Pamela Britton - The Cowgirl's CEO

“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4 stars)

“A fairy tale that succeeds.”

—Publishers Weekly on Scandal

“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tempted

“Passion and humor are a potent combination…author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend.”

—Oakland Press

“This nonstop read has it all–sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews (Top Pick) on Tempted

“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”

—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe that my Rodeo Wranglers series is at an end. It seems like just yesterday I was planning each book. Now here we are, and the series is over. Where has all the time gone?

I hope I saved the best for last. The Cowgirl’s CEO is a definite change of pace from my other Rodeo Wrangler stories. Each of my previous books featured hunky cowboys, but this time I turned things around a bit and wrote about a cowgirl.

I hope you enjoy Carolyn and Ty’s story, and that you’ve had fun spending time with the townspeople of Los Molina. It might interest you to know that Los Molina is based on my own small hometown of Cottonwood, California. I’ve even been so bold as to steal real business names such as The Elegant Bean, our local espresso shop, which is where I write my books. (If you’re ever in town, stop by!)

If a trip to Northern California isn’t in your plans, please stop by my Web site at www.pamelabritton.com. Or “friend” me on Myspace: www.myspace.com/pamela_britton.

Thanks for riding along with me. As one of my heroes might say, “It’s been a real pleasure, ladies and gentlemen!”

Pamela Britton

The Cowgirl’s CEO

Pamela Britton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With over a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTONlikes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that’s begun to change thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR. Nowadays it’s not unusual to hear her books being discussed by the likes of Jay Leno, Keith Olbermann or Stephen Colbert. Flip open a magazine and you might read about her, too, in Sports Illustrated, Entertainment Weekly or Southwest Airlines’ Spirit Magazine. Channel surf and you might see her on The Today Show, Nightline or World News Tonight.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. She’s won numerous writing awards, including a National Reader’s Choice, and has been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart.

When not following the race circuit, Pamela writes full-time from her ranch in Northern California, where she lives with her husband, daughter and, at last count, twenty-one four-legged friends.

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

985—COWBOY LESSONS

1040—COWBOY TROUBLE

1122—COWBOY M.D.

1143—COWBOY VET

HQN BOOKS

DANGEROUS CURVES

IN THE GROOVE

This one’s for my husband because it’s been a while since I’ve dedicated a book to him even though, truth be told, they’re all for him. I know you’re reading this, Pooh Bear, because I always see you sneak a peek at this page (and you thought I wasn’t paying attention!). Thank you for always being there to give me the man’s perspective, and for coming up with silly plot devices that turn out to be not so silly after all, and for all the other things you do that are too numerous to list.

I <3 U!

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

Epilogue

The horse reared.

“Easy there,” Caro said, her chest making contact with the paint’s mane. She tightened her legs, holding on. “Whoa,” she added, her black cowboy hat almost falling from her head.

Thumper came back to earth with a snort and a shake of his black mane, only to spin around. Caro did her best to point toward the narrow alley that led to the arena—and Thumper’s freedom.

“Easy there, boy,” she said, jamming down her hat.

The gelding half reared again, his mouth working the bit, flecks of foam landing on his sweaty chest. Fifteen hundred pounds of horseflesh tensed, muscles at the ready, all waiting for one thing: Caro to let him go.

“Not yet,” she told him, glancing left.

He was still there.

She’d noticed the man during her warm-up. The indoor sports complex didn’t have a big practice pen, and since only rodeo competitors were allowed behind the chutes, spectators were rare. He stood out like a tick on a hound in his brown sports coat and beige cotton slacks. His tan cowboy hat shielded his eyes from her view at the moment, but they’d been trained on her the whole time she and Thumper had been loping around the ring. Eyes as black as the hair beneath his hat.

The roar of the crowd caused Thumper to lift his head, ears pricked forward. The rider on course was nearing the end of her run. Caro couldn’t see inside the arena; the sports venue had been built for basketball and hockey, not cowgirls and cowboys. She and Thumper were tucked around a corner, so that when it was their turn to run, they’d have to race through a narrow corridor lined with aluminum fences, veer left and then crank up the speed.

Thumper lunged. Caro checked him again. Linda charged out of the tunnel right then.

Time to go.

The gate man called her number over the roar of the crowd. “One seventy-nine!” Caro could hear the voice of the rodeo announcer, but was too far away to catch how good a run Linda had had.

“Easy, boy,” Caro said, because she could see Thumper’s shoulder twitch, a certain sign he was about to erupt.

All right, Daddy, Caro prayed. Here I go again. Help me out if you can.

She applied pressure, and that was all it took. A simple squeeze. No kick, no leather strap, nothing. And even though she expected it, Caro’s upper body still jerked back, her hat almost knocked off again. The paper number pinned to her back rustled. She righted herself about the time she passed by the man who’d been watching her, her left hand on her hat, holding it in place. The arena opened up before her. She focused, not even hearing the screams of the fans. Thumper’s stride grew long. There it was: the first barrel.