Sawyer (Lucky River Ranch, #3)

by Jessica Peterson

For the wild ones. May the cowgirl in you be alive and well, always.

Bee pops her lips before snapping the mirror shut with a succinct clap. “Cowboys are a thing for a reason. And that reason is⁠—” “They ride like the motherfucking professionals they are.” My older sister Dottie smirks. “They also look really good in hats.” “Really good,” Bee adds, dropping her gloss and mirror into the tiny bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s just something about a man who works with his hands.”

Commitment is out. The freedom to do whatever the hell I want without worrying about a man’s needs or expectations is in.

Bee holds up her glass of Jim Beam. “A toast, to my big sister Ava and the start of her new life as the best damn trainer in barrel racing history.” “Giddy-the-fuck-up.” Dottie holds up her shot glass too. “Proud of you, A.” Smiling, I carefully tap my glass against theirs. “Thanks. I’m proud of me too.”

Motherhood has shown me that many things can be true at once—you can love being with your kid, and you can love getting a break from them too.

Throwing my arms up again, I lean back to let out a loud yell. At the same time, Bee bumps me again, only this time she hip-checks me hard enough to send me careening into the person behind me. My eyes fly open as I hit a solid wall of man. Beer spills everywhere, soaking my shirt as a hand—big, warm, grip firm—curls around my upper arm.

“Oh, God, I am so”—glancing over my shoulder, I lock eyes with a very tall, very hot guy wearing a backward baseball hat—“sorry.” My stomach takes a nosedive at the look of genuine concern in his cobalt-blue eyes.

Dottie appears at my elbow. “I think you’re supposed to follow him.” “I’ll hip-check you again if you don’t,” Bee says. I glare at her. “Did you do that on purpose?” Knitting her brows together, she shrugs. “No?” “Bee—” “What? I saw him checking you out. He’s hot. You’re hot. I could tell he wanted to say hi, so I did y’all a solid and broke the ice. Remember, the more frogs you kiss⁠—” “Right.” My heart skips several beats.

Quiet enough that I can hear Mustached Maybe Cowboy say as he looks me up and down, “Aw, man, I got you good, didn’t I? I’m real sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one who bumped into you.”

“Or, really, I was pushed. Seriously, I’m so sorry about that. My sister⁠—” “Is an enthusiastic fan of Johnny Cash.” A dimple pops in both cheeks as he grins. “I don’t blame her. ‘Ring of Fire’ will get anyone riled up.” “That’s why I requested it. Although now I kind of regret that decision.” “Regret Johnny?” He makes a psssh sound. “Never. I was about to drop some money in that bucket myself, but you beat me to it.”

“That so?” I’m practically staring at this point. “What song were you going to request?” His dimples deepen. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” I blush so furiously that it feels like my face is on fire. I still know how to flirt, right?

The bartender returns with a pair of Shiner Bocks. “Took the liberty of ordering you another beer too,” Cowboy explains. My right knee wobbles precariously. Holy shit, am I in the midst of a legitimate swoon? “Stop.” “Stop what?” He sets a beer on the counter in front of me. “Who are you, and what are you planning to do with my lifeless body after your little ruse to charm and abduct me works?” He grins. “So it is working.” “Hell yeah it’s working.” I grab my beer and take a long, slightly panicked sip.

“I’m Sawyer.” I look down at the huge mitt of his hand. Look up at him and let out a little chuckle of disbelief.

“It’s just … a nice...

One side of his mouth kicks up. “ ‘Nice’?” “Don’t make me say it.” “Say what?” I let out a huff. “Fine. It’s a hot name. Like, a hot guy name.”

“Do I fit the bill?” A smile, big and broad, breaks out on my face. “I’m Ava.” “Hmm.” “What?” “Nothin’.” He squeezes my hand one last time before dropping it. “It’s just, yeah, a hot girl name. You definitely fit the bill, Ava.” Oh God oh God why does my name sound so sexy when he says it?

His lips twitch as he sips his Shiner. “You from Austin?” “I’m not. We’re in town for a girls’ weekend.” I point a finger toward my sisters, who are trying, and quite clearly failing, to look like they’re not watching my every move. “You?” “My brother Cash”—he points to a tall guy in a white cowboy hat—“just got engaged. We’re here to celebrate.” “Bachelor party. Gotcha.”

“What do you do, Ava?” “I just got a new job, actually.” The skin at the edges of his eyes crinkles. “Sounds like that’s a good thing?” “A very good thing.” “But you’re not gonna tell me what it is. The very good new job.”

“I have to make sure you’re not going to dismember me or my family first. The less you know, the better.” He grins. I have the sudden urge to stick my tongue inside his dimple, the one on his right cheek. “Am I allowed to know if you’d like to body-slam me again?” He glances at the dance floor.

“Sounds kinda dirty when you say it like that.” I step forward. He steps forward, too, so that our faces are mere inches apart. “I’ll make it as dirty as you want, Ava.”

“I’m just a little rusty.” He holds up his hand and pinches his fingers together. “I don’t really go out anymore.” “Sawyer, I haven’t been out to a bar in … Lord, I don’t even know how long. If anyone is rusty, it’s me.” He smiles. “So you’ll body-slam—I mean dance—you’ll dance with me, then?” He holds out his hand.

“This is one of my favorite songs, so yeah. I’d love to.”

“I’d love to body-slam you. Let’s do it.” Burns, burns, burns. My entire being burns as Sawyer leads me to the dance floor.

Leaning in, I brush my scruff against her cheek. “You’re a fuckin’ knockout, you know that?”

“My wild’s not turning you off?” “Hell no. Your wild is the hottest thing about you.” She grins. “So is yours.”

So I hold up my arm and spin her around, making her laugh. I really get into it, losing myself to the beat of a Brooks & Dunn song. I shake my own ass, then she shakes hers, the two of us heaving with laughter when she breaks out an adorable version of the sprinkler—one hand behind her head, the other extended in front of her, moving in time to the music. I do the shopping cart, Ava letting out a loud yell of approval as I place invisible items in my invisible buggy. God, it feels good to laugh like this.

I see Duke hanging out at the end of the bar. I steer Ava toward the other end of the counter, but I’m too late. Duke’s eyebrows pop up when he sees us. Smiling, he saunters over. “Well hey, y’all.” Ava glances up at me. Her brows are pulled together in question. “Ava, this is my younger brother Duke,” I explain. Duke holds out his hand. “I’m the handsome one.” “The cockiest for sure.” I roll my eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Duke. I see the resemblance.” “Ava, the pleasure’s all mine. Your shirt looks much better. Did my brother get the stain⁠—” “Don’t look at her shirt.” I curl my free hand into a fist, Mom’s admonishment passing through my head. Don’t punch your brother. You know how he bites.

“Jesus, since when do you growl?” Duke has a shit-eating grin on his face. “I thought that ...

Ava watches us, still smiling. “Tell me something, Duke.” He tilts his head, lending her his ear. “Yes, ma’am?” “Can you vouch for your brother?” Her eyes glint with mischief as they meet mine. “I’m a little worried he’s a serial killer.” Duke grins. “Well, now that you mention it, he does exhibit some suspicious behavior⁠—” “Not funny.” I’m growling again. “Oh, come on, Sawyer, you couldn’t be a serial killer if you tried. You’re more of an overgrown puppy. Like a basset hound with big, floppy ears and those droopy eyes.”

“I see it.” “Really?” I tease. “Ouch.” “A very cute basset hound puppy,” she corrects. “Better than a murderer, right?” I laugh, curling an arm around her waist. “Guess so.”

Chuckling, he glances over his shoulder. “I best get back out there. Ava, it was a pleasure meeting you. I assure you there are no killers in our family that I’m aware of, aside from the lady-killer variety⁠—” “Not. Funny.” My brother holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll get out of y’all’s hair.”

“We could go somewhere else?” I look down at her. “Try another spot⁠—” “Okay.” My pulse riots. Okay. Ava just said okay. “Any spot in particular you have in mind?” she asks. The bed in my hotel suite.

Snaking her free arm between us, she mimics the motion, dipping her fingertips into the back pocket of my Levi’s. She looks up at the screen. “Wow, we’re cute.” “We’re hot as fuck.” I give her ass a squeeze. “Now take the picture so I can take you home.” “Home is …” “The Market Hotel.” “Fancy.” “Yep.”

My body lights up at the don’t-fuck-with-her vibe he gives off. A couple of guys check me out, and Sawyer glares at them, dropping my hand so he can grip the nape of my neck. He draws me even closer, practically curling his big body around mine.

“Maybe you’re the serial killer, being all secretive and shit.” “Maybe I am.” I wag my brows. “But think of it this way, you’re gonna die happy. You did say I’m a good time.” “I did.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “Let’s be quick.”

“Let’s try the champagne, then.” I grab the bottle, then laugh when I see the price tag. “Just kidding. It’s a hundred and fifty bucks.” Sawyer grabs another bottle. “We’ll take two.” “What the hell are we celebrating?” “My final night on earth, of course.” His dimples pop when he smiles, and I get that weak feeling in my knees again.

“And some of those too.” Briefly looking up, he nods at the box of Trojans behind the counter. The girl at the counter blushes. “Just one box?” “Make it two.” He smirks. “One for each bottle.” The throb between my legs becomes acute. I’m smiling so hard that my face hurts.

He pushes the top button, then guides me to the back of the car. He moves his thumb down the slope of my neck, applying the faintest pressure to the muscles there. I suck in a quick, quiet breath at just how good it feels when this man puts his hands on me. Sawyer lets out a dark, gravelly chuckle. “You’re tight.” I look at him. There’s a very dirty joke in there. He looks back. Oh yeah?

“You’re good, cowboy.” One side of his mouth kicks up. “And I ain’t even kissed you yet.” “Let’s get that out of the way, then.” I down the contents of my cup before setting it on a nearby table. “So I can show you exactly how well I ride.”

“You best not be playin’, pretty girl.” “I’ll play with you all I like, cowboy.”

“Fucking fine. You win. You suck dick like you mean it. You greedy fucking girl. I’mma give you what you want. You want me to put this dick everywhere, don’t you? You want me to fuck your pussy, and then you want me to shove my dick down your throat. Bet you’d like me to fuck your tits, too, yeah? Come all over you?” Who am I and since when do I do dirty talk like this? I blame Ava. Honky-tonk queen. Barrel racer. Long-legged slayer of men.

“Say it. Exactly what you want.” “Sawyer—” “Fucking say it, Ava.” Her eyes flash. “I want you. All of you. That gorgeous dick—give it to me. Right now.” “There she is.” I smile. “My greedy girl.”

So Ava likes the dirty talk and the gentle caresses. The vicious neck bites and the sweet, simple way our fingers are tangled. She’s hungry for it all, and that makes me feel at home—at peace—with my own hunger. Like I’m not some deviant for wanting her the way I do. For saying the things I’m saying. Goddamn, a man could get addicted to this feeling. I could get addicted to Ava.

His other hand moves from my hip to my breast, where he flicks my nipple with his thumb. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect. Fair warning, I ain’t gonna last long.” “I ride fast for a living.” I feel my lips curl into a grin. Opening my eyes, I see him looking up at me in awe.

But when I open my eyes, I see that Sawyer’s face is tight with emotion. I can’t read him. All I know is his eyes are lit up like twin blue flames, somehow hot and icy cold all at once. He’s got an almost … bewildered look on his face, like he can’t believe how good this is either.

“What?” I ask. “Just.” He blows out a breath. “You. So fucking pretty when you smile. I can’t—goddamn it, Ava.”

I think I’ve been dying of thirst for a while, but being with you makes me feel like I’m dancing in the rain. Water is suddenly everywhere.

“You don’t mind it?” she pants. “Me being … like this?” I grunt. “Like what?” “The opposite of ladylike. The opposite of good.” How could this be anything other than good? How can you be anything other than perfect, just as you are? “Fuck good,” I manage. “Good is boring. You’re better. So much better than that.”