Kimberly Raye - Texas Outlaws - Billy

Sabrina hadn’t been in any hurry to watch a repeat of the past. When her eighteenth birthday had rolled around, she’d packed up and left her mother, her mother’s new cowboy and her small-town life in the dust.

Her resentment toward Arlene and her cheating father had faded over the years, but she’d never been able to bring herself to go home. To the same double-wide where she’d listened to her mother cry herself to sleep night after night after Sabrina’s father had walked away. The place had never felt like home.

It never would, so there was no sense rushing back and pretending. Instead, she’d accepted the truth and turned her back on Sugar Creek like a piece of gum that had lost its flavor.

Sure, she’d seen her mother a few times over the years, but always on neutral ground. Arlene had flown out to California once. They’d met in Vegas another time. Colorado for Christmas a few years back.

She’d heard through the grapevine that her father had ended up single again, working on a horse ranch in Montana. Not that she cared. The day he’d walked away from her had been the day that he’d died in her mind, and so she had no desire to see him.

But as much as she hated him, she owed him, as well. He’d at least taught her one important thing—to never, ever fall for the same type of man.

A man who didn’t know the meaning of the word commitment.

Which was why she was chalking last night up to a good time. A temporary good time that was now over and done with.

No matter how much it had felt otherwise.

She slipped inside her motel room and spent the next few minutes getting dressed, before she heard a knock on the door.

“Maid service,” came the voice from the other side a split second before the hinges creaked and the knob twisted. A woman with bleached-blond hair and too much red lipstick came up short in the doorway. “It’s nearly noon,” the woman said as she noted the towel wrapped around Sabrina. “Folks are usually up and about by now.”

Folks, as in the locals. But Sabrina wasn’t a local, which meant she fell into the same class as a communist/sociopath/deviant puppy kicker. Small towns like Sugar Creek and Lost Gun were close-knit. Folks didn’t take too kindly to outsiders, and they certainly didn’t trust them. Which was why Sabrina made a point to give Olive—according to the name tag—a big smile before retreating to the bathroom to get dressed, and an even bigger tip when she grabbed her purse to leave fifteen minutes later. Not that it made her any less of a communist/sociopath/deviant puppy kicker. It just meant that she wouldn’t have to beg for an extra set of towels. And maybe, just maybe, she might get an additional name or two to pursue for her database.

“So he’s the hottest single male in town?” she asked Olive a few minutes later, after complimenting her lipstick and matching nail polish, and slipping her another five.

The woman shrugged as she smoothed Sabrina’s sheets. “I don’t know about hot, honey, but Martin Trawick is surely single, now that his fifth divorce is final, that is.”

“He’s been married five times?” Unease rolled through her.

“Six, actually, but we don’t count the first one on account of it was old man Talley who officiated and he ain’t an actual clergyman. Just tells folks that so’s he can get the clergyman’s discount special at the diner. It’s an olive-loaf sandwich with fresh pickle chips. Anyhow, Martin is always looking for his next wife. He’d probably be tickled to sign up for your service.”

Okay, he wasn’t prime grade A marriage material. At the same time, they weren’t promoting an actual marriage service. She and her roommates had invested a lot of time in their mission statement, which outlined their venture—namely, an interactive website where women could go to meet, not marry, cowboys. Which meant the only criteria she had to establish was that any prospective candidate was a Wrangler-wearing, cowboy-hat-tipping, boot-stomping country boy.

“What does Martin actually do for a living?”

“Owns a pecan farm outside town. Actually, he owns a sixth of the pecan farm on account of he had to split it with each of his exes, but he’s still got a good hundred acres of his own.”

Okay, he wasn’t a pro bull rider, but he was country. Check.

“Does he wear boots?”

“You’re in Lost Gun, sugar. Who doesn’t wear boots?”

Check.

“How about a cowboy hat?”

“I reckon when he’s out tending pecans and it’s hot.”

Check.

Sabrina smiled. “Where can I find him?”

6

“NOW, THAT’S WHAT I’m talking about!”

Eli let loose a loud whoop as Billy climbed to his feet and dusted off his backside. Meanwhile, several wranglers chased the bull he’d just ridden for eight seconds toward the gate leading to the holding pen.

“If you ride like that in the semifinals on Saturday, you’re sure to zip straight through to the finals.”

If.

The word hung in the air because as much as Billy’s pride told him he was a shoo-in, he knew better. While he knew he had the talent, other factors came into play when it came to a successful ride. With all the publicity from the Famous Texas Outlaws episode, Billy had been tense. Sleep deprived. Anxious. Even if he was damn good at hiding it.

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