The Trail Boss (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #1)

Chapter 1

1

ROXIE

T he room hummed with energy, laughter bouncing off the scuffed hardwood floors and worn walls. Roxie Albright gripped the pole in the center front of the small studio, her hands steady despite the slight shake in her legs. She could fake stamina better than most. Her body might have been screaming for rest, but no one here would ever know it.

“That’s it, ladies!” she called out, her voice bright and encouraging. “Use your core, not just your arms. You’re not just spinning; you’re flying.”

“Flying, huh?” Susannah, one of her regulars, puffed as she clung to the pole for dear life. “I feel more like I’m crash-landing.”

The others laughed, and Roxie joined in, the sound coming easier than she expected. “We all start there. Trust me. The bruises are proof you’re doing it right. Show them off like battle scars.”

Susannah grinned and gave the move another try, wobbling a little less this time. Roxie clapped, the sound loud in the cramped space. “That’s it! You’ve got it. Now, one more spin and land gracefully. Own it, Susannah!”

The woman completed the move, her ponytail whipping around as she dismounted with a little hop. She flushed with pride as the others clapped for her.

“See?” Roxie said, hands on her hips. “Easy as pie.”

“Maybe for you,” another voice chimed in from the back, a middle-aged woman who had been trying the same spin for weeks without success.

“It was for me,” Roxie teased, a mischievous glint in her eye, “after about a thousand attempts. You’re closer than you think, Alice.”

As the group practiced, Roxie paced the room, adjusting stances here, correcting grips there. She threw herself into her role with practiced ease, each word of encouragement a small defiance against the load she carried. These women didn’t need to know about the late nights, the bills piling up, or the way her body ached in places she hadn’t realized could hurt. She’d built this class to be a sanctuary—for them and for herself.

When the hour ended, Roxie gathered the group into a loose circle, handing out bottles of water. “Great job today. Remember, the pole doesn’t care if you’re strong or weak, experienced or new. It just wants you to show up.”

“That’s deep,” Susannah joked, but her smile said she appreciated it.

“It’s true,” Roxie replied with a grin. “I’ll see you all next week.”

One by one, her students filed out, their chatter fading as the door shut behind them. The silence was deafening, but Roxie welcomed it, letting out a long, slow breath. She leaned against the nearest pole, closing her eyes before peeling herself away and heading to the corner of the room where her bag waited.

Her notebook was there, tucked between a half-empty water bottle and a spare towel. Roxie pulled it out, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the cover. She flipped to a blank page and stared at it, the emptiness both inviting and daunting.

The words she’d scribbled the night before sat in her mind, fragments of a story that felt almost like a lifeline. A hero. A woman who didn’t need saving but found love anyway. A world far removed from this one.

Her pen hovered above the page, but her thoughts refused to settle. Instead, they circled back to a name she tried not to think about. Jeremiah. His face was still sharp in her memory, even though he’d been gone for over two years. The accident had taken him, but it was his parents who had finished the job—ruining what little stability she’d had left. She closed her eyes and let the past roll over her once more.

Two Years Ago

The hum of the tires on the highway was steady, almost hypnotic, as Roxie stared out the passenger window into the inky black night. The faint smell of whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the artificial scent of the pine-scented air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Jeremiah’s voice broke through the silence, slightly slurred but still tinged with his usual bravado.

“Relax, Rox,” he said, one hand loosely gripping the wheel while the other reached for the stereo dial. “I’m fine. It was just a couple of drinks. I can handle this.”

Roxie’s stomach churned, her nerves stretched tight. “You’re swerving, Jeremiah,” she said, her voice sharp with worry. “Maybe we should pull over and...”

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped, his words sharper now, his knuckles whitening on the wheel.

Her heart pounded as she gripped the door handle, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. The yellow lines on the road blurred under the SUV’s erratic movements, and a knot of fear twisted tighter in her gut.

The headlights of an oncoming semi loomed ahead, growing brighter by the second. Roxie’s breath caught. “Jeremiah, watch out!”

But it was too late.

The impact was deafening—a bone-shaking explosion of metal and glass. Roxie’s world turned into a chaotic blur of screeching tires, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of steel collapsing in on itself. The SUV spun violently, her body slamming against the seatbelt as they careened off the road.

Her scream was torn from her throat as the vehicle hit the embankment, flipping once, twice, before the momentum launched her from her seat. The seatbelt gave way, and she was weightless for a moment before pain exploded through her as she hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop in the cold, damp grass.

For a moment, the world was silent except for the ringing in her ears. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, every muscle screaming in protest. Blood trickled down her temple, the metallic taste of it lingering on her lips.

“Jeremiah,” she croaked, her voice raw.

She turned her head toward the crumpled wreckage of the SUV. The vehicle had come to rest on its side, its twisted frame illuminated by the flickering beam of a broken headlight. Inside, Jeremiah was slumped over the steering wheel, motionless.

“No!” she screamed, dragging herself forward despite the stabbing pain in her ribs and the sharp ache in her legs. Her hands clawed at the grass and dirt, her body protesting every inch as she crawled toward him.

“Jeremiah!” she cried again, her voice hoarse.

Her vision blurred with tears as she reached the shattered window. Glass bit into her palms as she reached inside, her fingers brushing against his arm. He didn’t move. His head hung limply, blood trailing down the side of his face as she felt for a pulse and found none.

“Please, no,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “Jeremiah, wake up! Please!”

The acrid smell of gasoline filled her nostrils, sharp and suffocating. A faint hiss reached her ears, and her heart sank. She turned her head just in time to see a spark ignite beneath the crumpled hood.

“Jeremiah, I can’t...” She choked on her words, her voice breaking as panic surged through her. She tried to pull herself closer, to grab him, to do something.

But then, the spark became a flame.

The fire spread quickly, licking up the side of the SUV, its heat scorching the air. Roxie’s hands trembled as she tried to hold on, but the realization hit her like a punch to the gut—she wouldn’t make it in time.

“No!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. She pushed herself back, crawling frantically away from the vehicle as the flames roared to life.

Just as she reached the edge of the embankment, the explosion tore through the night. The force of it knocked her onto her back, the heat searing against her skin as fiery debris rained down around her.

Roxie lay there, gasping for breath, her vision filled with the bright, hellish glow of the burning wreckage. Her chest heaved with sobs as she turned her face away, her body trembling violently.

“Jeremiah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

As the fire consumed what was left of the SUV, Roxie’s tears blurred her vision, the pain in her chest threatening to suffocate her. She had reached for him, she had tried—but it hadn’t been enough.

And as the weight of what had happened crashed down on her, she realized nothing would ever be the same again.

Present Day

“Focus,” she muttered under her breath, forcing her attention back to the notebook and to the here and now. There was nothing to be done about what had happened. She could only continue to move forward one step at a time.

The words began to come in short bursts, images of a sprawling ranch, a brooding cowboy, and a heroine with a heart full of fire. She wrote furiously, her pen scratching against the paper, until her wrist ached, and the world of her imagination felt just a little closer.

The sudden creak of a floorboard startled her. Roxie’s head snapped up, her pulse quickening. The room was empty, of course, but the fleeting sense of unease lingered. Shaking it off, she tucked the notebook back into her bag.

She stood in the center of the studio, her reflection staring back from the tarnished mirror. “You’ve survived worse,” she whispered to herself. “You’ll survive this, too.”

With a deep breath, Roxie grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Another long day awaited, and she had no choice but to meet it head-on.

The engine of Roxie’s ancient sedan sputtered as she turned onto the narrow back road that led to the Iron Spur. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the glow of the city in her rearview mirror. She adjusted her grip on the wheel, her knuckles white against the cracked leather. The road was quiet—almost too quiet—and she felt her muscles tighten as her thoughts wandered.

The rain. She remembered how it had slicked the pavement that night, how the headlights of oncoming cars had streaked into a blur as Jeremiah muttered something she couldn’t quite hear.

“Jeremiah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. Her grip on the wheel tightened further as the memory crept closer.

The screech of tires. The deafening crash. The way the car had spun, her body yanked violently by the seatbelt. And then silence.

Roxie shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She drew in a deep breath, focusing on the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her tires as she turned into the small parking lot behind the club. Relief washed over her as she pulled into her usual spot near the back door. The memory faded, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

“Get it together,” she muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stepped out of the car. The cool evening air nipped at her skin, but she ignored it, her boots clicking softly on the pavement as she made her way inside.

The employee lounge of the Iron Spur was as unremarkable as always: a small room with lockers along one wall and a couple of comfy chairs clustered near a state-of-the-art pod coffeemaker. The assortment and variety of pods from which to choose always made her smile. The employees might not be among the club’s elite patrons, but the owners made sure they felt appreciated. Roxie walked in, nodding at another bartender she passed on her way to her locker.

“Hey, Roxie,” the woman said with a smile. “Busy night ahead.”

“Isn’t it always?” Roxie replied, managing a small smile in return. She opened her locker and quickly changed into her uniform— a corseted black peasant style shirt, black leather pants, low-heeled black ankle boots and a black half apron with the Iron Spur logo and pockets on either side—that managed to look professional and alluring at the same time.

Once dressed, she grabbed her notepad and pen, tucking them into her apron pocket. The mirror above the sink caught her eye, and she paused, brushing a few strands of hair back into place. She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her sometimes. Jeremiah had liked her hair long and blonde. Her first act of reclaiming her life had been to cut it into a short, stylish, spiky cut and let the natural dark color return.

When she stepped into the main lounge, the music greeted her first—a low, pulsing beat that seemed to reverberate through the walls. The room was dimly lit, with warm amber lights casting a seductive glow over the polished bar and the plush leather furniture scattered throughout. Conversations hummed softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

Roxie made her way behind the bar, her steps purposeful but careful to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. The club’s clientele—exclusive, wealthy, and often private—preferred discretion. And so did she.

“Roxie, you’re on the middle tonight,” the head bartender, a tall man with a booming voice named Bones—for his ability to break them—said as he passed her a tray. “You good?”

“Always,” she said, flashing him a confident smile. She was confident. It just seemed that tonight her normal confidence was being undermined by memories of the crash and her exhaustion.

The night began as it always did—orders for cocktails and top-shelf whiskey, the occasional flirtatious glance that Roxie skillfully deflected. She kept her head down, focused on the rhythm of pouring, shaking, and serving. The work was repetitive but grounding in its own way.

“Did you hear about Vanessa?”

The words drifted toward Roxie from a nearby booth as she wiped down the counter. Her ears perked up despite herself. Two women sat huddled together, their voices low but animated.

“The one who wears all the lace?” one asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“Yeah. She’s been coming here for years. Turns out she’s some big-time romance author. Like, bestsellers and all that.”

“No way. I thought she was just a lawyer or something.”

“Apparently not. And she keeps it totally hush-hush. I heard she works out of a little cabin in the Hill Country, cranking out these steamy novels. Makes a killing, too.”

Roxie froze, her hand tightening around the rag she was holding. A romance author? Here? The thought sent a flicker of hope through her chest, quick and bright. She glanced toward the booth but caught herself, forcing her gaze back to the bar. She didn’t need anyone noticing her eavesdropping.

Still, the idea stuck. Someone had made it. Someone who might understand the stories Roxie scribbled in her notebook late at night, the ones she barely had the courage to share even with herself.

That burst of hope gave her added energy and her heart felt lighter as she worked her way through the rest of her shift, though she kept her excitement tucked away behind her usual composed demeanor. The night wore on, but somehow, her spirit had been renewed. If someone else could make it, maybe she could too.

By the time Roxie locked up her locker and stepped into the night, the parking lot was eerily quiet. The faint glow of a streetlamp cast long shadows over the rows of cars, and the hum of cicadas filled the air. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she headed for her car, the sharp crunch of her boots echoing through the gravel.

Halfway to her car, a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the empty lot, but nothing seemed out of place.

“Get over yourself. You’re just tired,” she whispered to herself, quickening her pace.

Still, the feeling didn’t leave her. By the time she slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors, her heart was pounding harder than she cared to admit. She shook her head and started the engine, forcing a laugh as she pulled out of the lot.

“Too much caffeine, not enough sleep,” she muttered, willing the unease to fade as she drove toward home.

But no matter how hard she tried, the sensation of being watched lingered, settling into her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake.