Ride Rough (Roughstock Riders Book 2) Read online

  For one panicked moment, Cecilia's stomach yo-yoed then dropped to her toes. The urge to turn and flee made her fingers twitch. The weight of a dozen or more pairs of eyes landed squarely on her. Early mornings at the diner remained an old-timer's world, and it was clear by the looks from some of the men, she was an intruder and unwelcome. Except for the lone pair of amused hazel eyes she tangled with in the back corner. There was a magnet in them or something, because she couldn't look away. Cecilia's heart tripped, and her stomach yo-yoed again, but for different reasons. Who was he? And why was he looking at her that way? Like... like, he knew her. In the most intimate, disturbing sense of the word. She narrowed her eyes, staring straight back, pulse hammering, because the way he stared at her was so familiar. Too familiar. Pretty nervy of him, if you asked her. Because while she was certain they'd met before, she didn't know him. Not in the way his gaze implied. Although for a split second her mind went to a very dirty place, because lord have mercy, the man was Greek god gorgeous. His cowboy hat sat low on his forehead, which only accentuated his dark eyebrows and eyelashes any female would kill for. She wasn't a beard woman, but on him, it was damn near perfect - just enough to be sexy and not overly pretentious. The line of it accentuated the hard cut of his jaw and a firm mouth, but plump enough for kissing - really good kissing. And biceps that gently stretched the plaid of his shirt. She could only imagine what was underneath the table. Heat flushed across her chest. And he still stared. She swallowed hard, then gave herself a mental slap. She knew all too well how men like that treated women. Easy on the eyes, hard on the heart.

  "What in tarnation?" Dottie Grace boomed as she bustled out from behind the long Formica counter, dish towel over one shoulder, as she raked a glance across the room. "Cat got your tongue, gents?" Dottie scolded, hands on her hips. "What are y'all starin' for? Ain't like you've never seen a woman dressed up professional. Now put your eyeballs back in their sockets and finish your breakfasts. I'm sure y'all have cattle that need checkin'." Dottie leveled a gaze at her. "CiCi, honey, you look like death warmed over. What in land's sake happened to you?" Dottie took her by the elbow and motioned toward the back. "You look like you need a cup of coffee and a slice of pie. Come on back and let's visit in my office. This crew don't need to be up in your business anyways."

  She nodded mutely, and let Dottie usher her toward the back. She couldn't resist taking a peek at the far corner as she passed the industrial coffee maker. He was still staring. Cecilia bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. No way would he catch her smiling back at him. Devastatingly handsome men like that were good in all the wrong ways and none of the right. She'd learned the hard way that guys like that meant one thing only. Heartbreak.

  Dottie swiped a coffee pot and handed it to her. "I'll get the pie. Office is in the back past the walk-in and the door to the basement, restroom is across. You might want to freshen up a bit," she tossed over her shoulder as she pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

  Great. Cecilia placed the pot on the big walnut desk that filled the bulk of Dottie's office, and slipped into the ladies'. She took one look at her reflection and groaned. It was worse than she imagined. While there was still hair in her bun, fully half of it had pulled out and hung in disarray, her eyes were indeed puffy and a little red from crying and the all-night drive, and her mascara, while not sad-clown streaking down her cheeks, was smudged. An extra button on her tailored white shirt had come undone, exposing a little too much skin, and was wildly wrinkled from ten hours in the car. The clasp on her treasured pearl necklace had slipped nearly to the bottom. Dear lord, no wonder the cowboy had stared. No wonder they all had. She looked freshly and thoroughly fucked. A half-hysterical laugh escaped. It was only six a.m., what the heck else could go wrong?

  She grabbed a paper towel, wet it with cold water and pressed it against her eyes, taking a deep breath as the cold brought welcome relief. She breathed in again, like she'd been taught through her years of yoga practice, held, and released, centering her thoughts. This wasn't the end of the world. Mariah was right - this was an opportunity. She breathed again, then dabbed at the mascara. She took another paper towel, wet it, and pressed it against the back of her neck. With a little of Dottie's pie and a shower when she arrived home, she'd be as good as new. With a shake of her head, she pulled the remaining hair from her bun, and set about replacing it. One last glance in the mirror and a confident smile that was anything but, and she stepped out and across to the office where Dottie waited expectantly, two steaming mugs of coffee and two pieces of pie set out on the desk. "Is that strawberry?" she asked, dropping into the offered chair with a relieved sigh.

  "Strawberry-rhubarb," Dottie answered with a note of pride.

  Cecilia grabbed the plate and dug in, ravenous. She realized with a start she hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before, and that had only been a granola bar as she'd run out the door, worried she'd be late for her nine a.m. Ha. She should have taken her time and kept Bob waiting. Lesson learned. She wolfed down the glorious slice, a perfect balance of sweet and tart, pillowed in a buttery, flaky crust. "Can I have another?" she asked, mouth still full.

  "Of course you can sweetie-pie. I'll just bring the whole thing back, and you can eat it right out of the plate. No shame in that when you've had a rough go of it."

  Cecilia had to hand it to Dottie - she instinctively knew what a person needed, whether it was tough talk or tea and sympathy. Often, it was both.

  Dottie returned with the pie plate and handed it over, then reached into a tiny cabinet and brought out a bottle of booze. "Twelve-year Redbreast," she explained at Cecilia's raised eyebrow. "Jamey Sinclaire calls it the crisis bottle. I keep it in here for emergencies." She leaned forward, dropping her voice. "But don't tell my girls. They don't know."

  Cecilia covered a laugh. "Your secret's safe with me." And she was certain Dottie's four daughters absolutely knew about the crisis bottle.

  Dottie sat back and folded her arms across her ample chest. Her gaze narrowed to two sharp points. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're here at the crack of dawn on a weekday in June looking like something the cat drug in?"

  Chapter Five

  "So I hopped in the car and drove home," Cecilia concluded after detailing the whole tawdry tale to Dottie, who listened without interruption, offering no more than noncommittal grunts and harrumphs at important points. "I mean, I couldn't go to Mariah's. Not with her constant traveling and half living with Harrison. The last thing I need is to be Debbie Downer and a third wheel in my sister's happy life."

  Dottie poured out a little more Redbreast and pushed the glass across the desk. "Hmm," she voiced with a small scowl.

  "Right? My best option was to come home for a while. Regroup and all that?" She looked to Dottie for affirmation, but the woman remained circumspect, eyes darting between her face and the shot. Fine. She'd take a second. Lord knew she needed it after the twenty-four hours she'd had. Cecilia downed the whiskey, relishing the burn, and returned the glass to the table, concentrating on how the remaining drops slid down the inside of the crystal. "You think I should have stayed and fought it," she whispered, shame making her stomach drop.

  Dottie cleared her throat. "I trust your judgment, sweetie pie. You always had a good head on your shoulders. Some battles can't be won. And as far as that man of yours goes, that's his loss. And better you know now that he can't handle a strong female. Hold out for someone who does."

  "Ha." A bitter laugh escaped her. "And I'm going to find that here?"

  "That's not for me to say, but I think you'd agree my girls are made of tough stuff, and I fully approve of their husbands," Dottie chastised. "But what you need to think about now is getting back on your feet. Do you have a plan?"

  "I thought about going to the paper."

  Dottie scowled again and shook her head. "Brian McCabe may do a decent job of reporting the local happenings, but he won't take kindly to a journalist honing in on his territory."

&
nbsp; "But I need to write," Cecilia protested. "That's what I've been trained to do."

  Dottie snorted. "Sweetie pie, I could write the stories Brian writes with one hand behind my back and the other making biscuits. There's a reason the paper is free. You'll have better luck freelancing."

  Cecilia's mouth pulled down. She always appreciated that Dottie didn't pull her punches, but she wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to receive tough love. Even though she was right. "Yeah," she said with a small sigh. "Mariah said the same thing." She puffed her cheeks and blew out a long, frustrated breath. None of this was going to be easy. Or comfortable.

  "Why don't you come work for me? Lord knows I could use an extra pair of hands. Capable hands," she added with a raised eyebrow. "Lexi's getting married in a few weeks, and this whole being Mayor business has upturned the apple cart, so to speak."

  Emma Sinclaire had mentioned on one of their monthly wine night Skype chats that Dottie had been elected mayor via write in a few months back, and that the diner's business had exploded overnight. But still... working at Dottie's Diner? Cecilia had done that all through high school. "I think I'm a little overqualified," she said with a husky laugh.

  Dottie speared her with a sharp look. "No harm in a hard day's work. You know I always pay well, and the morning tips are good. Ask any one of my girls who work here."

  Cecilia waved a hand. "I know. I didn't mean to offend. It's... just an adjustment, that's all. I didn't expect to be here - unemployed and back housesitting at Mom and 'Buelita's at thirty."

  Dottie clucked like a mother hen. "I know, sweetie pie. But who knows? Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened to you. I thought we were through when the tornado ripped through here a few years ago. I thought about throwing in the towel and retiring to the ranch to help Teddy. But now look at this place. It's better than ever, and so are all of us. So you just never know, hon. Now's the time to try something brand-new."

  "You're right," she agreed, covering a yawn. Exhaustion was quickly catching up with her.

  "Go home, unpack and take a nap, then take a long hot shower, and come back for some lunch. If you want to talk to Brian over at the paper, I'll put in a good word for you, but my offer stands. You've got a job here first thing tomorrow. I arrive at five-thirty."

  Cecilia blinked. She and morning didn't exactly see eye to eye. She had savings, but not a lot, and what else was she going to do? Eat donuts and watch Dr. Phil reruns while her friends moved on with life? Hell, no. She wasn't a quitter. She might be down, but she sure as hell wasn't out, and if working for Dottie meant rising with the roosters, well, she could do that. She shuddered. Better that than what she'd witnessed undercover when she was researching her story. Dottie was right. Working at the diner might not be her dream job, but it was honest work. And safe. She nodded and rose. "Okay, I'll think about it today. And I'll take you up on lunch. I'm sure the fridge is empty at home."

  "I got a postcard from your mama a week ago, see?" She pointed to a photo of the Eiffel Tower. "Seems like they're having a real good time."

  Cecilia perked up at the wistful note in Dottie's voice. When her grandfather passed fifteen years ago, her mom had promised to take her mother on the once-in-a-lifetime trip Cecilia's grandfather had always promised, and it might never have happened except for the incredible generosity of Mariah's boyfriend, Harrison Steele. The man was so rich he could buy and sell countries, but he was devoted to her sister, so Cecilia approved. Lord knew, the women who'd raised them had more than earned something big like this. They'd sacrificed so much for her and Mariah. Too much. Mariah's words returned to her. Maybe she should fix up the house for them while they were gone. It would be the perfect gesture of thanks. Cecilia gave the woman who was everyone's second mom a smile. "Maybe you and Teddy can travel someday."

  For a split second, Dottie's face slipped, and Cecilia was startled at the raw longing in her eyes. Was that how her mother and grandmother had felt for so many years? Putting their own dreams on hold to take care of others?

  "Maybe someday, maybe not. I've had a good life right here." She huffed out a breath and stood. "And you need a nap, child. You look like you're ready to collapse. Drive careful, okay?"

  "It's only a mile, if that. I'll be fine."

  Dottie clicked her tongue. "You know what they say about most accidents happening close to home. You want a coffee refill?"

  "I'm good." She hugged Dottie, briefly sagging into the woman's fierce embrace. "See you soon?"

  Dottie held open the door. "I'll be here."

  Cecilia walked out with significantly more spring in her step. Ignoring the stares of the old-timers, she pushed through the door, filling her lungs with the fresh morning air that still held a hint of dew as she picked her way back to her Volvo, easily the saddest looking car in the lot squeezed in between two ginormous pickups. How did these old guys enter and exit these monstrosities? The running boards easily came up to her hip. "We're not in Kansas anymore," she muttered, giggling at her own joke as she squeezed into her car. The ignition sputtered, finally roaring to life on the second try. Cecilia patted the dash. "Don't give up on me now mamacita. I can't afford to replace you." Peering in the rearview she eased back, bopping along to her favorite new song by K.C. Starr. As soon as the coast looked clear, she gunned it, letting the tires spin on the gravel.

  CRUNCH!

  Chapter Six

  Cecilia's neck snapped back as the sickening crunch of tearing metal and breaking glass filled her ears. She gasped, quickly removing her feet from the gas and the clutch. The car lurched and stalled. What in the hell?

  No.

  Nonononono.

  Sickening realization set in. But she couldn't have hit anyone. The rearview had been clear. Where had that monster truck materialized from? Thin air? She wiggled her toes, then her fingers, ears ringing, heart racing. At least nothing was broken, although she wouldn't escape without a headache. She pinched her temples, blinking back tears. Wasn't this the cherry on the shit sundae? Cecilia sucked in a harsh breath. Tears wouldn't help her right now. Cautiously, she opened the door and slipped out, clutching the top to steady her shaking knees. She hadn't drunk that much of Dottie's crisis bottle.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel and a pair of obviously custom-made ostrich snip-toe boots partly covered by blue denim frayed at the seams crossed into her vision. The rough baritone slid over her in the same manner Dottie's whiskey had slid down her throat. Warm, with just the right amount of burn. "You okay?"

  "No thanks to you," she snapped, exhaustion getting the best of her, in spite of the panty-melting quality of the voice that belonged to the boots. She dragged her gaze up, covering a gasp when for the second time that morning, brown eyes locked with hazel. Up close, they were even more magnificent - shades of green and gray surrounding a gold center that when mixed were heart-stopping, thanks to the so-sexy-it-should-be-illegal dark fringe of lashes. Again, she was overcome with the distinct feeling she knew him, or had at least crossed paths with him. The question was where? And how? Because she'd never seen a cowboy this fine in or outside of Prairie. And what was up with his perfectly straight nose? How did a cowboy get to be his age without a broken nose? Every guy she knew in Prairie had suffered a broken nose at least once. Whoever he was, this guy wasn't a cowboy. She'd bet her demolished car on it.

  His eyes flickered with surprise then narrowed. "No thanks to me?" he countered, taking a step forward. "You were the one gunning it like you were in the Indy 500. I was already backing out."

  "Like I could see around any of these dick swingers." She waved a hand at the truck next to her, eyeing the damage to his equally enormous truck.

  His mouth barely tilted up. "I don't need to swing my dick, sweetheart."

  "Oh don't you sweetheart me." Her voice shook as she stepped around him to survey the damage. Broken glass scattered across the gravel, fully half of it inside her car. The back end had accordioned, and the rear driver's wheel bent at an odd ang
le. It was so much worse than she'd imagined. A wave of nausea rolled through her. Insurance would total it, and because the car was so old, she'd be lucky if they gave her five-hundred-dollars. Her vision blurred. "Ohmygod, you ruined my car. What am I going to do?" she muttered to herself as she wobbled back to the driver's seat and reached for her phone.

  "Call for a tow?"

  "You're full of great suggestions." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but she was beyond caring at the moment. Right now, she just wanted to get home, crawl under the covers, . Maybe when she woke up she'd realize this was just a really bad dream.

  "Of course I am. You can't drive it," he said, a note of exasperation entering his voice.

  His voice had no business being that sexy when he was irritated. "Which is exactly why I'm calling the station." She punched in the number for the Prairie dispatch and tapped her foot impatiently as it rang once, twice.

  "Police, this is Jeanine," a cheery voice answered.

  "Now hold on a sec," he started. "There's no need to-"

  Cecilia held up a hand, and fighting to keep her voice even, she spoke. "Hey, Jeanine. It's CiCi."

  "CiCi?" Immediately Jeanine's voice went from happy to concerned. "Are you okay? Did something happen to your mom and gran?"

  "No. No, they're fine. I... can you send Weston or somebody over? I need to make a police report."

  "We can settle this like adults." He shot her a glare of pure frustration.

  She glared right back. "That's exactly what I'm doing."

  "What happened?" Jeanine pressed. "Are you okay? Who's that I'm hearing?"

  Oh lordy, word of this would be all over town by lunch. "Just a fender-bender in Dottie's parking lot."

  "That you caused," he pointed out.

  "Did not."

  "I wasn't the one driving like a bat out of hell."

  "Bat out of hell?" she screeched. Ooh, the nerve of him. "I'll have you know, I'm a damn good driver. I've had this car since I was fifteen." She waved at the broken back end. "And until this morning, it's never had so much as a scratch on it. And," she got right into his space, ignoring the incredible spicy scent of him and the way his scruff made his mouth stand out, and wagged her finger up at him. "My driving record is spotless." Where did he get off accusing her of reckless driving?