The Bull Rider's Cowgirl
THE COWGIRL OF HIS DREAMSJen Taylor is this close to becoming a world-champion barrel racer. But when tragedy strikes bull rider Colt Mead, she puts her ambitions on hold…temporarily. The playboy of the circuit suddenly has a child depending on him. She can’t let her friend go it alone—no matter how much he hurt her…Colt knew Jen deserved better than a rootless bull rider. But caring for his orphaned half sister makes him realize how much he wants to be part of a family. And that family won’t be complete without the woman he loves as much more than a friend. Will she give up her dream to be part of his?
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THE COWGIRL OF HIS DREAMS
Jen Taylor is this close to becoming a world-champion barrel racer. But when tragedy strikes bull rider Colt Mead, she puts her ambitions on holdâ¦temporarily. The playboy of the circuit suddenly has a child depending on him. She canât let her friend go it aloneâno matter how much he hurt herâ¦
Colt knew Jen deserved better than a rootless bull rider. But caring for his orphaned half sister makes him realize how much he wants to be part of a family. And that family wonât be complete without the woman he loves as much more than a friend. Will she give up her dream to be part of his?
âIâm sorry, Colt. So sorry.â
He didnât make a sound but his body shook under Jenâs touch and he slid his face down to bury it against her belly. Her shirt grew damp under his cheek, her heart squeezing harder with every silent heave of his shoulders. She paused every few minutes to wipe away a tear of her own, swallowing the lump in her throat and holding back as many as she could.
His hold loosened and he raised his head. The weak expression crossing his striking features stabbed her chest. She leaned in and drifted soft kisses over his forehead, lean cheeks and bearded jaw. Hoping to lessen the heavy shadows hanging over him.
He looked at her then, his blue eyes welling, tears coating the thick lashes and clinging to the ends. She pressed gentle kisses there, too. The taste of salt touched her tongue as his eyelids fluttered shut.
His strong hand slid into her hair, palm cupping the back of her head and fingers kneading her nape. âJen?â
The husky whisper had barely escaped when he touched his mouth to hers.
Like a lot of girls, I met the first man Iâd ever love on the day I was born. My dad.
But I was lucky. Because there was a second man there that day, too. My brother.
Of course, he was a boy then and Iâm sure my squalling face was the least welcome sight in his universe. Only, youâd never know it after looking at pictures of us as kids.
My mother was a photographer and took more photos of us than we could count. In some, he kissed my cheek. In others, he held my hand. But in all of them, he was right by my side. Just as he was the day we lost our mother.
I was sixteen and he was the first person to hold me that day. As much as he was hurting, he didnât let go and say itâd be okay like others did. Because he knew what weâd lostâ¦and how much I needed him.
Thatâs the kind of love a girl never forgets.
In The Bull Riderâs Cowgirl, Colt Mead is appointed guardian of his little sister, Meg. Being responsible for a child isnât something heâs used to. He makes mistakes (as we all do) but he loves hard. And Meg is very lucky to have him.
Thank you for reading Coltâs story.
April
APRIL ARRINGTON grew up in a small Southern town and developed a love for movies and books at an early age. Emotionally moving stories have always held a special place in her heart. During the day, she enjoys sharing classic literature and popular fiction with students. At night, she spends her time writing stories of her own. April enjoys collecting pottery and soaking up the Georgia sun on her front porch. You can follow her on Twitter, @april_arrington.
Dedicated to my big brother, Steve.
I love you to the moon and back. Always.
Contents
15.32. Left, right, right. Go for great.
Only a fraction of a second separated a good barrel racer from a great one. The faster the run, the higher a name moved up the scoreboard. Tonight, Jen Taylor was determined her name would be at the top of the list.
âWe can do this, Diamond.â
Jen nudged her quarter horse into a jog across the grassy warm-up area. His white mane rippled over the edge of the saddle and fluttered against the reins. The crowd, inside Kissimmeeâs Silver Spurs Arena several feet away, burst into applause, signaling the end of another barrel racerâs run.
âEasy.â Jen dropped her weight in the saddle, took hold of the saddle horn and executed a sharp left turn.
She drew Diamond to a halt in front of the arenaâs alley entrance, sucked in a lungful of warm Florida air and tried to still the frantic flutters in her stomach. One more run and sheâd be up. The clear April evening was a perfect night for racing. If she could just get a handle on her nerves...
âThat was Autumn Langley of Texas,â the announcer blared over the PA system.
Jen cringed, her face heating. Autumn Langley was one of the best in the arena. And a reminder of one of Jenâs biggest humiliations outside it.
She craned her neck, focused on the illuminated board and tried to make out Autumnâs score. The numbers and letters shifted. A few broke. Others floated. It was impossible to focus on them from this angle and her attention was too shot to concentrate.
