenager ground out. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
The girl didn’t struggle, but she notched her chin up. By the tremble in her upper lip, it had taken everything she had to keep her voice from cracking.
She was tall and wiry, just shy of gaining curves. A dirty red bandanna hung from the back pocket of her faded jeans, and bailing twine restrained a brunette ponytail. I liked this girl already.
“You’re gonna have to talk to me some time,” the man said. “Now’s as good a time as any, sweetheart.” If he’d shouted, I might’ve gone about my business, but something about his smooth tone and calm demeanor raised my hackles.
“Is there a problem?” I asked him even as my brain told me this wasn’t what minding my own business looked like. Further proof I was better off limiting my contact with civilians.
“No problem,” they replied in unison.
He let go of the