Karen Rock - Winning The Cowboy's Heart

Jewel Cade wants two things—

One is Heath Loveland

The Rocky Mountain cowgirl has her heart set on becoming range boss of the Cade ranch. But first she has to accompany the son of her family’s longtime enemy—and her off-limits secret crush—on a cattle drive across Colorado. Discovering Heath shares her attraction only makes for a rockier road. Because Jewel has a sneaking suspicion that if she drops her guard, the cowboy might ride off with her heart.

Award-winning author KAREN ROCKis both sweet and spicy—at least when it comes to her writing! The author of both YA and adult contemporary books writes sexy suspense novels and small-town romances for Mills & Boon and Kensington Publishing. A strong believer in happily-ever-after, Karen loves creating unforgettable stories that leave her readers with a smile. When she’s not writing, Karen is an avid reader who also loves cooking her grandmother’s Italian recipes, baking and having the Adirondack Park wilderness as her backyard, where she lives with her husband, daughter, dog and cat, who keep her life interesting and complete. Learn more about her at karenrock.comor follow her on Twitter, @karenrock5.

Also by Karen Rock

Falling for a RancherChristmas at Cade RanchA Cowboy to KeepUnder an Adirondack SkyHis Kind of CowgirlA Heartwarming ThanksgivingThankful for YouWinter Wedding BellsThe KissRaising the Stakes

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Winning the Cowboy’s Heart

Karen Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09099-5

WINNING THE COWBOY’S HEART

© 2019 Karen Rock

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To star-crossed lovers the world over,

may your love be as boundless as the sea,

your happily-ever-afters deep and infinite.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

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

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

“THANK YOU FOR coming out tonight, Carbondale!” Heath Loveland shouted into the mic at Silver Spurs, the town honky-tonk. A drumroll behind him, followed by a cymbal crash, punctuated his closing set’s final remark. His bass player, Clint, hammered a quick, throbbing beat.

Heath loosened his sweaty grip on his Fender and peered into the throng of country-western-dressed locals, searching out his MIA fiancée. No surprise she hadn’t shown. In fact, it would have been a surprise if she had, seeing as she disapproved of his gigging. “We hope you had a good time tonight.”

Raucous hoots and hollers rose to the exposed-beam rafters in answer. Stamping feet vibrated the dusty wooden floor. Water streamed down condensation-covered windows while overhead fans stirred humid air reeking of beer, body odor and peanuts. Beneath Heath’s Wranglers and black muscle shirt, sweat slicked his body.

A wide smile creased his face as he absorbed the room’s electric energy. Playing for hyped crowds was like a hit of pure sunshine; it lit him up with the force of a solar blast. Hardworking folks watched his band, Outlaw Cowboys, to forget about life for a while, and he gave them that amnesia: a hat-raising, boot-stomping, tail-swishing night out.

“We love you!” a pair of cowgirls in Daisy Dukes screamed from the front row.

He tipped his black cowboy hat, earning him another earsplitting screech, and ignored Clint’s eye roll. Not a night went by that Clint didn’t gripe about renaming their band the Heath Loveland Fan Club. Heck. Wasn’t like Heath could do anything about it. They followed him from show to show. What’s more, he’d never get involved with groupies, even if he wasn’t already spoken for...though he supposed their attention figured into Kelsey’s demand he quit gigging and “grow up,” as she put it...

...and set a date for their wedding.

A heaviness clamped around his chest. He slid a finger along his damp T-shirt collar, stretching it from his steaming neck. She’d be fit to be tied if he told her about this morning’s call from Nashville. And she’d never agree...

“Marry me, Heath!” an unfamiliar female voice hollered.

With a wink, he strummed a quick open-string scale, then cranked a tuning peg to sharpen his G, sending his hovering female fans into a tizzy of squeals and shrieks. “How about a little Johnny Cash to finish us out?”

“Yeah!” roared a pack of men near the bar. They raised their overflowing mugs.

Heath strummed the opening notes of “Folsom Prison Blues” and caught his bandmates’ surprised expressions from the corner of his eye as they scrambled to catch up. Usually they closed with one of the band’s originals. Yet this cover popped in his head and shot straight to his fingertips before he’d given it conscious thought.

He played close to the bridge for added twang as he growled out the opening verse. The gravelly words were dredged from a dark well inside him. Low and deep. He was stuck, trapped, he crooned, listening to the train going by without him. His chest ached. His eyes stung. Like every tune he performed, he experienced the song’s pain, loss, regret, becoming the music, the notes pouring from him like an open wound.