Breaking Blaze (Silver Spoon Cowboys #4)

Chapter One

Morgan

I've always considered myself a normal person, but nothing makes you question your own life choices faster than waking up with your hair full of hay and a horse nipping your butt while a donkey watches. Again.

I don't think this is what my foster brothers meant when they were talking about donkey shows that time. But I'm guessing it's pretty close.

"Shoo," I hiss, desperately trying to roll away from the horse.

He makes this noise that sounds like he's huffing at me and inches forward in the stall, far too curious for my good.

I don't even like horses.

"Please, go away," I whisper, cowering in the corner like that's going to save me from the indignity of my life.

Spoiler Alert: It probably isn't. Not since I just spent a second night rooming with a giant horse in a barn I don't own on a ranch I also don't own, somewhere on the outskirts of Silver Spoon Falls.

This is what my life has become.

It happens when you've been kicked out and accused of a felony.

For the record, I'm innocent. Also, for the record, my boss knew that when he accused me of stealing over thirty thousand dollars' worth of jewelry from his safe. It's an insurance scheme.

I guess I'm the casualty.

Well, that was Roger Burkett's plan until I bolted. His new live-in maid—me—was supposed to take the fall while he pocketed the payout.

Bunking with a pushy horse with no concept of personal space seemed better than jail.

After waking up like this two mornings in a row, I'm beginning to rethink my choice.

"Please," I groan, not above negotiating with the animal. At this point, I'm willing to beg if he leaves me alone long enough for me to sneak out of here before I get caught. Or eaten.

Do horses eat people?

Knowing my luck, this one probably does.

The horse nudges my thigh with his head, stubbornly refusing to give me even a moment of peace.

I sigh heavily and reach out, tentatively scratching between his ears. He chuffs, stomping one foot.

I startle slightly, but he headbutts me gently and stomps again.

"Oh." I smile despite myself. "I guess that means you like it, huh?"

He chuffs again.

"Sorry I made a bed out of your hay again," I whisper to him. "It was an emergency situation." I gather some of the straw up in my free hand, holding it out to him like an offering. "It's mostly still fresh."

He sniffs at it and then, blessedly, decides the salt lick on the far side of the stall is more appetizing.

I wait until he's thoroughly occupied and then make a run for it. There's no way to open the stall from this side, so I hoist myself up onto the side of his trough and scramble up.

I'm lying across the stall door like it's a surfboard when the donkey decides to criticize my technique.

"Hee-haw!"

"Jesus!" I yelp, tumbling face-first toward the ground.

I land in the dirt with a thud, the wind knocked out of me.

"What the fuck?"

Heavy steps rush toward me, thudding against the dirt. I feel every single one in my soul, turning it to ice. Even after spending the last two nights freezing in a stall, I'm going to jail. I'll never be able to prove my innocence. I'll never get to finish college. I'll never—

Rough hands close around my waist, hauling me upright.

"I promise I won't sleep on your property anymore," I cry, my voice breathless. "Please don't send me to prison."

Calloused fingers curve around my jaw, tilting my head back. I look straight into the strangest, most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. They're dark around the pupils, but faded denim around the edges.

The rest of him is pretty damn beautiful, too.

Not the way models are beautiful, but the way storms are—like they might break you if you aren't careful.

His face is a study in contradiction, soft around the eyes, but hard everywhere else.

Brown hair falls around his broad shoulders, giving him a wild edge, like a Viking…

except not. There's something about him that just screams cowboy, like he was born to wrangle cattle and fight dirty, not pillage and conquer his way across the world.

He's staring at me like he's furious and shocked at the same time, his eyes roving back and forth across my face in a way that saps the moisture from my mouth.

"You slept here last night," he finally says—growls, really, in a voice like thunder.

"I…I…" I could lie, but I think it's already too late for that. I basically confessed before he even asked a single question. "Yes," I whisper miserably. "And the night before. But if you'll let me go, I promise I won't come back."

"You've been out here for two days?"

"Well…no. Just at night."

My answer doesn't seem to make him any happier. If anything, it makes him look even more pissed than he was to begin with.

"What's your name?" he asks.

I bite my lip, not quite dumb enough to give him that. The sheriff is already looking for me. If I give him my name, it'll only add charges to my list. There are enough of those already, thank you very much.

His expression softens with amusement, his lips curving slightly. "You're going to be stubborn, aren't you, baby?"

"Me? No," I say. It's a lie. I'm probably about to be very stubborn.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he says, his smile growing. "It's up to you."

"What's the hard way?"

Please don't say call the sheriff.

Please don't say call the sheriff.

Please don't—

"I can get the sheriff out here to get your name out of you."

Dammit.

"What's the other option?"

"You tell me your name and why you're sleeping with Jon."

"Jon?" I blink at him, a little offended by the assumption. "I did not sleep with anyone named Jon!"

He tilts his chin toward the horse, which is still occupied with the salt lick. "That's Jon."

"Oh." I swallow, then focus on the important part. "You named your horse Jon?"

"Jon Bon Pony."

I stare at him levelly for a moment, but he isn't kidding. "Can you pinch me, please?"

"What the fuck?" His brows furrow. "Why would I pinch you?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I'm either still sleeping and this is some weird I-slept-in-a-horse-stall dream, or I cracked my head when I fell and this is the concussion talking.

" I motion toward him. "My brain is broken or asleep.

It's the only explanation for a cowboy who looks like sex on legs naming his horse Jon Bon Pony. "

His smirk basically confirms my theory. There's no way something that damn sexy is reality, not my reality anyway. He's make-believe. I've conjured up a hot cowboy who wants to turn me in to the sheriff. Awesome.

"Sex on legs, huh?" His smirk widens. "I can work with that, baby."

Work with it? Didn't he hear me? I have a head injury. He isn't even real. And I'm not entirely sure if I'm relieved by this turn of events or not. Part of me wants him to be real. The rest is just glad a figment of my imagination can't take me to real jail.

"Come on," he says, wrapping one big hand around my wrist.

I dig my heels in. Figment or not, I'm not going anywhere with him. No way. "Let me go! I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Figured you'd say that." He grins at me, and then, to my horror, he bends at the waist. In two seconds flat, I'm over his shoulder like a sack of feed, my hair in my face, my legs dangling.

This is the worst concussion ever.