Into the Arms of a Cowboy
()
About this ebook
Cassie Carlisle is on the run -- and wanted for murder. When she hides in the back of a pickup truck, it's just her luck that the truck belongs to a cowboy-turned-sheriff.
Jess Logan, with his dark eyes and bruised heart, just wants to to win a few more saddle bronc competitions and go home to his cabin in the woods. But he can't resist his sexy blonde stowaway, secrets and all.
Could this be love, or just a recipe for disaster?
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT
Jess pulled off at an empty rest area and let Harry have a romp in the grass. Then he whistled for the dog, propped open the back of the camper, and heaved himself over the tailgate. He’d get a good sleep tonight. Jess flopped onto the mattress, stretched out--
And realized he was not alone.
Jess didn’t stop to ask questions. He tackled the shadowy figure, pinning the intruder’s arms against the quilt. Harry leapt into the pickup bed and, barking frantically, threw himself into the fray.
In spite of the chaos, Jess quickly realized one crucial and unexpected fact: his trespasser was female.
He knew for three simple reasons. First, in the tangle of limbs and flying fur, his hands encountered a pair of round, soft, very womanly breasts. Secondly, the resulting shriek of mingled outrage was too high-pitched for a man. And, finally, Jess’s nose was suddenly buried in a great deal of satiny hair, hair that smelled vaguely tropical. Kind of like rain and orchids.
She must use one of those botanical shampoos, he thought. Nice. Real nice.
Then reason reasserted itself, and he shouted for Harry to quit his racket. With one hand, he groped for the dog’s collar and hauled Harry away from the cowering woman. Harry backed up into a far corner of the camper, still growling low in his throat, while Jess rolled to the left and dug for the flashlight he kept in his toolbox. He clicked it on and aimed the full beam at the woman’s face.
Her eyes drew into slits against the sudden onslaught of light. She scrambled away from him and landed with a thud in the narrow space between the wheel well and the edge of the mattress, out of the flashlight’s beam. Still, Jess had seen enough.
He recognized that honey-colored hair. Ditto the frightened gray eyes, curvaceous figure, and livid bruise.
Faced with the woman he’d fantasized about for the last hundred or so miles, Jess found himself at a loss for words. Of course, he’d never been blessed with the gift of gab. He was the kind of a guy who said things straight out, without a lot of fancy talk. But now he couldn’t even manage that.
She spoke right up, though. No hesitation. “Hey,” she sputtered angrily. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Jess’s jaw dropped at the utter absurdity of her question. He frowned down at her until he finally found his tongue. “Your bed? Excuse me, ma’am, but I’d have to say this was my bed, last I checked.”
Read more from Isabella Ashe
Almost Paradise Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Candidate's Wife Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Under Her Spell Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to Into the Arms of a Cowboy
Related ebooks
Golden Vows Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLike Father, Like Daughter Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsUndercover Husband Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Temporarily His Princess Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFugitive Fiancee Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Father's Heart Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHis Double, Her Trouble Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Always on my Mind Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5At Last Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Her New Year Baby Secret Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Dating Dare Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSame Time, Next Christmas Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Very Passionate Man Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Marriage On His Terms Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Dear Santa Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHis Valentine Triplets Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sunshine and Shadows (The Keeping Secrets Series, Book 3) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Gino's Arranged Bride Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNYC Angels: Tempting Nurse Scarlet Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Bravo Christmas Reunion Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsCowboy's Lady Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Three Kids And A Cowboy Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWife For Hire Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Rancher's Christmas Baby Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Taking a Chance on the Single Dad: Fall in love with this single dad romance! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Valentine Wish Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Power And The Glory Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Stranger's Baby Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5His Bought Mistress Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Fraudulent Fiancee Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
Romance For You
November 9: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ugly Love: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hopeless Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Confess: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5All Your Perfects: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Finding Perfect: A Novella Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It Starts with Us: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5My Favorite Half-Night Stand Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Chased by Moonlight Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Heart Bones: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Before We Were Strangers: A Love Story Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Maybe Not: A Novella Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Under the Roses Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Dating You / Hating You Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Without Merit: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Kingdom of Dreams Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Something Borrowed: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Bossy: An Erotic Workplace Diary Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Stone Heart Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Buzz Books 2023: Spring/Summer Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Visitors Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Erotic Fantasies Anthology Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Maybe Now: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Roomies Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Tess of the d'Urbervilles Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wuthering Heights Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Rosie Effect: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Home: the most moving and heartfelt novel you'll read this year Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Swear on This Life: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for Into the Arms of a Cowboy
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
Into the Arms of a Cowboy - Isabella Ashe
Into the Arms of a Cowboy
Isabella Ashe
STARFISH PRESS
Copyright © 2012 Isabella Ashe
Other contemporary romances by Isabella Ashe:
The Candidate’s Wife
Almost Paradise
Under Her Spell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are purely coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
Other contemporary romances by Isabella Ashe
Free first chapter: The Candidate’s Wife
CHAPTER ONE
My God, I just killed somebody.
Even as Cassandra Carlisle whispered the words, her mind rebelled. She was a good person. A gentle person. When she found spiders in her bathroom, she nudged them into Mason jars and later set them free in Golden Gate Park. So how was it possible that she’d taken a human life?
Cassie pulled onto a side street and eased her Mazda Miata up to the curb. She tugged the parking brake into place, then braced her forehead against the cool steering wheel. The cut above her right eye burned and stung. Her bruised cheekbone throbbed to the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, but she ignored the pain.
She considered herself basically optimistic. Upbeat. Energetic. Cheerful in the face of adversity. At this moment, however, her good humor had reached its lowest ebb.
Murder had no silver lining.
Okay, maybe murder
was an exaggeration. She hadn’t meant to kill anyone. Still, she couldn’t deny one simple fact: Andrew J. Chabot III was dead. Stone cold dead. And the blood caked under Cassie’s fingernails was not her own.
She lifted her head and glanced around the deserted city street. It was late, sometime after midnight. In the glow of the streetlights, she made out a row of narrow Victorian houses, a lone cyclist whizzing by in a blur of reflective gear, and one black-and-white squad car just beginning a slow crawl in her direction.
As the squad car neared, Cassie slumped in her seat, her heart in her throat. Terrified as she was, she had to admire the SFPD’s efficiency. They’d come for her already. Now it was too late to do what she should have done in the first place: call 911 and tell the police her side of the story. Instead, she’d run away. In the eyes of the law, she looked as guilty as sin.
Who would believe her story now? She was a freelance photographer with a juvenile record and all of $139 in her checking account. A young woman who’d just fled the scene of her crime, leaving behind the cooling corpse of the handsome, well-liked heir to one of the country’s largest publishing houses.
Cassie held her breath as the police car passed her by and turned back onto the main street. Safe, at least for now. But they would find her, sooner or later. Unless she got her butt in gear and figured out how to save her own hide. Because if she didn’t help herself, who would? At 24, she was too old to believe in knights in shining armor.
She swore softly, a habit she thought she’d broken the day she traded some of the East Coast’s meanest streets for art school in San Francisco. Her California dream, her new start, her bright future--all gone. Gone in a moment.
Where to now? Her first impulse was to escape the City. Park Presidio Boulevard to the Golden Gate, then north on the stretch of 101 called the Redwood Highway. Lots of open space there, cool, shady forests she’d visited a couple of times on her days off. Maybe she could hide somewhere in the woods. She could survive on roots and berries, couldn’t she? Yeah, sure. A city girl all her life, she’d never so much as been on a camping trip.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. Again, her heart thudded a terror-stricken tattoo. The squad car was back. Adrenaline and fear made her head swim. Was it a routine patrol, or had they noticed something suspicious? Did she look odd, just sitting there in her car?
She raised her fingers and touched her aching cheek. Dried blood crumbled under her fingertips. Rust-red flakes speckled the black cashmere dress she’d charged on her Macy’s card the previous afternoon. Cassie fumbled through the chaotic mess of odds and ends in her oversized black leather handbag, drew out a compact, and studied her face in the small oval mirror.
God, what a disaster! She dove back into her handbag, located an antiseptic wipe, and mopped at the crusted blood. She drew a sharp, pained breath as the towelette touched her cut. Damn that bastard Andrew and his Princeton ring!
She checked the rearview mirror again. No police car. But they would find her, sooner or later. Her sporty little Mazda didn’t exactly blend in. Why hadn’t she picked a nice charcoal gray vehicle? Or beige, plain old white, even midnight blue?
Because I’m a hot pink kind of person, that’s why. I hope prison uniforms come in assorted neon colors.
So she’d ditch the car. Not without a pang of regret, but it wasn’t really hers, not with two years and seven months worth of payments still to go. Her hands shook as she caked powder over her already purpling bruise.
As she pulled out her butterfly clip and tidied her hair, she grew increasingly aware of urgent signals from her bladder. All right. She’d find a nearby diner first, use the facilities, and maybe treat herself to a nice cup of hot cocoa. With double whipped cream, of course. After that, she’d come up with a plan.
Cassie took a deep, steadying breath and opened her car door. She could handle this. No problem. She had a history of getting herself out of jams.
Of course, she’d never been in this much trouble before.
Steaming coffee and warm apple pie might not solve all the world’s problems, Jess Logan reflected, but they came pretty damn close. Simple pleasures for a simple man. His first gulp of coffee left a satisfying brand on his tongue, a near-scalding sensation tempered to perfection by a forkful of cinnamon-tinged apples. Just what the doctor ordered. A few more bites and maybe he’d forget his frustration at getting lost in a maze of San Francisco streets.
Jess didn’t think much of big cities. He couldn’t wait to get back on the freeway and head north again. He’d been driving for hours already, and he had miles to go before he slept.
He was on his way back from a small rodeo in a town south of San Jose, a town whose name he’d forgotten already. Worth the trip, though. He’d placed second in the saddle bronc event, but redeemed himself with a flawless eight seconds on the back of a bull called Devil’s Helper. Sure, the ride ended with a bone-jarring encounter between Jess’s body and hard-packed arena dirt, an encounter he could still feel in every taut muscle, but that was all part of the game.
At 29, Jess was already considered an old-timer on the circuit. Rodeo was a young man’s sport. In fact, Jess wasn’t sure why he bothered anymore. He’d already taken home a trunk full of championship buckles, including a couple from the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. He had nothing left to prove. Maybe it was just about time to quit. He had a full-time job. He didn’t need the money.
Jess tossed back another mouthful of coffee strong enough to take the rust off his pickup. Nope, he wasn’t going to quit, not when weekend rodeos were the only bright spot in a life that, when he wasn’t looking, had grown pretty damn lonely.
Funny, but he’d never felt that creeping sense of emptiness, that hollow in the pit of his stomach, until about a year ago. Up until then, he’d loved the life of a rodeo cowboy. He’d thrived on the freedom, the money, the crowds and applause, and the buckle bunnies, too--the women who watched from the front row and always seemed so ready and willing to reward a good ride.
Women like Danielle.
Jess’s fingers tightened around his fork. He stabbed a sugar-glazed chunk of apple with so much force that the plate clattered and danced against the Formica countertop. The waitress, a bony platinum blonde, sidled over to refill his coffee cup. She shot him a look of concern mingled with predatory interest. Everything okay here?
Fine, thanks,
Jess mumbled.
She crossed her arms across her skinny chest. You sure, fella? My name’s Tricia, Trixie to my friends. If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, all you gotta do is--
The bells above the door jangled. Trixie sighed, threw Jess a wink, and moved off down the counter to take the new customer’s order. Jess hunkered down over his pie, ignoring the flirtation. His days of brief encounters were over. Long over. The fleeting moments of pleasure rarely outweighed the inevitable feelings of emptiness and gloom.
Not that he didn’t enjoy looking at women. He did. Especially the one who’d come through the door just now. He felt the sharp ache of arousal as his eyes travelled up a pair of long, sleek legs encased in silk stockings, a curvaceous figure emphasized by a little black dress that clung in all the right places, and a mass of honey-colored hair.
And her face . . . he let out an involuntary gasp as she turned toward him. An angel. A bruised and battered angel. Rage curdled in his belly. Any man who struck a woman didn’t deserve to live. If Jess ever got his hands on the bastard who’d done this, who’d damaged that sweet, round little face and put stark terror into the most dazzlingly clear set of gray eyes he’d ever seen--well, Jess wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
Her eyes met his. She stared at him for a long moment, fearfully, then flinched and turned back to the waitress. Jess realized with a start that this glamorous stranger must have misread the fury playing across his rough features. He’d never been any good at hiding his emotions. Jess opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Tricia beat him to it.
Well, now, somebody’s been whaling on you but good,
the waitress exclaimed. Let me tell you, hon, I been there, done that. Get rid of the man before he does you in, that’s my advice. Otherwise, mark my words, you’ll end up in the morgue.
I’ll just use your restroom, if you don’t mind,
the woman said, with another sidelong glance at Jess. She spoke coolly, but Jess caught the slight quaver in her voice.
Tricia nodded. Sure, hon. Go on through that door to the right there. I’ll take your order when you get back.
Thank you.
The woman shot one last nervous look in Jess’s direction, then turned away.
He frowned and wished he’d spoken to her. He wanted to help this woman, a natural instinct given the nature of his weekday work. But didn’t just want to comfort her and keep her safe. He also felt an urge to reach around and tug at whatever foolish female thingamabob kept her hair piled up on the back of her head, just so he could watch her silky hair spill over her shoulders. He wanted to pull that lush body close to his own, run his fingers over that smooth, pale skin, kiss the bow-shaped lips until they grew swollen and feverish.
Watch it, he scolded himself. This woman clearly has problems. Complicated problems.
Besides, she was a damn sight too classy for a guy like him. His idea of heaven was a cold beer and a rare steak. She looked like sushi and sake, lobster and champagne, caviar and. . .what the hell did people drink with caviar? Not that it mattered. He had a major rodeo in the morning. No time for damsels in distress. Not tonight. And by late tomorrow he’d be home in the mountains, where he meant to enjoy a little well-deserved R & R.
A touch more coffee, hon?
Jess glanced up to see Tricia slanting a bold smile his way.
No, thanks,
he said. I’m fine.
Or he would be, once he got back on the road. The sooner, the better.
Once she got herself cleaned up, Cassie felt almost human again. Her sense of humor reasserted itself. Either that, or she was sliding into hysteria. She eyed her reflection in the mirror over the sink. I’ll end up in the morgue, the waitress says.
She stifled a nervous giggle. Little does she know.
Her edgy smile faded as she remembered the man who’d watched her from the far end of the counter a few minutes ago. An undeniably attractive man, compactly built, sinewy rather than slender, with dark hair in need of a trim. In mud-spattered jeans, leather cowboy boots, and a chambray work shirt, he stood out like a sore thumb. His black Stetson sat on the counter next to him.
He had a rugged face, sun-bronzed, weathered, memorable if not handsome. It was the face of a man who spent most of his time out of doors. A face that had known some wear and tear, to judge by the slightly crooked angle of his nose. But it was his eyes that had riveted her. Chocolate-brown eyes blazing with anger, devil-dark eyes that seemed to look right through her as if he knew what she’d done.
Cassie shivered as she popped her favorite raspberry lip gloss back into her handbag. With luck, he’d be gone by the time she came out of the restroom. She didn’t want to face him again, or feel that unsettling flutter deep in her abdomen.
She rummaged in her bag again and drew out her wallet. She’d keep the cash, but her American Express and ATM cards had to go, along with her driver’s license and any other ID. From now on, she’d be incognito. Cassie snipped the cards in half with a pair of toenail scissors, then wrapped them in toilet paper and dropped them in the garbage can She bit back a hysterical giggle. Did it really matter if someone used her credit card? It wasn’t as if she’d be home to open the bill.
Next she fished out her iPhone. This made her hesitate and bite her lip, but it had to go, too. They could trace her location if she kept it. Cassie dropped it in the trash as well, with a sigh of deep regret.
It was time for that hot cocoa. If a shot of sugar couldn’t jolt her brain back into working order, nothing could. She needed all her faculties to figure out her next step. Her options were limited. Her parents were gone, her string of foster parents three thousand miles away. She had a few casual friends in the City, but