Dirty-Talking Cowboy (Kinky Spurs 1)

Harper laughed, while Emma moved to the window with flowered curtains on either side. There, she discovered the cowboy with the magical touch, and now she knew who had brought her home. Shep stood in the middle of the sand ring, wearing a black T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and cowboy boots. He slapped his rope against his thigh, sending the thin, bony chestnut gelding with the white-striped face—the one that apparently had dragged her this morning—galloping around him.

When Harper finally stopped chuckling, she asked, “Is Shep still there?”

“Yep. I’m looking at him right now, working with that horse that tried to kill me.”

“Okay, awesome view for you,” Harper said, an obvious smile in her voice, “but what happened anyway?”

Emma leaned against the wall, staring at Shep waving his hands and moving the horse swiftly around the ring. Sometimes letting him run, other times changing the horse’s direction. Even from where she stood she saw all the hard curves of his body, and damn, she could vividly remember them from her dream. It was as if she had touched him for real, and her body warmed just that easily. “Early this morning,” she explained, getting away from thoughts that would get her into trouble, “this guy came by with an abused horse. He said either I took the horse or he’d shoot it, so of course I said to put it in the barn.” Because that was what Grams would have done. “I guess they found the poor thing at some farm, where it’d been treated badly. So then, of course, I felt terrible that it was inside, so I wanted to take it out to eat some grass in the back pasture. Well, the second I clipped the lead line to its halter, the damn thing charged out of the gate. That, I remember. The rest . . . it’s all kind of a blur.”

“You don’t remember Shep finding you?”

“No.”

“Man, that’s crazy. You’re so lucky that he found you, though. Who knows what could have happened.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Stupid horse. All I was trying to do was be nice to it.”

“Never again, right?”

“I. Will. Never. Go. Near. That. Damn. Horse. Again.” Lesson learned. “But oh, my God, seriously, I can’t believe out of anyone, he had to find me.” Her cheeks flushed.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Harper retorted. “In the list of terrible things that could happen to someone, there’s gotta be worse things that top the list.”

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Even she’d been through much worse, but Harper didn’t know about Jake. No one did. Emma wanted it that way.

The four years she spent at NYU majoring in marketing were now wasted. All because of her failed relationship with Jake Cadwell, the CEO of Cadwell Advertising. While the breakup had a hand in her retreating to River Rock, it was the death of her beloved Grams that kept her at the ranch where she’d spent every summer as a child. A farm where the grass was somehow greener, the air fresher, and a place where there truly wasn’t a worry in the world.

She breathed through the pain, even if her heart remained in New York City, broken, raw, and bleeding. “Listen, I should go and thank Shep. I’ll call ya later, okay?”

“Be sure you do,” Harper said.

“Bye.” Emma ended the call, tucking her phone into her hand and folding her arms, staring out the window.

Right then, down in the sand ring, Shep turned, and she noticed him looking up at the window she stood in. She stayed put, watching him a minute—this sexy man exuding passion and strength—before she turned away and went into the closet. There, she hurried into a T-shirt and yoga pants, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. God, she was bruised from head to toe, along with a couple scratches on her face, neck, and arms.

She took her time slowly moving down the stairs with the newel post, each step creaking beneath her foot. The charm of old houses, and Grams’s house was nearing a hundred years old now. She exited through the front door, passing the porch swing, and moved toward the sand ring.

The sun shone down on her, and she smiled, knowing Grams loved to spend days like these with her animals. Grams’s farm had been a sanctuary for abused animals for as long as Emma could remember. From donkeys to cows to goats to sheep, Grams always rehabilitated them and either found the animals new homes or kept them at the farm.

The devil horse took notice of Emma’s approach first, spooking forward and ending up in the corner of the ring, panting, drenched in sweat, and staring right at her. Then Shep turned and looked at her, the side of his mouth slowly curving. He gave the horse one more look before he began striding toward her, like something out of a cologne commercial.

“Hi,” she said, when he reached her at the worn oak fence.

“Hi.” He smiled back, his captivating silvery-blue eyes taking ahold of her. “You look to be in one piece.”

“Thankfully because of you, I am.” She looked down at her arm, vividly remembering when Shep slid the rope across her wrists both at the bar and in her dream. Heat began to flood her, the air between them seemingly charged. “I take it you brought me home this afternoon?” she asked.

“I did.”

“Thank you for everything. Really, I owe you so much.”

That sexy smile rose again, heating with all types of promises. “It was my pleasure, Emma.”

Good Lord, he said her name slowly, savoring each syllable, and she nearly melted into a puddle right then and there. She watched him, as he watched her, and discomfort began to slide through her. She’d had very dirty dream sex with him. She could vividly feel Dream Shep’s hands on her, his breath along her neck, his cock deep inside her. Hell, she remembered the sounds of his low groans. And yet . . . none of it had actually happened.

Luckily, he fixed the awkward pause and redirected the conversation. “So, about this horse of yours: Do you want me to put him down?”

She blinked. “You want to kill him?”