Princely Passions

Chase

"God, are they ever going to show up?" Jason asks, hooking a boot as he leans up against the horse trailer. "Finding a parking spot here in New York is fucking insane, and I'm pretty sure the meter maid is going to notice us soon. We either need to keep going or someone needs to show up."

I nod my agreement, but didn't really have much else to say. Jason's always the one to chat a lot. Me? I just like to take it all in.

Speaking of taking it in ...

I admire the ass on a girl as she goes walking by, blonde hair swinging with every step. Damn, she's fine. Are all New York girls that fucking hot? I'm never leaving New York if that's the case.

I just start to look back at Jason – never a good idea to openly leer at a girl – when something catches my eye. I look back just in time to see some guy in a black hoodie deliberately run into the back of Sexy New York Girl, jostling her purse loose, and then taking off with it.

She's running down the street, yelling her head off, and all I can think is, I can't just let that jackass steal from a lady!

So, I use the tools I have in my disposal. What else is a cowboy to do?

Meaning, I pull the ramp out with one quick move, bumping into the mass of humanity that is New York as I back up, pulling it out to set it on the ground.

"Sorry, sorry," I toss over my shoulder as people curse a blue streak. I feel bad, but I can't let that stop me. Sexy New York Girl needs me!

"What the hell are you doing?" Jason asks, bewildered, as I rip the door open to the back of the horse trailer, grab the halter of Moonshine, and back him down the ramp. I clip reins into place; if I'm going to ride bareback, I should at least have reins, and grab my coiled lasso from the hook on the inside of the horse trailer.

"I've got a girl to save," I say, maneuvering over to the side of the horse trailer so that I can use it as a step stool to get up onto him. Moonshine whinnied in alarm; he and I don't exactly ride bareback all that often, let alone in the streets of New York, but I gave him a quick pat on the neck. "Whoa, boy. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

I swing my leg over, grab the reins, and take off down the street, letting the sheer size of Moonshine do the work of clearing a path for us. Do you know how loud hooves with horseshoes on them are on concrete?

Hint: Real loud.

I squeeze my knees against Moonshine's flanks, working to keep my balance, but Moonshine of course just takes that as encouragement to gallop faster.

I whip past the girl, tossing a "I'll be back!" over my shoulder as we go thundering down the sidewalk, and finally spot black hoodie jackass. I start spinning my lasso in the air, whirling it as I judge speed and distance and wind direction and then, I let it fly.

Jackass flies to a stop at the end of the rope, his arms pinned to his side, flailing at the restrictions. He loses his balance and topples over onto his side, looking for all the world like an upside-down turtle.

I jump off Moonshine and he jerks to a stop, this part of the ride working like it always does. Usually, we're roping cattle, but today, I guess we're just roping bad guys instead. I know that Moonshine won't move an inch while I work to tie up the bad guy. I can hear people around me, either calling it into 911 or taping me on their phones, and I just know that I'm gonna hit the evening news.

Well hell, maybe more people will show up for the Madison Square Garden rodeo then, right? A bigger crowd is never a bad thing.

I trot on over to Jackass and pull the purse out of his hands.

"Slow down there, Paco," I tell him, holding my hands up toward him, trying to calm him down. "It's gonna be fine. Why don't you just sit there for a minute while the men in blue work their way over to–"

"You motherfucking asshole!" Sexy New York Girl yells, bursting into our circle.

And that's when she lets loose with the mace spray.

64

Carla

Panting, I finally catch up with Cowboy and Purse Snatcher, and damn, I can hardly breathe. I definitely need to do CrossFit more with the girls if running a couple of city blocks is kicking my ass like this.

Finally, air in my lungs, I grab my purse from the sidewalk – who, OMG, lays a Louis Vuitton down on the sidewalk? – and search frantically through it for my mace can. Gotcha!

Triumphantly, I pull it out and begin spraying it at the thief. I mean, yeah, sure, he's tied up and probs isn't going anywhere, but how can I know for su

re? And anyway, he deserves it.

The cloud rose above us as I sprayed indiscriminately, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making it hard to aim. Or see straight.