Claiming the Cowboys

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Claiming the Cowboys

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-050-0

  ©Copyright Alysha Ellis 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2014

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  CLAIMING THE COWBOYS

  Alysha Ellis

  Two cowboys. One woman to rope ‘em and ride ‘em!

  Two cowboys enjoying a passionate bout of sex in the living room is the last thing Sophie expects to see when she arrives to inspect the homestead she inherited from her grandparents. Outraged by what they believe to be trespass, the men insist the prosperous horse stud is theirs.

  The confrontation catapults Sophie into a torrid sexual adventure. The only way for her to win is to round up her cowboys and ride ‘em.

  Chapter One

  “In three hundred metres your destination is on the right.”

  Sophie slowed the hardtop sports car and searched for the cattle-gridded entrance she barely remembered. As a child she’d spent most holidays here. Then she’d become a teenager and her ageing grandparents’ remote property no longer held much appeal. It had been fifteen years since she had been a regular visitor to the farm nestled at the farthest end of the Hunter Valley.

  When her grandfather died, and her grandmother moved away, Sophie never thought about what had happened to the farm. She had her life in the city, fast-paced and satisfying. Then in one horrifying car accident both her parents and her grandmother had been killed. In the aftermath, the parties, the alcohol, the superficial contacts that passed for her social life felt empty and meaningless.

  Her parents’ death left her the sole heir to substantial assets including the Hunter Valley property. Memories of her childhood, of the peace and happiness, offered her solace in her grief.

  Four months after the accident, she took extended leave from her job, packed her car and headed to the country. If the homestead was in disrepair, she could restore it, keep it as a holiday house, a reminder of happier times.

  After seven hours of driving, she didn’t care what condition it was in, as long as there was a roof and somewhere to put a sleeping bag.

  She made the turn onto the narrow gravel road. It was surprisingly pothole free, the paddocks on either side marked off by rows of fence posts, strung with taut wire.

  She pulled up in front of the house. Built low to the ground, with verandahs on four sides in the Australian tradition, shaded by gum trees, it looked the same as it had when her grandparents were alive. The painted weatherboard sparkled white in the bright spring sunshine. The water tank still nestled up against the side of the house, the grass around it neat and freshly mown.

  She grabbed her bag and fished around in it for the key she’d stored away in her jewellery box as a memento of some of the happiest times in her life. Not that she’d ever seen the door locked during her holidays with her grandparents, but the moment when they had given her the serrated metal shaped cut specially for her had been important, a mark of how much she belonged.

  She walked up to the door, inserted the key and turned it. Although she pushed hard, the door stayed shut. She blew out a breath. In the years since she’d last been here, had someone changed the lock? She refused to believe crime had found its way to this little patch of serenity.

  She squared her shoulders, flexed her muscles and turned the key again. This time the solid wooden panel swung inward.

  She stepped across the threshold, instantly aware that the house smelt fresh, with a spicy, outdoors scent. The open plan living room was much as she remembered it. A hardwood floor led to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. Her grandparents’ antique, high-back sofa still faced inwards, just as it always had.

  She took a few steps forward when she heard a soft noise she couldn’t identify. Something or someone was in the room with her.

  The noise, a low moan, this time identifiably human, came again. She raised her bag like a weapon and prepared to swing, but her arm stopped, everything in her body, including her breath, frozen into immobility.

  A man lay on the sofa, his head against the armrest. He was naked except for a pair of jeans scrunched around his thighs. The man sprawled on top of him was also shirtless. Their stubbled jaws were locked together in a passionate kiss.

  The forearm of the man on top disappeared between their two bodies and… He arched up and her mouth dropped open. He had a fistful of the other guy’s cock. Not much doubt about what was going on here. If they weren’t having sex, they were damn close to it. She leant forward, prurient curiosity and building outrage compelling her to get a closer look.

  Her bag slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor with a clatter.

  The man lying on his back leapt to his feet. The one on top reeled backwards, arms flailing. Unfortunately he still had a firm grip on the other guy’s erection.

  “Fuck!” The bottom guy doubled over, clutching his groin, and their heads, one light, one dark, butted together. The blond who’d been on top fell to the floor.

  A string of curses split the air. The dark-headed guy straightened then leant down and pulled the other man to his feet. Two pairs of eyes, one a smoky blue, the other a golden brown glared at her.

  The brown-haired man, stockier of build and maybe a bit older, shoved his abused penis into his pants and pulled up the zip. “Who the hell are you?” His low voice carried the suggestion of menace, of power that could be dangerous if unleashed.

  “And what are you doing in our house?” the other male asked. He sounded more curious than aggressive, but Sophie didn’t underestimate the danger. These men were trespassers. Criminals.

  Then his words made their way through the fog of confusion in her brain. He thought it was…”Your house? That’s a total lie! This was my grandparents’ house, and now it’s mine.”

  “I don’t care whose house it was,” the dark-haired guy shouted. His chest rose with the furious breath he took. “This is our stud, our business, our home.”

  Before she could reply the blond cut in, calmer, but no less determined. “If you are the owner of the property, you’re entitled to inspect but you have to give us notice. And you have to go through the agent. You can’t just walk in unannounced.”

  Sophie was too angry to give him a fair heari
ng. How dare they tell her what she could and couldn’t do in her own house? At least she hadn’t been nailing someone in the middle of the living room. “I can do what I like! This place is mine. Get out.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.” The dark-haired one folded his arms and stared at her grimly, as if the force of his will alone could send her flying backwards out the door.

  “There’s obviously some misunderstanding.” The blond was once again the voice of reason. He looked directly at Sophie, his eyes framed by the hair falling loosely on his forehead. “How about we start over. I’m Hamish Maguire. This is Jackson Blake.” He held out his hand.

  Sophie stared at him. For a moment she forgot he was a trespasser. He was just so beautiful. His chest was hard and firm. The muscles in his arms were delineated by the slanting light. His jeans hugged his lean hips. The hint of a hollow V disappearing under the blue denim made her mouth water. Was it some kind of rule that the gorgeous ones always had to be gay?

  He looked at her, holding her gaze, his lips curved up into a lop-sided smile, one eyebrow raised in query. Liquid heat pooled in her groin. Gay or not, he was as sexy as hell.

  He tilted his head, and that devastating eyebrow rose a little higher, as if he were waiting. In her peripheral vision she saw something move. His hand. It was still there, waiting for her. Her brain finally kicked in to remind her of social protocol. Hamish wanted to shake hands. And he wanted to know her name.

  “Sophie Driscoll. Yes. I’m Sophie Driscoll.” Great. She sounded like a fool who wasn’t even sure of who she was. And once she grasped his hand she seemed to lose the ability to let it go.

  “I hope I can say it’s nice to meet you, Sophie,” he said, eyes twinkling. “How about we sit down and find out?” He bent down and snatched a blue chambray shirt from the floor then led her to the table at the far end of the room.

  She finally released her grip then rubbed her palms together to ease the surprising tingling sensation that remained. Hamish pulled out a chair for her then shrugged into his shirt.

  The other man, Jackson, hadn’t moved. Then he spun on his heel and walked out through the still open door onto the front verandah.

  “Jackson can be a bit difficult,” Hamish said. “He’ll be back.”

  Proving his guess correct, the screen door slammed against the outside wall. Jackson strode back in, a fur-felt stockman’s hat jammed on his head, tucking a fully buttoned khaki shirt into the waistband of his jeans.

  “Hamish, find out what she wants, then get rid of her. I’m going out to check the horses.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Sophie asked. A vision of what she’d interrupted danced in her head. She had to resist the urge to fan her face. “Nothing was so urgent a moment ago.”

  Hamish laughed. “It was getting that way.”

  Sophie’s face flamed in total humiliating embarrassment. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t talking about that!”

  Every word tightened the tangled knot she was creating. She shut her mouth with an audible snap.

  “Maybe you’d better have a drink,” Hamish said. “What would you like?”

  “The biggest scotch in the world,” she replied. But she wouldn’t be able to drink it. It was obvious the two men lived in the house. They had a lease. And an agent. She sighed. She’d packed bedclothes and pillows into her car, but she wasn’t going to be using them because she couldn’t stay. And if she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t drink.

  The nearest hotel was at least an hour and a half’s drive away. Since it was dusk, she’d have to proceed very cautiously to avoid the kangaroos and wombats that came out at night to feed and seemed to invariably end up in the middle of the road at the worst possible time. Driving was risky enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

  Before she had a chance to tell Hamish she’d prefer a cup of coffee after all, he pushed a cool glass into her hand, the contents a mellow gold, ice clinking softly against the sides.

  It was so tempting. She lifted it to her mouth, inhaling the peaty aroma of a good single malt. The smoky liquor moistened her lips. Then her self-discipline kicked in and she pulled the glass away.

  “I can’t. I’ll be driving.”

  “Why?” Hamish asked. “You obviously intended to stay here. You wouldn’t have arrived so late if you hadn’t.”

  “I thought the house was empty. I didn’t know…”

  “That Jackson and I lived here. I got that.” He slid his hand under hers and nudged the scotch upwards. “Go on. Drink it. You need to relax. We have a spare bedroom and we wouldn’t think of letting you drive again. You must be tired. Where did you drive from today? Muswellbrook? Scone?”

  “Sydney,” she replied on a tired gust of air.

  “That settles it then. It would be dangerous to send you out onto the road again after such a long journey.”

  “My welfare is not your responsibility,” Sophie said.

  “The health and safety of every living thing on this property is my responsibility,” Hamish replied.

  “How so?”

  “I’m a doctor and a qualified vet.”

  Sophie blinked. “Both? That’s unusual isn’t it?”

  He laughed. His teeth were straight and white and once again that surprising jolt of sexual attraction kicked in. “But you’re gay.” Sophie blurted out.

  This time it was Hamish who blinked. “I’m really not sure what that has to do with me starting out as a doctor then deciding I prefer to work with animals. And I’m not gay, I’m bisexual.”

  Sophie wished she could crawl under the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just opened my mouth and it came out.”

  “It’s better that you know. I wouldn’t want you to misinterpret anything.”

  His smile seemed to suggest he was telling her something more than the surface words. Rather than take offence at her crass comment about being gay, he’d felt it necessary to correct her.

  “We can discuss that later,” Hamish went on. “Right now we have a more pressing matter to deal with. You obviously came here expecting to stay a while.” His inflection rose on the final words, turning them into a question.

  He was owed an explanation and Sophie wanted to make sense of the situation. “I inherited the house and property. I didn’t know anyone lived here anymore, and I wanted a place to…” A lump settled in her throat and she broke off.

  “A place to grieve,” Hamish said sympathetically.

  “You know?”

  “The agent told us. He wanted to be sure we knew the agreement we’d made was still binding after your grandmother’s death.”

  “I miss them so much. I thought coming back here would be a connection. Make them seem less…gone.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She wanted to stop them but the long drive, the weeks of torment had broken the dam and she was helpless to hold back the flood.

  Hamish stood then walked to her, drawing her up and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close. He didn’t say anything, just held her while she cried.

  When the flood of tears slowed, he dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it for so long he said, “It’s okay. It’s clean.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t doubting it.” Damn. Why did she have to do everything just that bit wrong around this man? “It’s just…you don’t see many people carrying actual hankies these days.”

  “It’s habit,” he said. “We’re out in the country. Tissues just aren’t up to it.”

  “I’m such a city girl.” She blew her nose. “I used to come here for holidays when my grandparents were alive, but that was so long ago I’ve forgotten anything I learned.”

  “You’ll pick it up again quickly.”

  “But I won’t. I can’t stay here now.”

  “Why not? You still need a place to regain your equilibrium. We have plenty of room.”

  “I couldn’t.” She rubbed her hands across her face. “It would be too awkward and Jackson wouldn’t want me here.”
>
  “You leave him to me. He has his own issues. His reaction this evening wasn’t about you.”

  As if their mention of him had conjured him out of the air, Jackson came back in. “The sorrel mare is almost ready to go into labour.”

  “I know, I checked her at lunchtime,” Hamish replied. “I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.”

  Jackson nodded and narrowed his eyes as he glared at Sophie. “I thought you’d be gone.”

  “She’s staying.” Hamish moved forward and dropped his hands onto Jackson’s shoulders, facing him.

  Jackson stiffened and pulled back. “Not now.”

  “Why? Because Sophie might see? She’s already done that and she’s still here.” He leaned in and kissed Jackson. The kiss wasn’t long, but it wasn’t a meaningless peck either. Jackson’s shoulders tensed then relaxed as he slipped his arms around Hamish. When Hamish lifted his head, he kept Jackson close. He spoke, not loudly, but clearly enough so both Jackson and Sophie could hear. “There’s nothing wrong with us loving each other, Jackson. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Sophie doesn’t mind, do you, Sophie?”

  “No. It’s fine.” It was more than fine, it was hot.

  The two men were handsome seen on their own, Hamish like a blond sun god. Jackson was harder, his craggy face lined with experience. He appeared elementally male. Together the two of them were stunning. Sophie’s face heated as she recalled what they’d been doing when she’d first walked in on them. If she hadn’t dropped her bag, hadn’t drawn attention to herself… Moisture pooled between her legs. She shifted restlessly and shook her head, trying to dislodge the image before she embarrassed herself.

  Hamish’s nostrils flared as if he could detect the scent of her arousal. But when he spoke, his words were neutral. “I’ll show you to your room. Freshen up and come down to dinner.” He met her gaze and held it. “Then we’ll go to bed.”