The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set
SUSAN WESTWOOD
THE WHITE COWBOY
COMPLETE BOX SET
© Copyright Susan Westwood All Rights Reserved 2014
ABOUT THIS BOX SET SERIES
Two Strangers from two totally different walks of life are brought together in a story that shows that love can have a funny way of surprising you...
Gemma is a talented African American girl who dreams of becoming a professional musician. Her road trip to a gig in California runs into trouble when her car breaks down in the middle of a snow storm.
Lost and desperate, she has no choice but to knock at a nearby ranch to ask for help. Little does she know, her destiny is standing on the other side of the door and her destiny wears a cowboy hat.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Lassoed By The White Cowboy
Roped In By The White Cowboy
Tamed By The White Cowboy
BOOK 1
LASSOED BY
THE WHITE COWBOY
SUSAN WESTWOOD
CHAPTER ONE
Brandon Steele shifted his cowboy hat and sniffed the air. The news had been calling for a blizzard, and he thought they were right this time. His joints ached. He’d injured them when he'd been a rodeo cowboy, and he could predict a storm as well as any meteorologist. His back hurt, but he ignored it, since he had items to tick off on his checklist.
A rancher's work was never done. The animals depended on him.
Thick white snow clouds rolled in the sky above him. He hadn't seen the sun in a few days, but it didn't bother him.
"Smells like snow," he said to his horse, Beans, who was tied up to a tree near where Brandon was working.
Beans looked at him with soulful brown eyes, then nickered in answer.
"You probably smell it, too. We'll get this fence fixed, then head back for dinner."
Beans was a gray gelding of questionable parentage, but Brandon could not have asked for a better horse, both as a worker and as a companion. The horse didn't talk back, and Brandon found that to be a benefit. After so many fights with his ex-wife, he was happy for the silence from his four-legged partner.
Brandon mounted Beans, and whistled for Spike, his Australian Cattle Dog, who was sniffing around a bush. The dog's ears perked up, and he let out a bark before following horse and rider back home.
The wind was picking up, tugging at Brandon's hat. The storm should be about five hours away. That would put it three hours after sunset.
He mentally listed the chores he had left for the day and hoped he'd get them all done. The cows were in the barn already with meal and hay to keep them warm, and the goats were in their barn as well.
As he approached the farmhouse, he could hear the cows mooing inside the barn, as if they knew the storm was coming. Brandon could feel the electricity of the impending weather.
He was thankful that it would break overnight, so he wouldn't have to go out in it. As he rode his horse towards the barn, he saw a small creature in the doorway.
"Houdini."
A miniature pony had wandered onto the one hundred acres of Steele Farm three days ago. Brandon had not yet been into town to see who owned it. Instead, he took it in and tried to keep it in the horse barn.
He'd named the animal Houdini for its ability to escape any obstacle that Brandon put in front of it.
No wonder the pony got out; it had probably got lost before the owner could find it. Someone in town would know whom the animal belonged to.
Meanwhile, Brandon would take care of it.
He dismounted, then led his horse into the barn. Made of reclaimed wood, Brandon had built the barn himself. He considered it physical therapy after the career-ending injury to his back. The therapy had strengthened his back, but not his marriage. When she figured out he'd no longer be in the spotlight, she left to find her own.
The pony followed. "What are we going to do with this animal, Beans?"
The horse snuffled, but Brandon wasn't convinced that his horse knew the answer either. He led Beans into the bigger stall, then took off his saddle. After removing the blanket, he brushed down the horse.
The pony stood outside the stall, as if supervising the grooming job. When Brandon finished, he gave his horse some oats and some hay.
He didn't close the door to the stall. "You want your turn?"
The pony pranced over to him as if he understood what he said. Brandon took out another brush and brushed down the pony, who stayed very still all the way through.
"Now I'm behind because of you, you little bugger," Brandon said, but without any real anger.
He closed the door to Beans' stall, then led the pony to another stall. There he tied the pony to the side of the stall, and blocked him in as best he could. Locking the stall door, he saluted the animal. "Try to get out of that."
Whistling in the dusk, he headed towards his house, confident his animals were hunkered down for the night.
Now he had to eat dinner.
***
Gemma Watson pumped gas into her Mustang for the second time in her life. An avowed Jersey Girl, the first time had been on this trip as well.
In Ohio, her first gas stop, she had muddled through the event without instructions. A small triumph, but she'd take it. Her road trip had been uneventful so far, and she hoped it would stay that way.
Now she was in Iowa, and still not even halfway to California where stardom awaited her. She had an appointment with an agent who had seen her perform in a bar.
Her father wouldn't foot the bill for a ticket to LA, so she drove her new car.
The one he had footed the bill for. She planned on paying him back.
He didn't understand her need to do this, so he thought putting some obstacles in her way would dissuade her. He was wrong. Here she was in Iowa, pumping her own gas, ready to finish her second day on the road.
This was a road to freedom and independence. A road to pursue her dream, which would result in freedom from her parents and their over protectiveness. Freedom from her ex-boyfriend who wanted her to settle down and pop out some kids.
Gemma finished her pumping, and this time managed not to wear any gasoline.
"Bonus."
She pulled out her credit card from the pump, then pocketed it and the receipt. She liked the autonomy of being on the road alone, even if it meant pumping her own gas. For once, she had to do something on her own and not let her father take care of her.
She needed this trip, not just for the career opportunity, but as a chance to break away from her protective family.
A man pumping gas next to her struck up a conversation. "You got a long way to go?"
"What's it to you?"
People were friendly in Iowa. And Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Pennsylvania. Not in Jersey where she was from. They didn't have to be, since someone else pumped their gas.
He seemed undeterred by her attitude, and she instantly felt guilty about it.
"Well, there's a storm coming, and you'll probably want to find a pl
ace to stay for the night."
She waved a hand at him. She wasn't worried about some snow. "I'll find a hotel when it gets dark."
He chuckled. "There aren't many for the rest of the Interstate, and they may be full."
"It's just snow," she said, though she didn't relish driving in it. "I have time."
The wind whistled past her car, whipping her skirt up around her.
"Not as much time as you think. Storms move quick on this flat land," he said. "Good luck."
She ignored him as she climbed back into her car. Of course there would be a hotel when she wanted one. This was America, not the third world.
How bad could it be? She could drive in snow if she had to. She started up her eight cylinders, loving the sound of the engine. Pulling out of the gas station, she let the horses loose so she could put more miles behind her.
She sang along to the radio as a crosswind made her fight to keep her car on the road. "Wow. Quite a wind."
That's when she saw the clouds. The overcast day had turned sour quickly, as if right before her eyes.
She bit her lip. "Maybe I need to find a place to hunker down."
Then the snow started. Small, fluffy flakes at first. She admired the beauty of it all. But half an hour later, the road was coated. She hadn't seen another car since she left the gas station.
She didn't like that at all.
Nervousness had her easing back on the accelerator. The wind picked up, and she had to grip the steering wheel to hold the car steady.
The snow began to stick to the road. The rear of her car fishtailed, and she steered into the skid like she'd seen on a show once.
The snow fell faster with each mile she put on the car. Her hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel. She should have listened to the guy at the gas station.
She had no idea when the next exit would come. Unable to drive more than fifteen miles an hour, she hoped no one was behind her.
No one faster for sure, but Iowans seemed to have abandoned travel for the moment.
Then she spotted a sign for an exit. "Thank goodness."
Sadly, the exit was five miles away. She calculated how long it would take, so she'd know when to start to look for it.
Where was highway patrol? Didn't big states like this have that? Finally she saw the exit, and tried to shoot her car in that direction.
Her tail end slid left, then right, then she gained control. "Whew."
In New Jersey, this exit would have had tire tracks. No one stopped for the weather, even if they didn’t know how to drive in it.
Once on the off ramp, she slowed down even further. Her wipers swished back and forth.
She could only see a few feet in front of her car. All of a sudden, out of the gloom, she saw flashes. She stopped next to the cop car. He rolled down his window.
"Interstate is closed, ma’am. You got somewhere to stay?"
"No, sir. I'm on my way to California. Is there a hotel nearby?"
The trooper laughed. "No ma'am. Best you can do is head to my barracks. About twenty miles down the road."
"No place before that?"
Her car began to sputter.
"You running out of gas?"
"No. Not sure what's wrong."
"Well, you can pull over and wait until I can take you to the station, or you can chance it. The plows aren't out yet. It'll be dark soon."
"I'll try to get there. Thank you."
She rolled up her window. Taking a deep breath, she flexed her sore fingers. She could do this. If she returned to Jersey with her tail between her legs, she'd never hear the end of it.
Besides, she had to show that snake of an ex-boyfriend that she could be a star. No matter what he'd said about her chances. That was the other part of this trip. Maybe she had to prove it to herself as well.
Her back end fishtailed as she started, but she got the vehicle back under control. At the bottom of the off ramp, she turned right because that was just easier. She realized she hadn't asked the cop which way his station was.
No other car passed her as the snow became even heavier. She had no visibility beyond the beam of her headlights. As she drove, she saw an animal dart out in front of her.
She slammed on her breaks. The ABS system pumped the brakes for her, but she still lost control. Ending up in a snow bank, she wasn't sure if she could get out.
"What the hell do I do now?"
***
Brandon sat on a rocking chair by the fire, thankful he didn't have to go anywhere. He warmed his toes near the flames while Spike snoozed beside his chair.
He'd made chili for dinner, and he enjoyed his full stomach while he finished off a rare beer.
He'd be up early tomorrow, so no more than one.
"Oh, maybe a little scotch, tonight. What do you think Spike?"
The dog opened one eye, but gave no further instructions. The last time Brandon had opened the bottle of scotch, he had drunk far more than he should have.
Farm work with a hangover was not fun. And tomorrow would mean shoveling a path to his barns.
He frowned. No scotch tonight.
So he settled into his book and let the story take him far away.
CHAPTER TWO
The Mustang sputtered, then stalled. "Damn."
Gemma rested her head onto her steering wheel. What was she supposed to do now?
Maybe the cop would come by, but she had no guarantee.
She waited. Her car getting colder by the minute. Not one to wait for something to happen, she grabbed her purse, buttoned up her coat, then stepped out into the snow storm.
On her second step, her foot flew out from under her, and she landed on her butt. She hissed in pain and frustration.
Standing, she couldn't decide if she should return to her car or keep going.
The snowflakes battered her face as she debated internally.
"Damn."
She couldn't just sit and wait for help, so she trudged along what she thought was the side of the road.
A few feet later, she found a mailbox that said “Steele Farms”.
Gemma headed down what she thought and hoped was a driveway. Her coat was better suited for a runway than a blizzard, and did little to protect her from the howling wind. Her high-heeled boots had no traction, and she fell more than once.
When she looked back, she could no longer see her car.
Damn.
She squinted in hopes of seeing a light on in the dark snowy night. Shivers overtook her, but she carried on. She couldn't stay where she was with the snow, wind and dark. Freezing to death was not in her game plan.
Sunny California had never sounded so good. She kept her mind on the final prize as she walked through now knee-deep snow.
After a few minutes, she did finally see a light. Relief washed over her just as she slipped one more time.
***
Brandon had dozed off in his chair when he thought he heard a knock on the door. The night was not fit for man nor beast, so he figured he'd dreamt it.
Then it came again, louder, in between a break in the gusting winds.
Spike let out a bark, but he didn't seem too concerned. Still, Spike wasn't known for his watchdog qualities. He was a herder, and unless there was a wolf knocking on the door, the dog wouldn't get too excited.
Brandon opened the door to find a bedraggled figure, covered in snow and dripping wet, shivering on his porch. Before he could say a word, they barged past him, covering him with snow. They stalked right in, and went to his fireplace as if they owned the house.
He closed the door with a struggle, then turned to look at his intruder. Wiping snow off his shirt, he glared at the newcomer. He didn't like his space being invaded. This was his home, his sanctuary.
"Thank goodness," the person said as they removed their wet jacket.
The person now revealed themselves to be a woman. She wore boots that added four inches to her height, a coat completely unsuited for the snow, and no hat.
She was going to leave a puddle. He frowned, his annoyance streaming through him.
Then she looked up at him, and he gazed into the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes he'd ever seen. They contrasted with her smooth cafe ole skin.
Damn, was all he could think. There hadn't been a beautiful woman in his house since his wife left him. And now one had found her way through a storm to his front door. What the hell was he going to do?
"I didn't ask you in," he said.
"What?"
"You just barged in here," he said. He knew he was being an asshole, but her beauty put him on edge. Beautiful women were high maintenance and no use in the remoteness of his farm.
"Were you going to make me stand in the snow until we were formally introduced?" she said. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a blizzard going on out there."
"I did notice. Why are you out in it? And why did you come to my house?"
"Isn't this the Midwest? Aren't people more friendly out here?"
She removed a scarf and put it over the back of his rocking chair. Her dripping coat sat rumpled on the floor, getting his hardwood floor wet.
He blinked. "Not when you enter their house without asking."
"Well, sorry. I was cold and wet."
She sat on his rocker, and he watched manicured hands slide off her boots. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said, "You might as well close your mouth and get me a towel. I think I'm stuck here."
***
What was this guy's problem? He stalked out of the living room and came back with a large towel. He handed it to her, then stepped away as if she were contagious.
"Thank you. I'm Gemma."
"Brandon."
She held out her hand. He took it as if she were offering him a fragile item. Her hand tingled in his grip. She resisted the urge to pull away.