Cowgirls
OLLIE
DECEMBER
You know how when someone is doing something they’re super passionate about or, like, something they really, really love, how they sort of…I don’t know, glow?
That was the Mooney men when it came to cowboying. Honestly, it was the same for Ryder and Maverick as well. I’d almost lump Hux in there too, but everyone knew that the real thing that made him shine was Quinn.
Working cattle, though, riding horses, roping, and shooting the shit…
this was what truly made these men sparkle.
And none were brighter, louder, and more obnoxiously fucking brilliant than Cash.
His million-dollar smile stretched from ear to ear as he rolled up his rope coils after yet another good catch.
He hadn’t missed a single one today. The fucker.
I bit back an eye roll even as I admired him behind my sunglasses. He was such a damn golden retriever. Happy with the simplest things.
Before meeting him, I’d have said he wasn’t my type. I typically went for…well, I went for guys like Maverick, Hux, Bad even. Grumpy, broody, a bit tragic, and closed off.
Care-free, easy-going, and ungodly cocky definitely wasn’t my usual cup of tea.
But Cash Mooney was more like a shot of a really good whiskey.
One that you weren’t expecting to go down so smooth and left you wanting more.
But as enticing as he was, it also made him ridiculously dangerous.
He was the kind of whiskey that you could shoot all night, until out of nowhere he swooped in and knocked you on your ass.
I bet the hangover from him was going to be killer.
Good thing we’re just friends, right?
Right.
Only we’d blown past that stop at the train station a long time ago. And after Tuesday night…that little proclamation from him? I know it didn’t really change anything, we still were just enjoying the moment, there was nothing exclusive about us. But things felt different.
So why hadn’t I left?
I’d run for far less in the past. Was I just a glutton for punishment? A masochist? Did I like causing myself pain and discomfort?
Because when I left Thousand Trails, Texas—and I would eventually leave—the loss of him in my life was going to hurt like a motherfucker.
Enough of that. No more pity parties. No more dwelling on emotions. What had Cash said the other night? “All I want, all I care about is right here and right now. This very moment.”
He wanted exactly what I wanted. We could go on doing the same thing. Playing the same game. Nothing had to change, unless I let it. I just needed to stop being an emotional little bitch.
Brushing the thought away, I watched him from my spot atop my mare—Nesta.
Her real name was some play on Nestle or something like that—I don’t know, papered horse names were weird, but she didn’t seem like a Nestle type of gal.
She was prickly, touchy, and a bit hot, but, man, was she fierce and fast, and we surprisingly got along pretty well.
Hux and I found her on one of our quests to get good horses for the therapy program.
Well, I’d thought that’s what we were doing, apparently she was one of his dad’s roping horses.
He’d told me if I was going to rope, I needed a good horse.
We’d made an agreement that a part of my wages would go toward paying her off.
“Hey!” Cash shouted from his horse, Playboy. “I know I’m sexy as hell, but are you gonna actually use that rope of yours or just keep fuckin’ me with your eyes all day?”
Ryder groaned from his spot on his horse beside me and glanced at Cason. “Please don’t repeat anythin’ your Funcle Cash says, okay, bud?”
Cason agreed whole-heatedly, because, of course, he did. The kid was so sweet and innocent and just…good. He was a real life cinnamon roll if there ever was one.
I nudged Nesta forward and made my way toward Cash, talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “I just didn’t want to have to embarrass you in front of the kid, but looks like you’re a glutton for punishment.”
Cash shook his head, a panty-dropping grin slicing his face. Ugh, why the hell did he have to be so goddamn attractive? It wasn’t fair, like, it should be illegal or something. No one had the right to be so hot. “Get your sexy little ass in the box and do some work, sugar.”
I brought Nesta to a halt and leaned in toward him. Hooking a finger under his chin, I said in a low, sultry tone, “Or you’ll what, Big Daddy?” I hummed. “You aren’t gonna do shit about it.”
He bit his lip, raking his teeth over it slowly. And damn, but I wished he was biting me instead. I was still all hot and bothered from that almost hookup we’d had on the side of the barn, and the want, the need to touch him still roared in my veins. “We’ll see about that.”
I grinned. “I doubt it.”
He rolled his shoulders, a huff of laughter escaping him. “Just get in the damn box, sugar,” he murmured.
I shivered at the warning in his tone. One of the other dangerous, yet terribly sexy things about Cash Mooney was his ability to go from complete golden boy to hot and dominating in the span of seconds. You never knew what side of him you were going to get.
Maverick’s deep, booming voice carried over the breeze as he strode up to us atop his behemoth of a mare, Black Betty.
She still had a bit of scarring from the fire, but by some miracle, the hellbeast was okay.
She made Nesta seem like a calm, demure little thing with how utterly psychotic and bitchy she was.
It was interesting how opposite she was to her owner.
“Look as much as we all love watchin’ Cash get a taste of his own medicine, we got other things to do today than listen to y’all word fuck each other. Let’s just call it, so you two can fuck. Both of y’all are worse than fuckin jack rabbits in heat.”
I grinned. Maverick didn’t usually talk much. Didn’t feed into mine or Cash’s antics, but every now and then he said something that made me laugh. “Sounds like you’re the one who needs to blow off some steam and get laid, Mavvie,” I replied with a wink.
His head fell back for a moment, his shoulders quaking in what I assumed was silent laughter.
When he finally pegged me with a stare, a small smile lurked in the corners of his perpetual scowl.
“Fucking hell, Now I gotta deal with two of y’all.
” He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or him. ”
I flashed him a wide grin. “I’m offended. I’m funnier and prettier than Cash. Which makes me worse.”
A chuckle worked its way out of him this time. “Get in the damn box.”
I grinned. “Sure thing, grumpy gills.”
I rode Nesta over towards the cow chute that Bad was working and the box beside it.
And, no, I don’t mean a literal box. The large oval arena had two matching spots on each side of the cow chute that broke the curvature of the fencing—twin recessed areas that had three sides facing toward the other end of the arena.
A box for heading and a box for heeling.
I hadn’t learned to heel yet. It’s what Maverick did, and it sounded exactly like what it was.
You threw the rope around the heels of the steer’s back feet.
It looked hard as hell, though. Heading—trying to rope the damn horns, and what Cash made look ridiculously fucking easy—was already stressful enough.
But women didn’t team rope, typically. They did breakaway, which was where they let out a steer so that it ran straight down the arena.
All I had to do was chase after it and rope it as quick as possible.
Easy, right? Yeah, think again.
A rush of adrenaline sizzled to life in my bloodstream, a spark of answering excitement settling into my very bones as I backed Nesta up to the back corner of the heading box on the left side of the chute.
Nesta pranced and tossed her head, her excitement matching my own.
She loved this about as much as I did. Maybe even more.
The first time I’d come out of the box, I’d almost gotten left in a cloud of dust. She tore after the dummy steer Bad dragged through the arena on an ATV like a tidal wave racing towards the shore.
More like a bat outta hell. It was much a more fitting analogy for my sometimes sweet, but generally a bit spicy mare.
Her muscles tightened and flexed beneath me as I situated the rope coils in my left hand and built my loop in the other.
“We got this, girl,” I said on an exhale. Bad managed to get a steer in the chute and its body clanged against the metal to my right.
Bad met my gaze. “Your last time was 4.1. Think you can do better?”
I rolled out my neck and adjusted the grip on my rope. “We’re about to find out.”
Forcing slow, even breaths into my lungs, everything else sort of faded away—the cow mooing and shifting in the chute, the boys shooting the shit further down in the arena, the music playing from Cash’s wireless speaker.
It’s like this wave of laser focus washed over me, so that all I cared about, all I needed to worry about was me, Nesta, and the steer in the chute.
Bad’s voice sounded warped and far away, but the single word was clear enough. “Ready?”
I let out a final, slow breath and nodded.
The chute opened with a loud crash, and then the steer tore off down the arena.
I barely even needed to tap my spurs to Nesta’s sides, she bolted from the box like a bullet from a gun.
Within four long strides we were already on top of the cow.
I swung my rope—one. Two. Three times. It sailed through the air as I let go.
And even though we were galloping down the arena, I swear, everything felt like it was going in slow motion then.
My rope slipped around the steer’s horns.
Fuck yes, a perfect catch.
I slid to a stop on Nesta, the rope going taut for just a moment before I let go of it completely. A satisfied smirk bloomed on my lips as time sped up to normal once more. Had it been fast? It sure as hell felt fast.
Ryder and Cason were trying to guide the steer back into the holding pen where the rest of the herd was. Maverick and Cash were talking amongst themselves, but when Cash’s gaze aimed my way, a serious look on his face, my short lived excitement withered away to dust.
I frowned. “Was it that bad?”
The silence lingered the entire time it took me to walk Nesta over to him, each second making me fidget with my reins more and more.
Shit. It couldn’t have been that bad. I’d been getting more consistent with my times.
And again, it felt fast. So fucking fast. But there was no denying the disappointment hanging in the slightly down-turned corners of his lips.
“That was…” he began.
I sucked in a breath, preparing myself for the lecture that was likely about to come.
I normally dealt with disappointment or anger well.
I didn’t really care what anyone thought of me, let alone had anyone in my life whose opinion of me mattered that much that I’d care what they had to say, so when I ended up fucking up and falling short it wasn’t typically a big deal.
But with Cash it was different.
I wanted his approval, his praise. It wasn’t because I wanted him to like me or I needed his affection.
It was because I respected him. He was a professional roper…
and he’d seen talent in me from watching me ride no more than twenty minutes.
Most of my life people just wrote me off as being a lost cause or a failure—I didn’t stay in one place for long, I spooked easily and ran away, I didn’t really put in any more effort than was necessary to get the job done.
But it’s like Cash had seen a lump of coal and decided there was a diamond beneath.
He’d believed in me—a hell of a lot more than I believed in myself.
The Christmas Classic coming up was more than just a chance to win $10,000. It was more than a chance to show everyone I had what it took to call myself an actual cowgirl. It was a chance to prove that Cash had good reason to believe in me. A win for me was a win for both of us.
If I could convince myself to stay.
“Stop dragging this out longer than necessary, dipshit,” I huffed, unable to hide the disappointment trembling in my tone. “Just tell me my shitty time so I—”
“2.9,” he said over me.
My words drifted off into nothingness as my heart skipped a beat, two. For a long, still moment, it’s like the world stood still.
“I’m, uh… I’m s-sorry, what?” I stammered. My brain and mouth had stopped communicating completely.
Holy shit. 2.9?
I’d shaved more than a second off my best time. I knew it had been fast, but, damn, might as well call me Ricky Bobby. Something warm trickled through me and settled in my chest. I might just be able to do this.
“Good job, sugar.” Cash’s mask of disappointment fell, washing away like mud in a rainstorm.
He truly did have an amazing smile, but this one?
There was something different about this one.
It was bright and wide and full of pride—so much fucking pride that was aimed directly at me.
I’d never had someone look at me like that.
Like I was worth something. Like I had hung the damn moon.
It should have terrified me. I needed it to terrify me, but in that moment, all I wanted was him to always look at me like this.
Fuck. I was right. Cash Mooney was a drug…and I was a goddamn addict.
I was so screwed.