Cowboy (The Busy Bean) Read online

  Cowboy

  The World of True North

  L. B. Dunbar

  Copyright © 2021 by Laura Dunbar

  L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.

  All rights reserved.

  This book was inspired by the True North Series written by Sarina Bowen. It is an original work that is published by Heart Eyes Press LLC.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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 permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Editor: Melissa Shank

  Editor: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies

  Proofread: Karen Fischer

  For the patience and grace needed in 2020.

  And milk, cheese, and ice cream.

  Contents

  1. It Only Takes Once

  2. How It Started

  3. Two Mornings After

  4. Six Weeks and Counting

  5. Overall a Baby

  6. A River Does Not Run Between Us

  7. Night Two

  8. Exposé

  9. More Than a Job

  10. Heartbeats

  11. Not Another Day

  12. Unpacking

  13. Inside Her or Insider

  14. Gossip Girl

  15. 90-Day Guarantee

  16. Big Burgers

  17. Stood up

  18. Them’s Fighting words

  19. Actions Speak the Loudest

  20. Parental Disapproval

  21. Bathwater Confessions

  22. Almond Milk and Full Moons

  23. Working Mothers Work

  24. Birthday Wishes

  25. Investigative Reports

  26. Surprise, Baby

  27. Birth Plans

  28. Family Names

  Epilogue

  You Will Also Enjoy…

  Acknowledgments

  It Only Takes Once

  Scarlett

  If you told me earlier this evening I’d have a hot, hunky silver fox buried to the hilt deep inside me, I’d have told you that you were crazy. Hell, if you told me it would have happened even a month ago, I’d have said never.

  However, I’m losing my mind over a man I met only hours ago.

  “So, my friends over there. They dared me to come buy you a drink.” He was all charming and nervous-sweet, and I just couldn’t seem to say no. Then again, I’d been on my third beer at the local establishment called The Gin Mill, a place famous for their Vermont beer selection. My friend and I were celebrating my new status.

  Single.

  Sort of.

  I grunt as his hips flex between my spread thighs, and my hands clutch at his broad back. I’d never done anything like this before, and I don’t expect to ever do it again, but there is no denying how I feel at the moment.

  Liberated.

  Satisfied.

  With his lips on my neck, and his thick shaft balls deep, the man over me means freedom and a bit of recklessness. However, I would not be under him without the approval of my friend.

  Rita Kaplan had been my college roommate, and her nod at the bar encouraged me to speak up when this sweet-talking stranger asked to buy me a drink.

  “I’ll see your hello and raise you a take me to bed, partner.”

  Probably not what Rita had expected me to say, but she knew I needed this. I’d had a day a week back—a day of all days—but I am not thinking about that at the moment. With the musky scent of sex between us and sticky skin holding us together, this beautiful male specimen surges into me over and over again.

  Bull is his name. Bull Eaton.

  Earlier, the Eaton name sounded vaguely familiar, but I quickly dismissed it. In my line of work, the names all run together after a while. Line of work I used to be in, I reminded myself, when we met only hours ago.

  Bull is living up to his name in size, girth, and stamina, but he’s also got an anxious charm about him. His midnight blue eyes shifted over to his friends as his large, thick hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans after he approached me. He rocked on the heels of his boots as he said hello, and his smile did swirly-twirly things to my insides. I did not attribute that sensation to the number of beers I’d drunk, but the slow curl of his lips and the crook at one corner. The silver scruff on his cheeks helped. I’m forty-two, and having a man my age, hitting on me no less, did something for my shattered ego.

  And he’s still doing something to me.

  “So deep,” he groans. I’ve never been so full in my life. My eyes roll back, and my ankles cross over his solid thighs, heels digging at the firm globes of his backside.

  “Sweetheart,” he huffs. The word stammers as he rocks into me, taking me to another world. Our position might be missionary, but nothing perfunctory is happening here other than the stars I’m seeing from the orgasms this man has given me. He’s working on my third, and I just don’t know if I can get there.

  As if reading my thoughts, he shifts, dragging himself upward so his hard length rubs at my pleasure point in a new way, and I’m gasping for air again.

  “Bull,” I moan.

  When he followed me to my rental at the Green Rocks resort, I didn’t know if he’d really take me up on my offer or if he’d just intended to escort me home.

  “You cannot go wrong with this swanky man,” Rita had encouraged, and I felt like a heel leaving my friend behind. “Honey, this is the purpose of this night.” I needed to lose myself with someone hot, willing, and available. Rita trusted him, which was good enough for me. I promised her we’d find her a man next time.

  Bull’s hand cups my lower cheeks, lifting me to adjust the angle and rub his thickness against my clit better. “Gonna give me another one.” It’s not a question or a warning. It’s a tender command. He’s already been more than generous with me. His fingers. His mouth. He wants this orgasm as much as I do, and I have a strong suspicion Bull Eaton could own my heart and soul if I let myself get carried away.

  However, before we even got in his truck, we made an agreement with that first kiss outside The Gin Mill.

  “Just one night, sweetheart. That’s all we need to sort ourselves out.”

  I needed sorting. God, I needed so much sorting. But for tonight, I only needed Bull.

  “I can’t . . . I don’t think . . . I’ve never . . . so many.” I don’t make any sense, and he chuckles even harder as he’s moving me against him, sliding himself in and out of me.

  “You will, sweetheart. You’ll see.”

  My arms stretch over my head, reaching for the headboard behind me. I never had a headboard like this before, and it is an investment I seriously need to consider in the future. For now, I curl my fingers around the wrought-iron bars and hold on as Bull works his magic. My toes curl. My back arches.

  “Bull . . . I . . . ermygawd.” I’m breaking free again, coming apart at the seams as he balances over me, letting me ride this one out with him inside
me. He’s on his knees, hitching my lower body up his thighs, handling me like a prize and taking me for a winning. He’s moving faster than before, and I’m just dust in the wind, floating outside myself and letting him have his way with me.

  “So fucking beautiful,” he stammers, and I smile to myself. He’s been saying it over and over, and I’ll say it again, he’s just so sweet. Even though I’ve worked in the public eye, I’m not used to genuine compliments like he’s given me.

  You taste like honey.

  You feel like home.

  Who says such a thing? I reach out for his chest, coasting my hands over the firmness of his pecs.

  “Love your hands on me,” he grunts, thrusting into me, and then he hisses, clutches my hips, and holds me to him. I look down where we’re joined as if I can see what’s actually happening. Instead, I feel it. I feel him, and it’s amazing. The pulse. The pump. He pulls back and slams forward once more, finishing himself inside me.

  Thank God for condoms and the pill.

  He releases my trembling legs and falls over me, balancing on his hands as his chest heaves.

  “Sweetheart, once will not be enough with you.” I bite my lip in response, perhaps a little too pleased that he wants me again. “I’m not as young as I used to be, so give me twenty minutes.”

  With him still attached to me, our eyes meet, and an additional jolt seizes inside me.

  “What was that?” I laugh.

  “Aftershocks.” He smiles, one side of his mouth crooking up in a tease. “You rocked me to my core.”

  We both chuckle and then he leans forward to kiss me. It isn’t quick and brief. He isn’t rushing to pull out of me. He isn’t leaving me for his side of the bed. He’s taking his time to kiss me, slow and steady, like he’s grateful for what we just did when I’m the one wanting to thank him.

  Emotions wrestle inside me and I fight the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

  No more tears, Scarlett Russell. After this night, you’re going to be just fine.

  Bull sucks at my lower lip, tugging it as he retreats. Deep blue eyes stare down at me, looking at me like he really sees me. It’s a bit unnerving, but I also like that’s he’s trying to see me, like he wants to know me.

  If I only knew myself. I’m no longer certain who I am, or what I want.

  “Twenty minutes, sweetheart?” His eyes ask permission, just like he did earlier. Before he kissed me. Before he followed me inside this rental. Before we did anything. He asked if it was okay with me, and I just couldn’t say no. He could ask me anything, and I’d never turn him down.

  “Twenty minutes,” I whisper. “And not a second longer.”

  That wins me another tender smile and a quiet chuckle before his lips return to mine, kissing me like he’d never deny me anything.

  How It Started

  Bull

  “No more women.” I stare into my beer, the thick head still visible as the waitress at The Gin Mill just served us.

  “You aren’t serious?” My younger brother Canyon laughs at me. He’s shaking his head with a deep chuckle. “You’re a damn hopeless romantic. How’s that going to work for you?”

  “I think you just mean hopeless period,” I retort. One week ago, I had my final date from that stupid app my brother and his best friend signed me up on. DatingDairy dot com is just what it implies—a spot for men of my profession to meet women willing to date, mate, and marry dairy farmers. However, I’ve already been down the aisle a few times, and I am no longer interested in the endgame. Marriage is obviously not for me. And that date was my last as it was a disaster.

  Canyon is a fine one to talk about romantics. He’s always writing love songs in that old leather notebook of his. It might be strange to be best friends with my younger brother by three years but growing up on a farm makes tight-knit families or ferocious enemies. Working together day in and day out, we’ve had our share of fights, but at our core, friendship is more important than anything. And seeing as I might be living the rest of my life with only my brothers and father, I better get along with them.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Perpetual Proposer? Mr. Bovine King himself.” My spine bristles at the sassy male tenor coming from behind me. Canyon looks over his shoulder, but I don’t need to look up to know Redd Bottom is the one to make his remarks.

  “Evenin’, Redd. I’d ask how it’s hanging, but I’m assuming short,” Canyon states, holding up his thumb and forefinger only an inch apart. We might all be near forty, but when it comes to Redd and his sidekick Dillard Barnes, we are all still teens at heart. The thing about men who peaked in high school is they stay in that frame of mind for the rest of their lives, and Dillard and Redd remain eternal juveniles.

  The Bottom family owns land adjacent to ours, and they’ve been wanting to do joint business with us, sharing fields between their sheep and our cows. My family isn’t interested. Every cattleman despises sheep farmers because sheep can really tear up a field. Redd is an ignorant ass.

  I snort into my beer as Canyon keeps his eyes on Redd behind me. Canyon glares daggers at Redd, and I finally turn to face a man who loves to compete with me. Formerly in football. Bowling league. Ax throwing. You name it, and Redd loves to try to best me, but I’m not called Bull just because it’s my name. My skin has grown thick over the years.

  “Redd,” I address him.

  “Come out to the Mill to find new tail?” he teases. “Or are you counting how many you can run off instead?” He slaps my back as if his cruel joke is hilarious, but I turn away from him. Fighting ignorance isn’t worth it to me, and I want to just sit here and wallow in my beer this evening.

  My youngest brother, Blade, is also at the table with us, and he shifts off his stool, standing to his full height beside me.

  “Sit down,” I mutter to Blade. We don’t need any trouble tonight, and Blade likes to scrap. He’s one mistake away from asking Redd to step outside, but I give my brother an arched eyebrow. Redd isn’t worth it.

  “Be seeing you around the barnyard,” Redd teases. “That’s unless you bring the cows home first.” He chuckles heartily as though he’s just said the funniest thing. I ignore the fact I know what his joke means. Again, just want to sit here and drink a beer and not remember my horrible history with women.

  “I fucking hate that guy,” Blade admits once Redd walks away.

  “His name is so appropriate,” Clayton Parker huffs. Clayton works on our farm and rounds out our foursome of friends. “Redd Bottom. He’s an ass.”

  Canyon snorts in agreement, and I slowly smile, letting Redd’s remarks roll off me. My thick skin needs to be thicker some nights.

  “He doesn’t know anything,” Clayton adds, meeting my eyes, offering me sympathy. But Redd knows a thing or two about me as do most people in this community. I have a bad habit of getting engaged but not married.

  “Fuck him. You need to get laid,” Blade adds. “And I don’t mean fuck him to get laid. I mean, find a woman to fuck to get laid.”

  “We know what you mean,” Canyon sasses to our little brother, treating him like a big dummy. However, Blade isn’t wrong. I’m in a dry spell despite the dates from DatingDairy, and before that, the MateMe app, both of which my brother and his friend made me accounts on. Then they proceeded to communicate with women, pretending to be me to get me back out there.

  “You need a one-night stand,” Canyon reports, which surprises me coming from him. His past is riddled with them, leading him to all kinds of trouble. “You get in, get out, and move on. No commitments. No proposals. Just free and clear sex.” He swipes his hands together and then shakes them off to the side, emphasizing the throwaway term.

  “One and done, like that old cow theory,” Blade suggests.

  “Blade, have you been reading again?” I mock. “You know that’s dangerous.”

  Ignoring me, he continues. “A bull only mates once with a cow. Twice, if she’s lucky.” He winks at me.

  I huff. My days of one-n
ight stands have long passed. That’s what my twenties were all about until I met Jennifer. She was my everything, or so I thought at twenty-two when we hastily married. We divorced almost as quickly.

  “I’m too old for one-night stands,” I retort, lifting my lager and taking a hardy drink of the heavy beer. The Gin Mill houses all the Vermont specialty beers including Goldenpour and Shipley’s ciders. Alec Rossi owns this cool place located by the river in Colebury. The old gin mill factories have been slowly converted into a dining and entertainment center of sorts, complete with this establishment; the Busy Bean Café, a coffeehouse; and a new brewpub, called Speakeasy.

  “Never too old to get back in the saddle,” Clayton prophetically states.

  “I’m a cow man,” I remind him, poking fun at my own name.

  Bull—Harland Bull Eaton the third actually.

  “Then it’s time to let someone ride the bull again,” Blade suggests, snorting before taking a sip of his beer. His head turns as the bar door opens, and we all glance over to see Rita Kaplan entering with a woman I’ve never seen before. Rita’s roughly my age. I don’t often see her in a bar, knowing her background as a recovered alcoholic. I’m assuming she’s here for moral support of her friend.

  And that friend is a looker with fiery red hair, falling in thick waves just below her chin. She slips off her jacket, revealing a sweater that slides off her shoulder, exposing creamy skin. When she looks up, she catches me staring, and deep dark eyes narrow in on me. A slow smile curls her purple-tinted lips, and then she looks away.