Ride Me Dirty (Bridgewater County 1)

“Ever been to Montana before?”

“When I was young. My uncle lived there.”

He gave a slight nod. “I run a horse ranch.”

“I pegged you for a cowboy.”

“I pegged you for a city girl.”

I glanced at my laptop and my phone. Saw my crisp white blouse and slim jeans. “Yeah, you can take the girl out of the office, but you can't take the office out of the girl. Right?”

He looked at me for a minute. “I don't know about that. Maybe you just need to try.”

I bristled at his words, then sighed. “Believe me, it’s not that easy. I've been trying my whole life.” I’d done everything the books said to do to relax. Beach vacations. Yoga. White noise machines and a monthly massage appointment. Al

l they got me was stacks of unanswered emails, a sore shoulder from too much downward dog, nightmares about buzzing insect attacks and complete mortification as a stranger rubbed lotion into my less than perfect body while pretending not to notice how utterly far from perfect it truly was.

The flight attendant brought our drinks on a tray, handed me mine, then Jack his.

I took a swig of the frosty drink and felt the alcohol sit on my tongue, then slide coolly down my throat.

“Headed to Montana to visit your uncle?” he asked, adept enough to know he needed to change topics.

“My uncle died a few months ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he murmured.

I offered a small shrug. “I was twelve the last time I saw him. My parents had some kind of falling out and we never went back.”

“Falling out?”

I took another sip of my drink. “They never told me. I asked, believe me, but they wouldn't say. Surprisingly, he left his house to me and I'm going up there to clean it out and sell.”

“It's in Bozeman then?” If this plane ever took off, we'd land there.

“No, Bridgewater. A small town about two hours away.” Was it my imagination, or did his eyes narrow at the mention of the town? I was about to ask, but the buzzing of the airplane’s intercom system drew my attention.

“Okay, folks.” The captain’s voice boomed through the overhead speaker, preventing Jack from saying more. “While you can see it's still raining, the storm's headed east and the runway's open. We're fifth in line for takeoff.”

The flight attendant came around then to collect the cups. Not wanting to waste the drink, I downed the rest in two gulps before handing it over. I had no choice but to put my laptop away since the tray table had to go up. We started to move then, slowly up the line as one plane took off after another. Quicker than I expected, we were in the air and the effects of the alcohol were kicking in. Now I was buzzing on both his scent and the vodka, and all I could think about was finding out more about this sexy cowboy.

“I never thought to ask, but are you heading home to your ranch in Montana or is it in Colorado?”

“Montana,” Jack replied. “Born and raised. I was in Denver for business. My turn.”

When I frowned in confusion, he said, “My turn to ask a question.”

“Okay. Shoot.” The alcohol was filling me with a warm fuzzy feeling and I knew I wouldn’t normally open up like this. But what the hell? I’d never see him again anyway.

“I don't see a ring. You mentioned an ex?”

“Divorced. You?”

“Never married.”

“Girlfriend?” I was dying to know and the liquor was loosening my tongue.

“No. Boyfriend?”