Reckless Cowboy: A Dark Cowboy Romance (Shotgun Mafia Book 7)

1. Lara

The Bain”s Ranch

Ten years ago…

Afternoon sunlight streams through the trees lining our vast backyard. Leaves and limbs sway against a cloudless sky, stretching on until eternity. The only break in the blue horizon is the staggering peaks of the Wyoming mountains in the distance.

Fairy lights decorate the pergola over the patio, and the picnic tables beneath bear the weight of too much food and perfectly wrapped gifts in shiny silver and pink paper. The ranch is large enough to accommodate an army, and soon, the patio and backyard will be filled with friends and family. Amanda, my baby sister, deserves the biggest celebration possible. Mother and I have planned every detail.

And I deserve?—

”Grab a plate for me.” My hands go to my hips as I turn to the figure plugging in the fairy lights. ”I want to have a little something while we finish setting up.”

”Get it, yourself.” Dylan rolls his eyes and untangles streamers from his crouched position near a support beam. ”I”m not here for you to boss around.”

I snort. ”What”s the point of you even being here, then?” I flick him the bird when he glances up at me.

He stands slowly, a grin creeping onto his mouth. He wipes sweat off his forehead and steps near to my face. ”For Amanda”s birthday party.”

I arch my brow high. ”I”m not seeing a difference.”

Taunting Dylan, my next-door neighbor, is one of the best parts of any day. I have fun with the cute guy next door, who”s grown from boy to man in the blink of an eye. And I love how he tries to hide his willingness to do whatever I want when I snap my fingers. Because he always does as I say in the end.

It takes Dylan a fair amount of fake grumbling before he swaggers back to me with a plate filled with cookies, chips, assorted berries, and a cream cheese dip. ”Anything else, Your Majesty?”

Somewhere along the line, his voice has deepened from twangy chords of prepubescence to a tenor that thumbs along my bones and lights my blood.

I”ll never let him know that.

C”mon! He”s next door, Dylan. Orphan Dylan. Skinny Dylan. Not so much those things now that he”s grown, but—I shove the feelings aside, keeping eye contact as I take the plate from him and lift a succulent raspberry to my lips. ”I kind of like the sound of that.” I pop the fruit into my mouth and chew. ”You calling me Your Majesty.”

”I can think of other names,” he grumbles.

His tone is not menacing, but a fair amount of heat settles into his words. And I”m not sure why they make me shiver the way they do. ”Whatever, Dylan.”

”Maybe it”s not food you”re hungry for.” His suggestion is said in a lower tone than his usual gravel.

I scoff and reach for another raspberry. I run the berry along my lower lip before eating it. ”What”re you suggesting?”

He lifts one shoulder. ”Nothing that can be said in polite company.”

We”re the same age. I might be bossing him around, but I always notice him even when I like to believe I don”t. Of course, I see him. There”s little to miss when he stands so tall now, his dark sandy hair a long sweep over his forehead, his light-blue eyes, and the strong planes of his cheekbones. Not only has he grown into his good looks, but he gets things done. Always has.

He”s hot when he”s streaming streamers. Or when he helped lift the picnic tables for the party. His drooling over me helps, too.

”This is a conversation you should have with Parker.” Dylan”s tone is hard, and his eyes have a flinty glint.

”Parker”s not here right now,” I say offhandedly.

The flagstones are hot beneath my feet, and that”s when I notice it”s just Dylan and me on the patio. The rest of everyone who came to set up are much farther down the lawn or on the opposite side of the house near the water fountain, leaving Dylan and me very much alone.

”How is Parker, by the way?” Dylan asks smoothly.

I nudge him with my elbow, and he steps beside me, walking to the stone border wall separating the lawn from the patio. I place my plate down and use my hands to hoist myself up. His eyes are on me when I swing and sit on the wall, all bare thighs in my hot pink Lily Pulitzer dress with white horse stitching. ”Why you wanna know? You jealous?”

Dylan hurls his body beside mine, close enough to detect the heat coming off his skin.

He likes to think I don”t know how he wants me. Or how much he likes me, trying to keep his cool.

”He”s well enough. Been busy lately. Like I”ve been. Mother wants everything perfect for this party, so I”ve been preoccupied.” I glance sideways at Dylan. ”Haven”t had much time to see him as I”d like.”

”You”d think your boyfriend would be here to help you with all this. Whether he”s too busy or not.”

I scowl at him before saying, ”I”m sure he would”ve made it if he could.” Lies.

He”s right. There”s no excuse for Parker not to be here.

I”m shocked out of my thoughts by Dylan”s hand on my knee. He squeezes once in a reminder of his presence before he shifts away. ”I see why you”re riding me so hard.”

”Oh?”

”Your boy toy is MIA. You needed a fill-in,” he supplies.

I ignore him. ”Everything has to be perfect for Amanda.” I stare across the yard to where Mother works with Papa to set up the dance floor and a separate space for a live band. Then, as though she senses me watching her, my mother waves.

”Don”t you think I”d find better ways to make my boy toy help out than moving tables?” I ask lightly. ”But I have to admit… it”s a good look on you.”

Dylan”s wearing a tight white T-shirt that shows yards of golden skin and the ripples of his muscles beneath. The material stretches along broad shoulders that”ll only grow, only harden with maturity. And his jeans are fitting just right. I force myself to look away.

”At least you didn”t want me to get in my skivvies and clean the pool,” Dylan muses.

I chuckle. ”Now, that”s a sight I”d like to see.”

”You want me to play pool boy now? Or maybe tend the roses?”

Mother loves roses. She has hundreds of bushes in the landscape and even more in this afternoon”s decorations. There are orange, yellow, and pink roses everywhere. Beyond the swimming pool, the rose gardens stretch, their lush blooms and variegated foliage hiding the tennis court from view.

”We have enough gardeners for that kind of thing. But I have a feeling you”d rather push me in the pool than do any gardening,” I tease.

Dylan”s baby-blue eyes sparkle. ”Wouldn”t you like to find out?”

His gaze is so heavy that my hands go limp, and I almost drop my plate. I open my mouth to say something witty, but the words are already garbled and stuck in the back of my throat. When the sound of footsteps grows loud, I glance up.

”Taking a break?” Mother jogs up, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from her forehead with a hint of disdain and a slight grimace. She hates the heat, and she hates bugs.

”A little one,” I admit, holding my plate to her. ”Want a cookie?”

She shakes her head, and a soft wave of dark hair falls across her face from her chignon. She”s more at home in the shopping district than here, and no coaxing on Papa”s part can change it. Just like living in the country doesn”t affect her lilting French accent.

”I”m saving it for later. Although Maria has been stuck indoors cleaning. She might like some.” Mother stares down her nose at my practically untouched plate of food. ”May I?”

I nod. Mother shoots me a small smile and heads inside the house with the plate. Maria is the basic equivalent of her lady”s maid and has been having a hard time with a few issues in her personal life. So, rather than help with the party, she stays in and spot-cleans every inch of the house.

”Why do I always feel like I crawled out of a mud pit when your mom is around?” Dylan asks with an undertone.

I laugh out loud. ”Are you kidding? Try living with her. She loves her fashion. Even her pajamas are label.”

”You think she got some nice things for your sister? She probably plucked a few pieces out of her own closet for Amanda to grow into,” Dylan says.

The teasing tone is back, and I”ve never been more grateful for it, especially with my hands-free—hands that now itch to reach for him, to grab his knee the way he had mine, to feel those muscles beneath his jeans for myself.

”Nah. She”d never part with any of her pieces. Haute couture is too hard to come by out here.”

Mother hates the cattle ranch. She hates anything related to the outdoors and getting filthy. Back in time, she joined her money with Papa”s giant bank account. I know she loves him—she loves us—but that”s the only reason she stays in cattle country.

”What”d you get Amanda?” Dylan lifts my hand to his face for inspection. ”Nothing handmade, I”d guess. You”ve got these soft fingers.”

Heat creeps into my chest. ”Not handmade. I bought her a beautiful silver heart charm necklace. It”s going to look gorgeous against her skin tone. But—” I roll my eyes. ”She”ll probably hate it.” My younger sister is crazy annoying right now. ”You know how she is,” I continue when Dylan narrows his eyes. ”She”ll call it flashy. She wanted something she saw on television. Cheap plastic crap. It”s not like she”ll even play with any toys she gets today. She”s got a billion things, and she”s never satisfied. Plus… she”ll outgrow everything in a few years.”

”You”re being a little hard on her, Lara,” Dylan chides.

”Tell me I”m wrong, though. I love my sister, but we both know how she is.”

”And you dissing her makes you just as annoying.”

I purse my lips, a little stung. ”What you really think of me, I”ll never know.”

”Now that—” Dylan clears his throat. ”I think I”ve made it pretty clear.”

The blush is back, and this time, the heat creeps lower. It takes up residence in the bottom half of my abdomen, and between my legs, in a way, Parker has never managed—only Dylan, with his wit and willingness to do anything for me.

”You ready for the rodeo?” I change the subject to something closer to neutral territory. It”s better than giving in to the heat building or the clutching in my—well, you know, the hitch in my chest where my heart skips a beat at the look in Dylan”s eyes.

”Would you be ready to ride a bronc?” he tosses back.

”I”m always ready, cowboy.”

He snorts and looks me in the eyes. ”I”ve been training for this for a long time.” He stares at his hands, flexing and stretching until his knuckles crack.

Dylan is used to holding the reins and taking charge. He was bred for that kind of work.

”I”m ready. It”s never easy, though,” he admits, scooting closer. ”The horse is an extension of me at this point. He knows what to do. Now I”ve got to trust him.”

”You think you”ve practiced enough to win?” I ask.

”I think I”m better than anyone they”ve got out there.”

Cocky, confident, and strong. Except I believe him.

”If you”re so sure I”m going to lose, though, how about we make a bet? When I whoop everyone”s ass in the ring, I get something from you, Rodeo Queen.”

It”s madness to accept a bet, especially with the intention behind it. Flirtatious. This time, he isn”t even trying to hide his desire.

”What do you want?” I”ll regret asking, I”m sure.

”If I win, I get a kiss from the queen,” he says quickly.

”You”re pushing it. The Rodeo Queen isn”t supposed to kiss you.”

He”s not talking about the peck kind of kiss, and that”s the problem. He wants more than I can give, pushing the boundaries of my relationship with Parker.

”You”re right.” He laughs sheepishly. ”It”s crossing a line.”

My heart still flutters.

A high-pitched squeal interrupts anything else I want to say on the subject. I automatically melt toward Dylan, where I want to find some way around the blurring of lines, to talk about the kiss and where it would lead.

I look over my shoulder as Amanda bounds from the house with her hands on her cheeks. Her eyes are wide, taking in the setup.

”It”s all for me?” she screeches. Her feet pound against the stones before she launches herself at me, skinny arms wrapping around my torso, and the force of her loving attack sends me sideways.

Annoying as she is, I can”t help but laugh and pat her hands. ”All for you,” I tell her. ”But thank Mother and Papa mostly.”

”You helped,” she insists, her voice bright and high.

Her presence is the only thing strong enough to break the tension between Dylan and me.

”Look at all of these presents.” I gesture toward one of the tables already heaped high. The rest of the guests are set to arrive any minute, and the pile on the table will grow to mountainous heights rivaling the peaks behind the property.

”Dylan!” Amanda transfers her arms toward the guy at my side, and he doesn”t budge when she launches for him.

”I guarantee your sister got you the best present here,” Dylan tells Amanda.

She giggles when he turns around to tickle her sides, her head thrown back, and her expression pure joy.

The band is finished setting up, and a soft rock song soon filters across the lawn. The backyard fills before long, and I stand with Amanda as we get food. She opens five presents with me, saving most of them for later. It”s a treasure trove. One she can”t wait to explore, but there”s so much going on.

She reacts the way I thought she would with the necklace. At first, the shiny metal catching the sun”s light and the tiny heart charm dangling from the end is enough to round her lips in an O of delight. But soon enough, she”s pushing through the rest of the presents for the model horses, sets of markers, and colored pencils. A sticker collection. And a Chia Pet.

Through it all, I find Dylan in the crowd. He stands out even when he”s not wearing his cowboy hat.

How would it feel if he did win the contest and call in his bet with the Rodeo Queen? To have those lips on me?—

It”s stupid. It”s so much easier to lose myself in the festivities. To memorize the smiles of delight on Mother”s and Amanda”s faces. Dance to the music until my muscles are tired and my legs are jelly. Until Dylan pops behind me to catch me when I trip. For him to push the hair out of my face and tease me about going too hard. I punch him in the chest for that one.

He stays at arm”s length, not really dancing with me but swaying nearby, but when he catches my gaze above the others, it”s too intense for the moment, and my cheeks start to heat. I look around self-consciously. No one else notices the way Dylan glances at me. Then, without warning, he hooks his arm around my middle and pulls me against the hard planes of his muscled body. It”s exquisite, and I fight the urge to lie my head against his chest.

”W-what”re you doing? We can”t dance like this.”

”We”re not the only ones dancing.”

”People will see.”

He loosens his hold around my waist, but not much. I”m against him, and even though I know we shouldn”t, it”s delicious.

”Dance with me. Don”t worry about anyone else.”

I glance over my shoulder. He”s right. No one cares. ”Okay, but just one dance.”

”Just one dance.” He grabs my arms and folds them around his neck.

”One dance,” I say breathlessly, and my ears perk toward the speakers where a sweet, slow country song begins about Summertime and first love. The low twang of the singer echoes between us as Dylan”s lips curl into a smile. ”This one might take a while.”

”I-it”s fine.” I take a shaky breath and look away, trying not to think about Dylan. My stomach tightens with heat, and I don”t know whether to pull him into a dark corner or run away. So we dance, swaying to the melodic voice drifting from the sound system.

His hands stroke up and down my back and find the bare skin at the top of my dress. I have goosebumps from his touch, and I hope he doesn”t notice. The last thing I want is for him to know how this affects me, but I don”t know how to hide it.

”You cold?” His lips are next to my ear, and I full-on shiver.

”Why would I be?”

He wraps his arms around me. ”You seem like you are.”

”What did I say about space?” My voice is soft, and I know I”m losing.

”You feel good.”

I make the mistake of glancing into his face. He looks at me, the hint of a smile playing on his mouth. I hardly hear the music anymore. It”s him and me. I can”t think straight. I close my arms around his neck and pull. It”s good having him crushed against me. The heat from his body melts into the front of my dress, warming—flooding me. I”m not cold, but I”m trembling now.

Something roars in the distance. It”s not music. It”s something else, something getting closer—an engine.

Even from our backyard, the car”s screech sounds above the din of conversation—the sudden screech of brakes before the vehicle cuts off. I know that engine—the entrance he”s always so willing to make.

The blood rushes from my face, and my fingers start to tingle.

Parker is here.

I”m halfway across the lawn, heading toward the driveway, when Dylan catches up.

”Where you going?” he asks.

”Stay in the yard,” I warn. ”Parker is here.”

Dylan halts, his shoulders straightening and his knees locking. ”You”re just going to abandon the party like that?”

”Don”t follow me,” I snap.

Because the look on Parker”s face scares me, and I have no idea what”ll happen if Dylan and Parker fight over me.