Brianna's Sinful Cowboys [Casanova Cowboys 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  Casanova Cowboys 4

  Brianna’s Sinful Cowboys

  Brianna Cabot has one goal coming to Ryder, Kansas, with coworker and boyfriend, Jackson Morrell. Contract land for their boss’s new luxury resort to lock in a golden promotion. A brutal car accident puts a dent in her plans. So does Ryder’s handsome sheriff and partial owner of the prime property, Rylan Ryder.

  Nine months ago, Rylan lost his girlfriend to Crosslane. Rescuing Brianna draws on painful memories of having been helpless to save the woman he had loved, but stirs awake long forgotten desires. Their ongoing feud over her boss’s proposal fuels the escalating attraction between them. Unfortunately, the woman is his closest pal’s girlfriend, and therefore off-limits. Little does he know, Jackson has a plan of his own to lure Rylan into their relationship and share a woman neither man can do without.

  Even the most carefully laid plans are threatened when someone from Brianna’s past arrives, who has no intention of leaving without his prize.

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 80,827 words

  BRIANNA’S SINFUL COWBOYS

  Casanova Cowboys 4

  Rhea Regale

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  BRIANNA’S SINFUL COWBOYS

  Copyright © 2014 by Rhea Regale

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-536-1

  First E-book Publication: April 2014

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  This is Rhea Regale’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Regale’s right to earn a living from her work.

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  DEDICATION

  To my readers. Thank you for all of your support!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  BRIANNA’S SINFUL COWBOYS

  Casanova Cowboys 4

  RHEA REGALE

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  The blinding sunlight on this morning should have lent some semblance of warmth to the cold Kansas air, but not here. Not now.

  Sheriff Rylan Ryder bit down on his lip, a tight fist pressing and pinching his mouth at the same time. Ice had begun to melt beneath his knee, seeping up through his uniform pants. He couldn’t bring himself to shift, knowing that the small discomfort he suffered in these precious moments was nothing compared to the discomfort in his chest.

  Beneath him lay his heart, buried with the woman who he’d dreamt of spending the rest of his life with. A black marble headstone and a fresh bouquet of flowers were the remnants of the love they had shared that had been brutally ripped away from him, leaving him as cold as this winter day.

  No degree of inner strength comforted him right now. This was his moment to grieve, as always when he came to Ryder Memorial Cemetery. This was the only time he allowed his tears to fall, out of sight of townsfolk and relatives. They crept down his cheeks, taunting streaks of ice that filled the creases along his fingers and chin. The breeze whistled through the naked trees, an eerie melody that mocked his pain.

  Rylan stretched out his hand, his fingertips caressing the block letters carved into the solid marble. Hailey Kirby. His face ached. His jaw throbbed. He lowered his head and sucked in a deep breath. The sob he fought to suppress dislodged, rushing past his lips, his fist, in a fierce sound that lynched his heart and left him curling in on himself. He sat back on his heel, his entire pant leg absorbing icy wetness. His boot crunched down on the fragile ice-snow coating. Cold kissed the back of his neck. Frigid fingers combed through his hair. She was so close to him, and yet, he would never hold her again.

  “Hailey,” he whispered thickly. For a brief moment, he thought he heard her voice whisper back to him. When he lifted his head to stare at the etched letters in the marble, he knew his mind was playing terrible tricks on him once again. He wiped his face with the heels of his hands, sniffled, and leaned over to place a kiss against the cold stone. “I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

  Rylan straightened up on weakened legs and brushed down his pants. He tried to squeeze some of the water from the knee of his uniform, but the fabric was already stained w
ith a circular spot of mud. His visits to Hailey were for him alone, but walking into the office looking like he had just finished a roll in a mud bog would earn him some curious stares.

  Setting his hat on his head, he inhaled the crisp, wintry air, brushed his hand over the top of the tombstone, and headed back to his Explorer. His time to mourn was up for the afternoon. A quick glance at the dashboard clock as he started the cruiser brought him reeling back to reality, even if he left his heart at the gravesite as he drove away.

  Once he turned on Crosslane, he hit the button on his radio and called into the office to keep him distracted from the upcoming curve that had created his nightmare. “Martha, any calls for me?”

  “You’re not that popular,” Martha responded between spikes of static. “Actually, Carter called in about ten minutes ago. Said to call him on his cell when you get a moment.”

  Rylan kept his eyes on the road directly in front of him as he came closer to the hook turn that had ultimately changed his life. Clearing the knot in his throat, he forced a smile. He was looking forward to lunch with his lost cousin to hear about his time overseas. “Are the boys back from that disturbance over at the Rolphs?”

  “Not yet. Think they’re milkin’ the clock, Sheriff. Those boys come back with a box of donuts whenever they take a call on that side of town.”

  “Don’t be jealous. Want me to pick up a coffee for you so you have somethin’ to show for your time shoppin’ online?” Rylan asked. Martha snorted and he chuckled. “Need some energy to click that mouse.”

  “Rylan, you’re one lucky bastard you’re my boss. I’d be fast to smack you upside that pretty head of yours.”

  Rylan’s humor plummeted as he slowed to take the infamous curve on Crosslane. The sunlight fractured through a strange plume of gray-white. His heart knocked against his chest, tension spreading throughout his body. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He drew closer and caught the sharp break in the guardrail.

  “Fuck,” he snapped, switching on his lights and sirens. He angled the SUV across the two lanes and jumped out of the cruiser. The daylight dimmed with each thunderous contraction of his heart. Boots smacked over the pavement as he bolted down the stretch of road. He grabbed the guardrail to keep from tumbling down the small incline, rocking off his toes back to his heels.

  The consuming darkness couldn’t hide the vehicle from him, nor the woman lying half thrown from the driver’s side window.

  Rylan shook the vivid memory away. Sunlight blazed down on the small compact vehicle lying on its side. He clicked the button on his shoulder radio. “Martha, get EMS and Fire Rescue down to Crosslane immediately.”

  “Sheriff?”

  “Overturned vehicle. I need help.” Rylan wedged the toe of his boot into the ice-slicked slope. He made two steps down when his boots slipped, sending him sliding the ten feet to the bottom and hitting the back of the car. He scrambled to the front and peered through the webbed windshield.

  A burst of panic strangled him. The woman bled from everywhere. The officers surrounding her looked up as he fell down the slope. One came over and grabbed him around his chest. “Rylan, go back. Let us handle this.”

  Rylan hoisted himself onto the passenger side of the car with a grunt. He lifted open the passenger door and was kicking it off its hinges when the memory finally dispersed. Not Hailey. Metal creaked, resisting his attack until one hinge snapped and the door dangled, hyperextended. He braced his hands on the frame of the car and eased himself into the small compartment, securing one foot on the side of the driver’s seat, one on the steering column.

  The woman lay unconscious, blood splattered over her face and streaming down from a large wound on her forehead. The airbags hung deflated from the steering wheel and the side of the frame where they had deployed, streaked with blood. Steam hissed from beneath the impacted hood, echoing louder inside the ruined confines of the car.

  The flash image of Hailey lying beneath him left him shaking his head and refocusing on the stranger. He reached down and felt for a pulse, detecting a weak, thready rhythm.

  “A woman.” Rylan spoke into his mic, shifting to better look at her. “Late twenties, early thirties. Lacerations to the forehead. Pulse detected.” Rylan held his hand in front of her nose and mouth. The faintest stream of warmth brushed his palm. “Breathing. I can’t move her. The car’s lying on the driver’s side. She’s wearing her seat belt. Driver’s side window is shattered. I don’t know the degree of damage to her spine.”

  “Rescue is on their way. I’m headin’ down now. Jason and Kyle should be arrivin’ momentarily.”

  Rylan rubbed his face, forcing the reoccurring nightmare from his mind as he fought to find grounding. He had to keep this woman with him. He didn’t know the extent of her injuries, didn’t know whom she would leave behind if she died.

  “This fuckin’ road ain’t takin’ another life,” Rylan groused. He looked around the cramped interior, his thighs and knees beginning to ache from the strain of his position. Purse contents were scattered over the door and the floor. He smoothed over them with a gloved hand until he located the woman’s purse behind the driver’s seat. Anxiety clung to him, refusing to let him out of its suffocating vise. He dug through the purse, found a wallet, and quickly flipped it open until he located the woman’s driver’s license. He looked at the picture, then the woman still locked in by her seat belt. One and the same. Brianna Cabot.

  Dropping the belongings, he readjusted his stance, bracing a hand against the roof of the car and kneeling on the side of the console.

  “Brianna, I’m Sheriff Rylan Ryder. You’ve been in an accident,” he started. Instinctively, he reached down and took the woman’s hand, squeezing it in his. “EMS’s on their way. We’re gonna get you out of this, okay? We’re gonna take care of you.”

  His mouth had gone stark dry, his throat sticky. Sweat beaded along his hairline, and he swiped his forehead on his shoulder. His muscles burned, his back ached, and his heart thundered against the wall of his chest. He held his breath between flash images of Hailey’s accident and the reality of this one.

  “God, Hailey, please. Help me help her,” he whispered, sending his quiet prayer somewhere. Anywhere. If he lost this woman here, now, as he held onto her hand…

  “Gotta do something.”

  It was killing him not to move the woman, but the car’s position allowed him little room to work. EMS would be here soon with proper equipment. All he could do was stay with her, assure her, and pray his soul to god that this damn curve would not claim another life.

  “Brianna,” he said, his voice hoarse. He coughed, the excruciating pace of his heart leaving his chest in a painful cinch. His lungs were on fire, his anxiety rising with each tenuous second. “Brianna, I ain’t leavin’ you. I’m stayin’ right here with you. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

  He waited, hopeful that maybe, just maybe, she was conscious enough to give him the small sign. When he received no pressure, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

  “That’s okay. That’s okay,” he reassured, reaching down to her neck. He held his fingers along her carotid and relaxed only a little when he felt the rapid but weak beat. “Hang in there, sweetheart. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Sheriff! You need a hand?”

  Rylan cussed, unfolding from the awkward position to stretch up out of the door. A small cluster of townsfolk had gathered at the edge of the road. He recognized a few of Colt’s ranch hands and observed the barricade the cars created.

  “Folks, get those cars outta here. Rescue needs to get in,” Rylan commanded, waving his arm in a sharp motion toward the cars. People immediately rushed to the vehicles and began to move them to the side of the road. He pointed to the ranch hands, adrenaline flooding him with new urgency. “You four. Come down here. Let’s see if we can’t get this wreck on its wheels.”

  “Yessir, Sheriff,” one called down.

  To an elderly gentlem
an leaning over the guardrail, Rylan pointed to his cruiser. “Mr. Tulane. There’s an orange first aid duffle bag in the back of my truck. Would you grab it? Should have a neck brace in there, too.”

  “Aye, Rylan.”

  Rylan dipped back into the car, unable to keep a small smile from his mouth. His stomach churned with new hope, his heart beating with new motivation. He gave the woman’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Brianna, we’re gonna try and tip this thing back over. I ain’t leavin’ you.”

  He grabbed the side of the doorframe with his free hand and pulled his body from the compact car, keeping hold of Brianna’s limp fingers. The ranch hands skidded down the side of the sharp incline on their hips or asses one at a time. Mr. Tulane rummaged through the back of his truck. Townsfolk watched with bated breath, some asking what they could do to help.

  “Stay away from the edge of the road. Don’t want anyone else gettin’ scratched up,” Rylan said. Sirens echoed in the distance. A brief lick of coldness coiled along the side of his neck, his cheek, lending him an ounce of comfort. In that instant, he knew the woman below him would survive this part of the ordeal.

  Mr. Tulane hurried to the break in the guardrail and held up the duffle bag and the collar.

  “Randy, grab that kit. Mr. Tulane, toss the collar down,” Rylan instructed. A soft moan drew his attention back to the woman. Her fingers stretched against his before going limp again.

  “Brianna?”

  Her blood-caked lashes twitched. A small grimace furrowed her bloody brow. “Brianna, you’ve been in an accident. Don’t move. I have Rescue coming now.” Lifting his head, he spotted the collar Mr. Tulane had pitched down. “Get me that collar!”