Crazy for the Cowboy
Second in the series: Love at the Crazy H
Second in the series: Love at the Crazy H
Fitz Hall has learned the hard way that transplanted city girls are not to be trusted, so he plans to steer clear of the new arrival in town. Rhiannon Jakobowski has lived a staid, regimented life. Inheriting a bookstore in Shirley, Wyoming, is her first chance at independence, and she’s determined to make the most of it. Within days of arriving, however, she wakes up to find the handsome sheriff in her bed. Pretty soon she’s talking to ghosts. Is she losing her mind? Or is she just crazy for the cowboy? Excerpt: He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he looked up and regarded her steadily, his dark eyes almost black with intensity. “We need to talk about what happened last night.” “Rats!” That’s what she’d been afraid he’d said. She squeezed her own eyes shut. “Can’t we just forget the whole thing? Pretend it never happened?” Sure, she’d remember the beauty of that experience every day for the rest of her life, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “As much as we both might like to ignore what happened,” he began again. “There are a few things we need to get settled before we do.” “Oh.” Of course he was determined to be responsible about all of this. That’s what she got for sleeping with a cop. She wrapped her arms around her updrawn legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Okay, shoot.” He winced, and she realized that was probably the wrong word to use with a man who carried a gun for a living. But he let it go and studied her intently. “You said that last night was your first time.” He spoke slowly and quietly, but she didn’t miss the slight hesitation as he said the words. He was as uncomfortable as she was, which for some reason made her feel better. “Can I take that to mean that you’re clean, disease-wise?” “Yeah.” That one was easy, if just a tiny bit insulting. “I give blood regularly, so I’ve even been tested in the last three months.” “Good.” His broad shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. “I’m clean, too. Department policy requires a check-up every six months, and there hasn’t been anybody since the last one.” He paused for a second. “And I give blood, too. As often as I’m allowed.” Of course he did. He was Mr. Responsible, after all. She’d never doubted for a moment that he was disease-free. Not from the first conversation they'd had this morning, anyway. Ree knew this conversation was necessary, knew it was part of the modern-day sexual etiquette that she’d never had reason to practice. But she was still too embarrassed to meet his eye. “Thanks,” she mumbled instead. “But there’s something else we need to get out in the open,” he continued. The tiny crack in his voice over the word ‘else’ was the only sign she had that he was at all rattled. And he’d probably blame that on his cold, if pressed. “Last night, neither of us was exactly thinking clearly…” “Or thinking at all,” she whispered, humiliated. “I know we didn’t use any physical means of protection,” he stated calmly. She studied the tiny pleats in her skirt, pinching them into even tighter folds. “Rhiannon, I need you to tell me. Are you…” He only hesitated a moment before he went on. “Are you using anything? Pills, shots, whatever? Are you on any form of birth control at all?” This time his cracking voice betrayed him. The big, tough sheriff was as terrified as she was. Or at least close. That gave her the courage to look up at him. But she still had to swallow hard before she could croak out an answer. “No.” He closed his eyes again, lowering his face into his hands. Ree almost shivered as she remembered those long, powerful fingers on her skin, but she caught it in time. No at all appropriate under the circumstances, she chided herself. That kind of feeling is what got you into this mess in the first place. She dropped her own eyes back to her skirt. “How’s the timing?” he asked, finally. “Any idea what kind of odds we’re looking at?” She shook her head. “I’m not really sure,” she admitted through a wave of panic and self-disgust. Her grandmother had told her nearly every day of her life that Ree was too stupid to survive on her own. It really stunk to think that the old biddy might have been right. “Well, when was your last period?” Her eyes flew open at his bluntness. “A couple of weeks ago, I think,” she replied helplessly. How could she not know? He must think she was a total space cadet. “I never really kept track because I never needed to.” She blinked hard, determined not to give in to the tears that stung the insides of her eyelids. “Because you’ve never been sexually active,” he finished for her, his voice sounding almost kind, this time. She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. “So we have to assume that there is a possibility that you’re pregnant.” His words, though softly spoken, filled the room like crashing thunder, echoing off the walls and ringing in her ears. She blinked again, but this time one stubborn tear escaped, to trickle own her cheek as she nodded. “Okay,” he breathed. “So we both know what we’re looking at.” Then his voice hardened. “I need you to keep me in the loop on this, Ree. The minute you know something, anything, either way, you call me. Got it?” He didn’t even pause. “Hell, if you even suspect something, you let me know, understood?" That seemed fair. Though she firmly believed that anything to do with her body was her decision, she could agree to keeping him informed. She nodded miserably again, keeping her head down to hide that rotten tear, as well as its companion that had appeared somehow on her other cheek. He moved so swiftly and smoothly that she felt his hand on her chin before she even saw him stand. He used one palm to tip her chin up, while he smoothed away her tears with the pad of his other thumb. “And Rhiannon, I want you to understand something. If you are pregnant, we will be getting married. I’m not asking you; I’m telling you. So start thinking about what you want to wear to your wedding.” |
Praise for Crazy for the Cowboy
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