The Cowboy's Babygirl: A dark cowboy romance Read online

  The Cowboy’s Babygirl

  A dark cowboy romance

  Lee Savino

  Tristan Rivers

  Contents

  The Cowboy’s Babygirl

  Exclusive freebie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Also by Lee Savino

  About Lee Savino

  Text copyright © 2021 Lee Savino & Tristan Rivers

  All Rights Reserved

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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

  The Cowboy’s Babygirl

  Fate brought the pretty little runaway with defiant green eyes and that sassy mouth to my doorstep.

  Carrie Smith needs more than shelter.

  She needs protection.

  Discipline.

  A firm hand.

  She came to the right ranch.

  I never thought I'd have a wild girl of my own to tame.

  I'm just the man to tip her across a hay bale and show her who's in charge.

  But there’s more to this girl than meets the eye.

  I may give her the discipline she craves, but she'll satisfy my darkest desires.

  She'll be my one, my only... my babygirl.

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  Chapter 1

  Steele

  I found her curled up on my front porch when I got back from seeing to the cows. With her skinny arms wrapped around a backpack, and stringy blonde hair hiding her face, she looked more like a bundle of rags than a girl.

  I dismounted from my gray mare, tied her to a fence post, and clumped up the steps. I was in no mood to deal with uninvited guests. We’d lost a calf during the night, despite my best efforts. It was one of a hundred that had been born this summer, but every last one hurt. I hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours, and I was filthy.

  My boots thumped on the wooden decking and I stopped right in front of the girl, but she didn’t stir.

  I cleared my throat loudly. “Can I help you?”

  She lifted her head slowly, like a cat, indignant at being disturbed. Then she pushed her hair back with her forearm, revealing a pair of curious green eyes and a snub nose flecked with freckles. When she met my unimpressed gaze, alarm flashed across her face. She uncoiled herself and scrambled to her feet.

  Standing, she was no higher than my armpit, with a wan, pale face. I would have written her off as a buckle bunny, looking for a good time with a cowboy, but they usually hung around bars. It was midmorning, and her tight pink T-shirt and faded jeans hadn’t seen a washing machine for a long time. A runaway, maybe one of those foreign travelers who drifted through, looking for work in exchange for bed and board.

  Looking down at her, I felt a flicker of interest. With those tired smudges under her eyes, she wasn’t pretty, but something about her waifish air stirred my protective instinct.

  I crossed my arms over my chest to hide any sign of softness. I needed another stray to take care of like I needed a hole in my head.

  “Hope you’re about to tell me why you’re trespassing on my property,” I growled.

  She blinked at me dazedly. “Heard you’re hiring.” Her voice was slow with sleep, with a drawling American accent.

  I frowned. “No, I’m not hiring anymore.”

  “But, I saw your ad—”

  “The ad’s old. It’s been a full season. I’ve gotten all the help I needed. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I stepped past her and opened the front door, hoping she’d get the hint and move on. I didn’t have time to deal with a cute young thing who thought it’d be fun to work with horses. My eyes were gritty, my body aching, and I sorely needed to wash up after dealing with the stillbirth.

  Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. It would have been adorable if I was in the mood to play. “I wrote you a whole application, and you never even replied!”

  “I stopped checking the replies when I was full up,” I said over my shoulder. “No one looks for work here this late in the season.”

  “Please… just take a look.”

  There was a thread of desperation in her voice. I stopped, sighed, and reached into my back pocket for my phone. I hate the things, but unfortunately they’re necessary if you want to run a business these days.

  While the girl stood, arms folded, those striking eyes of hers watching me expectantly, I scrolled to my email app and opened it. Full of junk as usual. “When did you send the message?”

  “‘Bout a week ago.”

  “I see a message from fluffykitten666.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “That you?”

  She nodded defiantly.

  Exhaustion was making me ruder than usual. “That’s not how you approach a business, seeking employment.”

  I clicked on the message and it opened. I groaned inwardly. It was a piece of childish nonsense. Badly spelled, with no notion of punctuation.

  I held up my phone. “This isn’t how you write a job application, either.” Hopefully, if I was cruel enough, she’d go.

  “Fuck you,” she hissed, as mad and spitting as a feral cat.

  “Language,” I barked.

  She dropped her head, glaring at the deck. “It’s not like I’m looking to be a secretary, mister.” Her snide tone was worse than her cussin’.

  Sheesh. I gritted my teeth, palms tingling. I should take her over my knee. I ignored the stirring feelings below my belt buckle. One of us needed to act professional.

  I cleared my throat. “That doesn’t matter one shred. When you’re trying to get hired by a professional enterprise, you can’t go acting like a kid in grade school.” I couldn’t abide poor grammar, especially not in business dealings. My dad drilled that into me at a young age.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket. “Like I said, I’m not looking for staff, and you’re not somebody I would hire anyway.”

  She took a step closer, small fists planted on her hips. For a little thing, she sure wasn’t afraid of throwing out challenges. “And why is that?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Now I had a headache. “Well, aside from your evident lack of maturity, I need strong workers who know horses real well.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” she insisted, tilting her chin toward me.

  I gave a final, dismissive shake of my head—which made it throb worse—and grasped the door handle.

  “Hey.” She took a step forward, her voice softening. “I’m sorry if I came across a little riled up. Please, mister, just give me a chance. It took me a long time to get here. I-I really need food and a place to sleep.”

  I glanced
around the yard. There was no vehicle in sight. “How did you get here?”

  “Walked. From the station.”

  From the train station? That had to be a good two hours.

  “It was a long way,” she said, as if reading my mind.

  I looked her up and down again. She swayed a little where she stood on the deck. She needed washing up and a good meal. If she was much more than hundred pounds, I’d eat my hat. One good breeze would blow her away. My resolve was melting. “I don’t think you’re old enough to work here, anyway.”

  “I’m nineteen,” she insisted. “Almost twenty.”

  A baby. No wonder she didn’t know how to act. But the weariness in her eyes and the light grooves around her mouth made her seem older. Worn out. As if she was holding herself together with desperation and spite.

  Maybe I could take pity on her. “Show me some ID.”

  She hesitated, then dove into a pocket on her backpack, pulled out a frayed canvas wallet, and withdrew a driving license. I reached out to take it, but she held on.

  “Here is me. Here’s my age.” She jabbed at the photo and her date of birth, her thumb obscuring most of the other information. Carrie Smith. Born nineteen-and-a-half years ago. It was a Texas driver’s license. I supposed that explained her slow, twangy pronunciation. It looked genuine, not that I was any kind of expert on US IDs.

  “Okay. You’re nineteen. What are you doing here, up in British Columbia?”

  “Seeing the world, like anybody else.” She shrugged, but the carefree gesture was ruined by the tension in her body.

  We didn’t get a lot of Americans looking for work on the ranch. We mostly hired foreigners: Europeans, some Australians, even some South Americans, from time to time. We didn’t pay them—we weren’t allowed to. It was a work-in-exchange-for-board arrangement.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to call her out on her lie, but I bit it back.

  “Okay,” I said non-committally. “And you know horses?” I didn’t know why I was asking her, aside from the fact that she looked like she was close to the end of her rope.

  “Sure am. Grew up riding them.”

  “Let’s see what you can do.”

  I led her over to my mare, Silver, who watched us approach with curiosity. She was a spirited eight-year-old, a little frisky sometimes, but nothing an experienced horsewoman wouldn’t be able to handle.

  I watched Carrie dubiously as she patted the horse on the neck. She seemed relaxed and at ease around a horse—a good sign. But then she stepped one foot into the stirrup, grabbed the saddle… and struggled.

  She was so tiny, she didn’t have the leverage to jump up into the saddle. Instead, she hopped on one foot, helplessly.

  “Come on.” I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her. But as I did, my hands slipped past the waistband of her jeans and onto her bare skin. She turned her head, startled. When our eyes met, my breath caught in my throat. She might be a street urchin, but she had the curves of a woman. Her skin was velvety soft, and her behind filled out her jeans like two ripe peaches.

  I set my jaw. I shouldn’t be thinking about her that way. This was a job interview, and she was desperate. Besides, she was way too young for me. Young enough to be my daughter, if I’d been a teen dad.

  I needed to start treating her like the ranch hand she wanted to be. I steeled myself and gave her a hard shove, propelling her over the horse’s back.

  She leaned forward and fidgeted, fighting to get her foot in the other stirrup.

  I went around and adjusted the stirrups, pulling them up several notches until they fit.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  I didn’t answer, but made my remaining movements brisk. Caring for her, strapping her in—it was bringing up memories. Unwanted ones.

  I tilted my hat back. “Sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, but there was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. I paused, seriously considering putting a halt to all this.

  But her chin jutted out. “I’m ready now,” she said, regal as a queen.

  I shook my head but took the reins and led Silver into the large corral that ran alongside the house.

  “You comfortable with trotting? Loping?”

  “Yup. Second nature,” she muttered.

  “Silver is a reactive horse,” I told her. “She has a soft mouth.” I frowned at Carrie’s sneakers. Not at all appropriate for riding horses. “Go easy with your heels.”

  “Yup.” Carrie was now staring straight ahead, as if psyching herself up for the task.

  “One round of trot, then you lope for one round. Think you can handle that?”

  “Sure can.” Lying through her teeth. My palm twitched, out of habit.

  “Off you go.” I gave Silver a slap on her hindquarters and she set off at her usual lively pace.

  Carrie lurched forward and grabbed at the front of the saddle.

  I worked my jaw back and forth. A horsewoman, my ass.

  Silver began to trot of her own accord. She knew the corral well. I’d broken her myself, as I had most of my horses, and we’d spent many hours here, with me putting her through her paces until she trusted me enough to submit willingly to my instruction.

  But Silver had a bouncy gait and Carrie was not handling it well. She was hunched over like a sack of potatoes, clinging to the saddle with both hands. When she turned the third corner and headed back toward me, her face was frozen, her eyes wide.

  “Wanna stop?” I called.

  “Nope!” came her strangled reply.

  The girl had guts, I’d give her that. She’ll be all right. I’d remind myself until I believed it. She’d come onto my property and sassed me. When I was done, she’d run home with her tail between her legs.

  I clenched my fists at my sides, holding myself back from racing to her. Everything in me wanted to forget this sham of a job interview, lift her out of the saddle, take her inside… Give her a bath and let her sleep a while. Cook for her, and see if good food and rest would return the color to her cheeks…

  No. That was the old Steele talking. The Steele who was too soft. The Steele who ended up with a dagger in his heart.

  Never again.

  Carrie’s little body was loosening up. She still hadn’t gotten the rhythm of Silver’s gait, but at least she didn’t look like a mannequin tied to the saddle.

  “That’s it,” I said, and she brightened at the praise. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. It was like a light bulb coming on, illuminating her lovely face. “Now, keep hold of the saddle and give her a little kick.”

  Carrie kicked Silver at least twice as hard as necessary.

  Right away, Silver bounded into her fast canter. It was her natural gait, and she would run and run until someone told her to stop.

  “Woah!” I bellowed and sprinted across the corral.

  Silver slowed, but Carrie lost her stirrups, then her grip on the reins. In a panic, Carrie grabbed Silver’s mane. Time slowed, and every second became a year as Carrie pitched forward and lay flat along the horse’s neck, clinging on helplessly. My heart slammed against my ribs.

  The horse pulled up just in time for Carrie to slide right around her neck and fall into my arms.

  She was a light armful. Too skinny by far. But she felt right in my grasp.

  Then I got a look at her angry little face. Her eyes flashed with enough fire to set my hat ablaze.

  “Put me down,” she ordered, as if she called the shots here. She hadn’t learned her lesson at all.

  I forced my breath to calm, and set her on the ground gently, just to make a point. Silver stood quietly, her intelligent eyes flashing with horse mischief.

  Carrie immediately headed back to the horse’s side. I clamped my hand on the back of her neck to stop her.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” My voice was guttural, my breath still ragged. She could’ve broken her fool neck.

  “Going to ride,” she snapped ba
ck. “I was doing just fine until you interrupted.” Another lie. It set my teeth on edge.

  “Let me go.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to dislodge my grip. I resisted the urge to shake her like a cat.

  I forced her to face me. “You lied to me. That wasn’t riding. You could’ve been hurt.”

  She glared back at me but didn’t argue. For once. After a few seconds, she dropped her eyes, and I made myself release her.

  Her clothes now had an additional coating of red-brown dirt. She made a half-hearted attempt to dust herself down. Then she rubbed an arm over her tired face, smudging it. “Yeah, well, it’s been a while,” she mumbled.

  “I won’t have the safety of my horses compromised by a foolish child. You lied to me about your experience,” I said. “I won’t have a liar on my ranch. I can’t abide them.”

  She had the grace to look chastened.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, my earlier exhaustion chased away by a new spurt of adrenaline. “Do you have any experience around horses? Tell me the truth.”

  “I’ve been riding a few times,” she said in a small voice. “Had a few lessons when I was a kid.”

  “And you thought that’d be sufficient to cheat your way into a job?” I clenched and unclenched my fists. If she was my submissive, I’d already have her bent over a hay bale with her jeans down. My palms prickled, and I wished I could punish that pert round bottom of hers. “Why did you even want a job here when you don’t know how to ride?”