Cowboy of Her Heart Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Honor James

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-741-3

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Marie Medina

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I would like to dedicate this book to my fans. Each and every single one of you that have talked to me in the wee hours of the night, the ones that have taken time out of their day's to send me messages and chat with me. You all mean far more to me than you can possibly know.

  I also would like to dedicate this book to Stacey with Evernight Publishing. Thank you for taking a chance with me and helping me make this love story come to life.

  COWBOY OF HER HEART

  Cowboy for the Holidays, 1

  Honor James

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  February fourteenth. Valentine’s Day. A day everyone in the world celebrated with candy hearts with idiotic sayings, chocolates that were too sickly sweet, and roses of every color in the rainbow. No one was original anymore. No one put any damn thought into the day, the celebration of loving someone, or showing those people just how much they were appreciated.

  No, too many just saw it as an opportunity to smooth talk, wine and dine, and basically earn Brownie points for the year. Disgusting and exactly what was wrong with society today.

  Shaking his head at the crap that Herman, local handyman and owner of the best damned hardware store in the county, was putting in his front window. Paper hearts in white, pink, and red. Paper roses and a sticker of a box of chocolates that claimed 4 All Time XOXO. Gag.

  The holiday, like too many of them, had become commercialized. The big corporations saw it as yet another opportunity to part idiots from their money and sell them an ideal that was pure crap. The worst part was that people fell for the slick advertisements and promos of stuff to purchase to show her you care.

  If he were ever suckered into a long-term relationship with a woman, there was no fucking way he’d be sucked into that Bermuda Triangle of lies and deceptions. Birthdays and Christmas were really the only reason to give presents and go above and beyond for the one you cared about. Any other holiday, as promoted by corporate America, was bogus and useless.

  Not saying he wouldn’t show this woman, fictional though she currently was, how he felt. But he’d do it every day of their life together. She would know he appreciated her and cared for her every single day. The idea that one day out of all others was more important because of some dead Saint that got his own holiday was just plain idiotic.

  Not that he dared to say anything to Herman about it. Herman was what he and many of the other local ranchers called a romantic. The man was crazy in love with his wife, which was truly sweet in a slightly gut-turning way, and did special little things for her all the time. But, apparently, he went way above and beyond every Valentine’s Day.

  According to the story, the two had met on a Valentine’s Day many, many years ago. No one actually asked how many because he’d just give you this glare that made you feel you were about two seconds from becoming another spot of something on his worn, boot-scuffed floor. They’d argued, hated each other on sight and then ended up running into one another over and over again every day for a month.

  Both had thought the other was stalking them. But in the end, they’d gotten stuck inside a broom closet with a swollen doorframe and, when they’d come out, they’d been civil to one another. They’d begun to date, and then they fell in love, got married and had six children. They were now the proud grandparents of five with two more on the way, and great-grandparents of one.

  So, to celebrate their first Valentine’s Day, when fate had first thrown them together, they always went back to the same place they first met: Munich, Germany, of all places. They ate, drank and did other things he tried not to consider. It was a little too close to imagining what your parents did behind closed doors or when you weren’t home. Gross.

  “Sorry about that, Grant, but since I’m out of here in two days I just had to get them up.”

  Shaking his head, he offered what he hoped was an understanding smile and shrug. “It’s all right. I know you and the missus have plans to head off for your annual trip. I’m in no rush. I have to be in town for a meeting with my accountant later anyway. He’s got something coming up in April so he wants all my tax stuff super early so he can get it and all the others he does done well ahead of time,” he explained at the older man’s questioning look.

  “Ah, yes.” Herman nodded. “Now that you mention it, I remember Jonathan saying something to that effect.” Jonathan was one of Herman’s three sons, the other three obviously daughters. The man was also one of Grant’s neighbors and a fellow rancher.

  “He’s entering two of his classic cars into a car show in Vegas,” Grant said. “Thinks he might actually have a shot this year, given his biggest probable competition will be home with his wife while she gives birth.”

  “He’d better hope it’s the first born then; odds are more in his favor that way. Second or third tend to show up a bit earlier than planned. Not always, of course, but the odds are definitely there,” Herman said with a chuckle. “Ah, here it is.” Turning back to the counter, he slid the box of tools across it.

  Looking in, Grant picked up a couple and nodded. “These are great, Herman, practically as good as new,” he said with a grin. “Throw it on my tab and I’ll catch you when you get back from your trip?” He made it a question, since he didn’t know if that would be all right by the older gentleman.

  “Absolutely. You’re all caught up anyway, well, except for the sharpening.” Herman laughed. “Catch me whenever you’re around next and the shop’s open. I know you’re good for it.”

  Picking up the box, he tucked it carefully under his arm. Tipping his Stetson, he thanked him, wished him well on his vacation again, and actually managed not to flinch when Herman wished him a happy Valentine’s Day.

  Shuddering once he knew he was out of view of the shop, Grant shook his head. “Valentine’s Day, what a crock,” he muttered. Digging in his pocket, he made his way to his truck. He still had about an hour before he was meeting with Darrell, his accountant, so he’d grab a cup of coffee after he tucked the newly sharpened tools away.

  Looking up, he stalled in his tracks and did a double-take. Stunned, he stared at the very large gouge and dent in his driver side rear paneling. “Mother of God,” he whispered, with a definite hint of a whimper in there for his baby.

  Dropping the box of tools in the back of the truck, he touched the paneling and really whimpered. “Oh, Lord, who the hell did this to you, Matilda?” Looking over the rest of the truck, he spotted the note. Well, at least the asshole who couldn’t drive had the decency to leave a note. Grant hoped he’d left his name, insurance information and a phone number so Grant could track him down and tear him a new one.

  Pulling it free of the windshield wiper he flipped it open and cursed. Crushing it in his hand, he looked up the street to the quaint little boutique the culprit owned. “Jacqueline fucking Hunter, your ass is grass, girl,” he said, almost growling the words. Pushing his cowboy hat more firmly onto his head, he stormed up the street. He didn’t care if she was the town’s darling, he was going
to charbroil her sweet little ass for what she’d done to Matilda.

  Chapter Two

  Jackie had been having the worst morning of her life. Valentine’s Day was less than a week away, and she had to fend off yet another setup from one of her friends. She didn’t want to be set up, didn’t they get that? But oh, no, everyone saw her as a single woman in Texas, heaven for-freaking-bid that she remain single. So far this morning she had fended off three match-making attempts and one idiot who brought her flowers and a ring, someone she didn’t even freaking know!

  Gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white, she spoke into her truck’s Bluetooth receiver. “Listen, Marilyn. I really appreciate you trying to ensure that I don’t spend the rest of my life alone.” She was only thirty for the love of God! “But having Dale Buck come by today and ask me to marry him? That was low,” she said.

  “He did what?” The woman’s voice came through the phone, shock evident. “I’m gonna beat that boy with a horse whip,” she muttered.

  “He did,” Jackie said as she whipped into a parking space and then groaned. Of freaking course! Of course, Grant, too freaking hunky for his own good, Franklyn was there, parked in the only spot open on the street near her shop. “Gotta go, Marilyn. Please, please tell your bridge partners, players, whatever they are, that I’m over the being set up. I can find my own love interests, thank you very much.” She turned off the truck and added, “Gotta go. Dawn Merlot is stopping by today for color and cut and you know how she is if I’m not on time.” Without waiting another moment, she disconnected the phone.

  Tapping her forehead on her steering wheel, she sighed and shook her head. “God bless America,” she grumbled as she opened the door, and in her frustration, flung it open far harder than she had intended to. “Crap on a freaking cracker,” she said as she heard the distinctive crunch of metal on metal. “Son of a bitch, he’s going to have a kitten.” Everyone and their brothers knew that Grant Franklyn thought more of Matilda than any other thing in the world, even if she was a freaking truck.

  Grabbing a notepad, she wrote a quick note and stuck it under the windshield wiper and ran for her shop. She was ever so hopeful that he would just let it go since it was her. Another thing everyone and their brother knew was that she was his least favorite being in the entire world. The word hate often came up when people linked their names together. She bet the bridge crew that was trying to set her up would have heart attacks if they knew she had the hots for the ranch owner. Yep. Best to keep the word hate between them or someone would try to get the two of them together, and that was something she didn’t want. Not that she didn’t want him, but she didn’t want him to be forced. Yep, she was a weirdo.

  After getting everything set up, she greeted Dawn as she entered, and the woman immediately began to gush the latest gossip, to which Jackie gave the necessary nods and sounds of agreement. Yeah, wonderful.

  Jackie paused and looked at Dawn. "Hold the phone, sugar. Mind repeating that last bit there?” she asked with a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had to have heard wrong, prayed she had heard wrong.

  “I was just saying that everyone is trying to figure out why you aren’t married yet. The only thing anyone has been able to come up with so far is that maybe you’re gay. It’s okay. We will still love you, but don’t be surprised if some of the older women don’t come back to your shop. You know,” she leaned in and whispered, “The older ones that aren’t as hip with today’s young people.”

  Her temper was simmering and getting ready to boil. She was ready to cuss those old bitches out, and if she did, her momma would roll in her grave. So instead Jackie counted backwards from ten, in Latin. When she was a little calmer, she politely said, “And I keep telling everyone that my love life is none of their concern. Please make sure to pass that around?”

  Pulling off her gloves, Jackie finished the styling for Dawn and then groaned when none other than Grant freaking Franklyn walked into her salon. “Hang on a sec, Sug,” she said and patted Dawn’s shoulder. Walking toward Grant, she asked, “Can I help you, Mr. Franklyn?”

  Chapter Three

  He was staring at her, hard. If looks could kill, she’d be a pile of goo, no, not even that. She’d be a skid mark on her wonderfully polished floors. His pale grey eyes with the black hair that fell over his tanned forehead, too damned fine, and he knew it. Square, chiseled jaw, slightly crooked nose and cheekbones that most women would beg, steal, and kill for. Course, he wasn’t looking so hot right then, not with the color riding those spectacular cheekbones. Oh, all right, he was damned hot.

  “Yes, Ms. Hunter,” he said. His eyes darted to where Dawn was sitting, and his voice lowered more. “I saw the crater you left in my truck and got your quaint little note. Care to explain just how you managed to create so much damage in the mere seconds you likely were parked in the spot?”

  Damn the man for looking at her with his too-perfect grey eyes. Closing her own chocolate brown eyes, she pushed her too long and thick chestnut hair back, took a deep breath, and looked at him again. “I’m sorry, but really, if you weren’t parked in the other parking space I wouldn’t have damaged your precious vehicle. Because if you will look, Mr. Franklyn, you will see that your precious Matilda is more than a foot over the line into the next space. So, really, this is your fault.” So, maybe not the brightest thing to say, but she was seriously unhappy with him. Dammit.

  The lines of his jaw got sharper, and was that a growl? His eyes narrowed more. “It likely escaped your notice, since you decided that the spot you were going to park in would fit your vehicle, but there is a large truck on the other side of mine, not in its spot. As are the other six vehicles down the line. And yet, in your infinite wisdom, you still chose to squeeze into a spot you knew was too small, instead of finding another, and opened your door. You made that choice, and you will be getting the bill for the repairs, Ms. Hunter.” The way he said her name led her to believe that he was envisioning her very bloody demise.

  “Why do you think I left you the note?” She stepped in closer to him, poking her finger into his chest. “I could just as easily have walked away without leaving one because God only knows that you don’t pay enough attention to anyone other than your ranch and your precious truck.” She didn’t know why she was so bloody angry. Maybe it was because of only a moment ago being called a lesbian by another busy-body asstwat, but who knew.

  He swatted her hand away. “It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out it was you, Ms. Hunter. No one else would drive a hybrid in ranching country.” He was glaring at her, had even tipped his Stetson back so his eyes weren’t as shadowed, pretty, pretty eyes. “I pay attention to my ranch because it’s my livelihood and the livelihood of everyone working for me. As I didn’t realize it was a crime to ensure my business ran smoothly, you’ll just have to forgive me for not giving a damn about your opinion on the subject. As for the truck.” His jaw had a tic going, and some scruff too, interesting. “My father gave me that truck two weeks before he passed. You’ll excuse me if I baby it just a little. It’s all I have of the man besides the land I slave on, day in and day out.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her anger was deflated that quickly. “I told you that I will pay for it. I left the note so that you would know where to come so that we can discuss it. As for my hybrid,” she said with a shrug. “Is it so wrong to want to be better for the environment than our parents were? I might seem brainless to you, but I assure you I’m not.” Just because she had been Miss Teen USA, and then Ms. Texas later in her twenties, didn’t mean she was stupid. One of the many things she had learned was that even one person changing from a gas-guzzling, nature-polluting vehicle to a hybrid vehicle could make an impact. Yeah. Wonderful.

  “Never said you were brainless,” he said. He pulled off his Stetson and shoved his fingers through the thick, wavy hair before slamming the hat back down. “Forget it.” He shook his head and moved to the door. “Just forget it,
” he muttered and proceeded to slam out of her shop.

  “Blasted damn man,” Jackie said under her breath, moving away from the counter and turning back to Dawn, who was looking at her, and the retreating back of Grant, with intense interest. She could almost see the wheels turning. Shit.

  “Now, Dawn,” she began. “Don’t you go spreading rumors.” Shit, that woman had that look on her face, the look of a woman who had some juicy gossip. Dammit.

  “I would never spread rumors,” Dawn said with a huff. Too bad the smirk on her lips said otherwise. “But I do need to ask, why in the world have you never jumped that fine hunk of Grade A Texas beef?”

  “Because I don’t sleep with people who obviously hate me,” she said, grinding the words out as she put her gloves back on. Not because she didn’t want to ruin her manicure, but because she was allergic to most of the chemicals in her own shop.

  Getting back to work, she had to suffer through Dawn’s chatter as she cut the woman’s hair and then, thankfully, sent her on her way.

  Dropping into the chair behind her desk, Jackie rubbed her temples and sighed. Damn, maybe she should take one of the ladies up on their offer to set her up on a no-strings-attached sex date. It had been far too long since she had had a lover, so maybe that would work.

  ****

  After leaving the papers with his accountant, Grant had to see his poor damaged truck again. He couldn’t believe he’d told Jacqueline Hunter about its origins. But she’d pushed him; she always pushed him, made him so damned mad, and quick too. Nobody else in the rest of Texas had ever gotten under his skin that fast.