Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2) Read online

  STAYING HOME

  Roped by the Cowboy Duet, 2

  By J.C. Valentine

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book is copyrighted material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without the prior permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  STAYING HOME: Roped by the Cowboy Duet, 2 Novel

  by J.C. Valentine

  Copyright © 2018 by J.C. Valentine

  Cover design by J.C. Valentine

  Edited by Mitzi Carroll

  STAYING HOME is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this eBook either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademark status in this work of fiction. The publications and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Books by

  J.C. VALENTINE

  Night Calls

  Stranded

  That First Kiss

  Surrender to Love

  Trust

  Wayward Fighters

  Knockout

  Tapout

  unDefeated

  Blue Collar

  Sweetest Temptations

  Noel: A Blue Collar Christmas

  Forbidden

  Dance for Me

  Lie to You

  Fall for Him

  Forbidden Valentine

  Spartan Riders

  Grit

  Mettle

  Vigor

  Brash

  Cocky

  For more titles, visit your favorite online retailer!

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Life has never been kind to Nash. Neither has love. He took a chance on Vivian and she walked away. Now she's back. Too bad for her because he's done.

  Unfortunately for him, his psuedo-mother has other plans for his life, whether he likes it or not, and there's no telling her no. Caught between a stubborn streak a mile wide and denying Vivian’s siren call to his heart, Nash has to decide if he’s going to close himself off from love for good or give in to one last chance at happiness. What will happen when stubborn heads collide and hearts refuse to be ignored?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  You know me, I like to change things up a bit (and often!), just like my reading tastes. That’s how we’ve come to cowboy romance. There’s just something about a hardworking man with a Southern accent…Well, I’m sure you can relate, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this book! Thank you for taking another chance with me. I hope you enjoy the, er, ride *wink*

  (This next part I won’t change, because it still very much applies.)

  I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my family and friends. Mom, Mitzi, Mia, Holly, Cheryl: you have been the anchors in my life. You’ve kept me strong, even through (numerous) moments of self-doubt. You’ve kept me focused and cheered me on every step of the way. Thank you for never losing faith in me even when I did. There aren’t enough words in the world to describe how much I love and appreciate you.

  Finally, I have to thank my kids, because they’re my driving force in this world. Everything I do, I do for you!

  ONE

  There was a disturbance in the air.

  Actually, it was the shiny little Porsche that’d been haunting his thoughts for the last several weeks. Namely, the little lady who drove it.

  He could claim that he wouldn’t give either a passing thought if not for the meddling townsfolk always bringing it up, keeping his mind fresh with thoughts of her, but he’d be lying through his teeth.

  Vivian Parish was always front and center.

  So yes, anytime the wind blew, his gaze strayed to that damn road, searching for any sign of the fancy, lying little witch who’d come and gone from his life quicker than two shakes of a jackrabbit’s ass and left an indelible mark on his once happily boring life.

  Now his days were as gray and gloomy as the sky above, threatening a downpour at any minute.

  The air stirred, and he looked up again, cursing his lack of willpower, but all that greeted him was the dusty road that divided his land from Ms. Gretta’s, and it was as still as a summer noon.

  He would never admit it to anyone if they asked, but he hadn’t taken his eyes from that direction since the moment she drove out of town.

  What was it about Vivian that he couldn’t shake?

  She’d lied to him. It should have been enough to make him disregard her forever, but she hadn’t left his mind for a second. Not one.

  Maybe it was because she was the only woman who’d captured his attention since Carlene died. Vivian was stunningly beautiful, a complete heart-stopper. When he’d first come across her broken down on the side of the road, he’d been completely taken by her, but he knew from the flashy car she drove and the designer clothes she wore that she was far too above him for them to ever work.

  A city girl and a country boy just didn’t make a lick of sense. He didn’t care what all those ridiculous romance books claimed.

  That didn’t stop Ms. Gretta from trying to match them up though. She was a force to be reckoned with. When she got her mind set on an idea, it was harder than taking a bone from a hungry dog to get her to drop it.

  So if he was so certain they would never work, why had he pursued anything at all? And why was he still thinking about her, struggling with the urge to march down to Ms. Gretta’s and demand to know if she’d spoken to the woman? Why was he hanging onto the grapevine, hoping for a morsel of information, anything at all, to feed the beast inside that craved another taste of something he had no business craving?

  Because Nash was an idiot. Just a stupid cowboy with too much time on his hands.

  And grease.

  “Damn it!” The engine on the damn tractor was having fits, and the part he’d picked up from Charlie wasn’t going in the way it should. He’d already put more time into it than it was worth, but Gretta couldn’t afford another new piece of heavy machinery, so he didn’t have much choice but to fix it.

  It would just take more time and more patience, something he was scarce on lately.

  Which was why he kept mucking it up. He should have had the task completed already, but he kept making stupid mistakes.

  It was all Vivian’s fault. He’d been doing just fine before she came traipsing along. Now everything was topsy-turvy.

  He needed a break.

  Tossing the wrench back into the toolbox, he wiped his greasy hands on a shop cloth and threw that down too.

  At least the weather was cooperating. For now. Cool and breezy, just the way he liked it. Soon fall would decide to stick around, and then it’d be too damn cold. Just couldn’t seem to get the right balance for longer than a few days, but he wasn’t complaining. In a couple of months, he’d be itching for something to do and waiting for summer to return.

  The life of a farmhand…

  Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Nash turned his back on his project and went inside
. Carlene had died just short of three years ago, taking the light and love from the house with her. Nothing had been the same since. Their once happy home was now a shell for him to escape the elements and lay his head down at night.

  There was no heart left, no soul. No breath left in it to attach himself to.

  It felt rather a lot like himself these days.

  No, that wasn’t accurate.

  He’d changed over the past few weeks. He’d felt that spark inside again, the hint of something new, something he could almost grasp.

  It felt a lot like happiness.

  But that’d been snatched away, too. Whenever he got the slightest taste of it, something always had to come along and snatch it away.

  Made a man begin to think that maybe he wasn’t meant for such things.

  But then Ms. Gretta always came along with the right words of wisdom—or maybe it was just plain ol’ brow beating—and made him change his mind for another day or two.

  That old bat kept him going most days. Only the Lord knew how someone who’d experienced such loss could remain so damn positive. He understood that loss well, and he couldn’t fathom where she summoned the strength to get out of bed with a smile each day when he could hardly manage to do one, much less the other.

  Standing in the kitchen, Nash looked around at the plain white cabinets and Formica counters, the black-and-white checkered floor, and the store-bought chef photos hanging on the creamy yellow walls—Carlene loved yellow—and felt…nothing.

  That empty feeling had dug its claws in…he couldn’t remember when exactly. It showed up the day his wife died and just kept burrowing deeper under his skin until he woke up one day and felt numb.

  That numbness was what allowed him to function. It was better than lying in bed all day and night, staring at the dusty ceiling fan, asking his dead wife why she left him behind to live this life without her.

  Jesus, he was a depressing SOB today.

  He glanced at the coffeemaker, an old French press that cost him all of twelve dollars at Jenna’s antique shop, the Thrifty Housewife. She had a lot of neat little trinkets lying around that she and her family had collected over the years, but it was the not-so-secret sex shop she ran online that she was infamous for.

  In a town where everyone was big on propriety and issued “bless your hearts” in lieu of risking offense with what was really on their mind, that woman pushed the envelope. And she made no apologies. He guessed that’s what he liked about her and why he gave her his business rather than shopping at the main stores in town. At least she didn’t pry into his business.

  Nash had a decision to make. Either he made coffee and took a load off, or he went to Gretta’s and had some with her.

  The thought of sitting alone in the waning light seemed lonely, so he turned on his heel and punched his way back out the screaming screen door and tromped across the open grounds that divided his property from hers.

  While he didn’t enjoy unexpected visitors, Ms. Gretta always had her door open and a ready smile for any stragglers who made their way to hers.

  She was a better person than him, by far.

  Anyone showed up on his doorstep unannounced got a few choice words from him and were issued their marching orders.

  All the way through the tall grasses up until the time Nash reached her back porch, Nash had to beat away thoughts of Vivian. Each step seemed to recall things about her he’d rather forget. Like seeing her sitting on the porch in the rocking chair beside Gretta, sharing a cup of sweet tea on a warm summer evening, and when he’d step through the kitchen door after a long day working the field to see her finishing up dinner for him and the guys. She always managed to burn something, having never cooked a meal in her life before Ms. Gretta decided to teach her a thing or two, but toward the end, she’d been improving.

  He hated the reminders as if she’d stamped parts of herself all around the house and property, making sure he’d never shake her.

  He would eventually. The longer she was gone, the easier it would be to erase her from his mind. Nash just had to keep reminding himself that Vivian Parish was a liar. She’d strung him along, kept secrets, and then turned her back and left when the griddle grew too hot to stand on.

  That was the kind of person she was, and if he could keep that in mind, he’d be right as rain in no time.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Stepping into that kitchen again, Nash froze in place, blinking a few times to make sure his vision was clear and what he was seeing wasn’t some kind of apparition.

  “Sweet pea,” Ms. Gretta greeted enthusiastically when she noticed his arrival. “Perfect timing. Look what the cat dragged in!”

  Nash was looking, and that was the problem. “What’s she doing here?” he growled, his hard gaze fastened to the intruder seated at the table as if she belonged there.

  Looking more than a little uncomfortable, Vivian’s blonde head turned and she looked up at him with those amazing brown eyes so filled with worry and doubt and…something else. “Hey, Nash.”

  “Now,” Ms. Gretta said, rising from her seat, “don’t go gettin’ all cranky.”

  Nash wasn’t really hearing her. It was as if Gretta spoke from a distance, even though she was only ten feet in front of him. The entirety of his focus was on Vivian, whose eyes watched him as he continued to stand there, a curious humming in his ears growing louder by the second.

  From his periphery, he saw Gretta approaching him slowly as if he were a wild animal who’d bolt at any moment, but he was long past hearing anything she was saying.

  That hum had grown deafening, his heart pounded against his rib cage, and the overwhelming heat in his head had created pressure so intense, he had the passing thought that his skull might actually explode if he didn’t get out of there.

  Vivian’s mouth was moving, and she stood too, as if she might try to approach him.

  That’s when the panic set in.

  Never having been one for the dramatic, Nash couldn’t explain his reaction. One minute he was standing there, thinking this woman had a lot of damn nerve showing her face around there again, and the next, the wind was in his face, sprinkles of rain dotting his skin and collecting to run like tears down his cheeks, as he beat a hard path back to his place.

  Coffee in his old rocker in front of the TV sounded better anyway.

  TWO

  Nash didn’t have to pretend he was busy to claim that he had too much to do to go running every time Gretta made some bogus call to his place claiming to need his help with this, that, or the other.

  He knew her game, and as he’d expressly told her over the phone, he wasn’t playing.

  That old bat just wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, though. He’d be damned if she didn’t call him morning, noon, and night every damn day until he was ready to rip the phone from the wall.

  Yes, he was old school enough to still have a landline. As he’d told Shelly and Maryanne and a host of other nosey townies, he didn’t see the point nor the need to be constantly connected to the far-too-connected world every second of the day. A man needed peace and quiet, time to disconnect now and then so he didn’t lose what little marbles he had left in his head.

  And thanks to Gretta’s scheming, he had precious few left to spare.

  So, in the interest of having a good day without enduring the pestering of a woman who had far too much time on her hands, Nash had taken to the barn where he was diligently at work on the old tractor that was giving him a fine tantrum as he tried his best to coax it back to life. He’d purposefully left the cell phone Carlene had forced on him once upon a time but he rarely used on the kitchen counter on his way out the door, knowing it would ring him right into a fit of his own if he didn’t.

  Which was probably why, when he just happened to glance up from the toolbox while hunting for the right sized nut, he spotted his nosey, wrinkled old neighbor shuffling his way.

  “Crud,” he cursed lightly. As she approached, Na
sh abandoned his task, knowing he’d never get any work done now. “What brings you by, Ms. Gretta?” he asked, intuitively knowing the answer. Or maybe it was a matter of patterns set that was the cause.

  Ms. Gretta, wearing a pair of pale blue polyester pants paired with a dark blue, purple, and pink plaid shirt, took her time answering him, focusing on her Dr. Scholl’s. When she finally reached him sometime later, she focused those shrewd, cloudy gray eyes on his, as if attempting to see clear through to his soul.

  Then she slapped him dead center in the chest.

  “Ow!” Nash shouted, rubbing the spot and glaring something fierce at his old friend. “What the hell was that for?”

  “That’s for avoidin’ my calls,” she accused.

  “I wasn’t avoidin’ nothin’. I was working.” He shot his hand out, indicating the tractor and piles of tools and whatnot that he’d been surrounded by all morning.

  “Don’t you go lyin’ to me, young man. You know I can smell ‘em a mile away. Got the nose of a bloodhound,” she reminded him, and he knew she was right. Ms. Gretta was a human lie detector. He’d told her more than once she’d missed her calling working for the FBI.

  Nash resisted the urge to roll his eyes and huff, knowing that it would only earn him another slap. “I just needed some quiet.” Turning away, he resumed his search for the right nut to tighten a bolt that had been testing his patience for two long days.

  “Is that all?” Ms. Gretta asked, her tone all-knowing. Of course, she’d sensed that there was more to his admission, but Nash wasn’t about to step into her confessional.

  “That’s all,” he said, his voice a bit too high.

  “Are you sure it doesn’t have anythin’ to do with a certain young woman?”

  Nash didn’t immediately answer, lie detector that she was ‘n all. “Is there somethin’ you needed, or did you just feel like slappin’ somethin’ around today?”

  “Smart-ass,” Gretta issued with the proper amount of feigned annoyance. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hidin’ in some hole somewhere, lickin’ your wounds and cursing the Lord’s name.”