Texas Two-Step: Cowboy Shuffle Read online

  Texas Two-Step:

  Cowboy Shuffle

  Cat Johnson

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  TEXAS TWO-STEP: COWBOY SHUFFLE

  Perfect Strangers Collection

  Copyright © 2012 CAT JOHNSON

  Cover art by Amanda Kelsey

  Edited by Trinity Scott

  ISBN: 978-1-936387-36-6

  ISBN 10: 1-936387-36-0

  All Romance eBooks, LLC

  Palm Harbor, Florida 34684

  www.allromanceebooks.com

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First All Romance eBooks publication: February 2012

  What’s a cowboy to do?

  When the woman he wants, wants nothing to do with him, Shooter Welles pretends to be someone else. That’s how he finds himself hiding behind a fake profile on an online matchmaking site to woo the girl of his dreams—literally. Erotic, hot and sticky dreams that make him see his best friend’s sister, Ellen, in a whole new light.

  Ellen Griffin wants a steady man in her life, but she’s had enough of both rodeo cowboys and doctors. Unfortunately since she’s a busy nurse and a barrel racer, those are the only men she’s around, until she meets a mysterious guy online.

  Can this seemingly perfect stranger be the perfect man for her? And what will happen when he reveals his true identity?

  Dedicated to all the readers who supported my first ARe Perfect Strangers release, Texas Two-Step, and who convinced me—though I suspected it myself—that Shooter needed his own story and heroine.

  Chapter One

  “Take off that big-ass showy buckle of yours so I can finally see what’s behind it.”

  The sound of her soft, husky voice in combination with the feel of her hands on the very buckle she spoke of sent a thrill straight through him. Particularly through the part of his anatomy located just below his belt.

  Shooter Welles swallowed hard. He glanced down at the sky-blue eyes gazing up into his, and then lower at the swell of the tops of her breasts showing above the neckline of her low-cut T-shirt. He tried to yank his gaze up and away from that danger zone. This was Ellen Griffin—the sister of his best friend Wes—and there was no way he should be thinking about doing what his cock, already hard enough to drive nails, was already anticipating.

  “Ellen—” Her name came out sounding like a plea, though he wasn’t sure if he was begging her to stop, or to keep going.

  “Come on. You know you want to.” She practically purred it in a tone he’d never heard come out of her in all the years they’d known each other. Well, perhaps when she spoke to her horse before a barrel racing competition, but certainly never when she talked to him. Usually Shooter got the annoyed Ellen voice, not the soft, sweet and totally sexy one. He wasn’t sure he could resist it, or her.

  Fuck it. Why even try?

  “Hell yeah, I want to.” He scooped her into his arms as she squealed in surprise.

  He carried her from the living room of the apartment she shared with Wes, directly into her bedroom, angling both their bodies sideways through the narrow doorway just like a groom carries his bride.

  And why the hell were thoughts even remotely related to marriage crossing his mind at a time like this? Now, when he was about to take her every way he could imagine, plus maybe a few ways he hadn’t even thought of yet.

  Putting her down next to the bed, he squelched the bride-and-groom image right quick and concentrated on planning how best to strip her for the quickest access to the parts of her he’d never even dreamed he’d ever get to see. But before he could get to work on Ellen, she was making short work of him, conquering his buckle quick as a wink. With the two ends of the heavy leather and brass belt hanging open wide, she unfastened his jeans, and then her hands were upon him. With her help, his hard-on sprang free of his boxer briefs.

  “Mm. I’ve waited a long time to do this.” She glanced down while stroking him.

  Shooter shuddered at the sensation of her hand grasping his cock. They’d both been waiting a long time for this. In spite of the fact she was Wes’s sister, and that she had an attitude at times that could put a man in his place with a single glare, she was still all woman and Shooter had never failed to notice that.

  He watched in fascination as she dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress, pulled him closer to her and slid his cock, ramrod straight and hard, between her lips. Glancing over at the mirror above the dresser, he saw their reflection. It was a tantalizing image, her golden head bouncing over his erection. His suntanned arms braced on her shoulders as she worked him hard. He felt the resulting tingling shoot from his balls, straight up his spine.

  Trembling and trying to hang on just a little bit longer, he grabbed her head to hold her still before it was too late. She resisted, sucking harder, and then it was too late. He shot off into her mouth after what felt like barely a minute.

  Ellen raised golden brows above those so-blue eyes as she pulled back and looked up. “Well, now I know why they call you Shooter.”

  Shooter woke with a start, tangled in the sheets in his own bed. The boxer shorts he’d fallen asleep in were warm and wet, soaked through and clinging to his rapidly deflating hard-on.

  What the fuck? He pressed his head back against the pillow and scrubbed his hands over his face.

  Why was he dreaming about having sex with Ellen? More importantly, since it was his dream, why the hell had his own subconscious made him perform so badly? On top of that embarrassment, he’d come in his sleep like a damn pubescent boy. He’d thought wet dreams were well behind him. A man in his twenties who had fairly steady sex shouldn’t come in his shorts.

  Pride stinging with indignation he could only direct at himself, he swung his bare feet to the floor and padded to the bathroom. The clock showed it was just after midnight. Grimacing at the feel of them, he ditched the wet boxers into the laundry hamper and then leaned against the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Under the glaring lights his suntanned face looked pale against his brown hair. Dark circles rimmed his hazel eyes as he squinted against the brightness in the room, telling him what he already felt from the bone-deep weariness—for the couple of hours he’d been in bed, he’d slept like crap.

  He’d never had problems sleeping before. Why was he having trouble now? Maybe the same reason he’d never had sex dreams about Ellen before, but he was sure as hell having them now—the residual stickiness beginning to dry uncomfortably in his groin was remaining proof of that. The answer was clear, but Shooter wasn’t sure he wanted to face it. He needed a girlfriend. Now that Wes was paired off with Maryann, Shooter was either left alone, or feeling like a third wheel alongside the happy couple.

  Sure there were still plenty of girls for Shooter to sink himself into when he wanted to. Buckle bunnies were always hanging around the rodeo looking for a cowboy to roll around with for a bit. He wasn’t at all opposed to a quick tumble with a pretty cowgirl in the back of his truck or anywhere else after a competition or a party, but it was the other times he really felt his single status. Like while watching a movie over at Wes’s apartment. Wes and Maryann cuddling on the couch. Shooter in the reclining chair, alone. Ellen seated across the room, usually at the desk on her computer. Or at meals when they’d get a table for three—Wes and Maryann on one side, Shooter opposite with an empty
chair next to him.

  Of course, sometimes Ellen would be there too, since she and Maryann were best friends. Now that he thought about it, it really did make sense that Ellen would star in his dream given how much time they all spent together.

  If Wes hadn’t gone and fallen for Maryann, the three of them—Wes, Shooter and Maryann—could all still be happily sharing a bed when the itch struck them. It wouldn’t be weird for Shooter then, because he wouldn’t be tagging along with a happy couple that seemed to have conveniently forgotten he had been there with them their first night together, enjoying Maryann right alongside Wes. But three had quickly become two and Wes wasn’t so good at sharing his girl.

  Shooter reached past the shower curtain and flipped on the knob.

  Yup, this was all Wes’s fault. That thought did a lot to relieve his mind in the aftermath of the disturbing dream. He stepped under the spray of water with a much clearer head now he had someone to blame instead of himself.

  Another interesting idea struck him, making him even happier. Maybe he didn’t need an actual girlfriend, but rather just a steady lay. Someone he could fuck on a regular basis, and then could maybe share a meal with occasionally. Kind of like a friend with benefits. Yeah, that would work.

  It was a shame Ellen hated him so much. They spent so much time together already it would be pretty convenient to just add sex to the mix when they felt the need. He could almost feel her mouth still surrounding him. That had been one vivid dream. And just that—a dream, because it was no secret how Ellen felt about him.

  It was for the best anyway. If he ever hooked up with Ellen for a night, she’d freak the next time he brought home another girl. And then his friendship with Wes would be in jeopardy. Nope, Ellen was the kind of woman who dated guys seriously. She wasn’t the kind to fuck around with no strings.

  He grabbed the soap as the hot water cascaded over his warming skin. He’d have to find someone to be his steady booty call, and soon, because as much as Shooter liked sex, he liked his sleep even more and he wasn’t keen on the idea of more middle of the night showers like this one.

  Still dressed in her nurse’s scrubs, Ellen turned the key in the ignition but instead of the sounds of the engine, as small as it was in her sensible and fuel-efficient vehicle, there was nothing but a click.

  “Dammit!” She pounded her fist against the steering wheel. It was the middle of the night, blacker than pitch except for the lights scattered around the parking lot. Wes was going to kill her if she called him one more time to help with this car. He’d warned her about buying a used car to begin with, and ever since, the vehicle had plotted against her by proving him right. From inexplicable flat tires, to windows that opened but refused to close again, to now, the dead battery, the car had been her nemesis from day one, and Wes never failed to say I told you so.

  These were the times when she wished she had a boyfriend. Then she could call him. He’d come and help her—without being an ass about it—then they’d go back to his place and… God, she missed sex. It had been so long, it twisted her stomach to even think about it. But she wasn’t going to break her vow to herself—no rodeo cowboys and no doctors.

  All barrel racers knew to keep away from the cowboys since most of them were after nothing but a one-night stand with a buckle bunny after the rodeo. The ones who weren’t were already married or in a serious relationship. And all female nurses knew that dating a doctor at work could be problematic. Invariably relationships ended, leaving nothing but awkwardness—not to mention gossip that never seemed to die. Unfortunately, cowboys and doctors were pretty much the only men she came across in her more-than-busy life, hence the reason she hadn’t dated, or anything else, in far too long.

  Though it seemed she’d be meeting a mechanic or two very soon. Given the state of her current car, dating a guy who worked in an auto repair shop might be a very good idea. She sighed and reached for her purse to find her cell phone. She’d have to suck it up and call her know-it-all brother.

  Ellen scrolled through her contact list and punched the button to dial Wes’s cell phone in case he was sleeping at Maryann’s house tonight instead of at home. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. She left a quick message, and then disconnected and dialed the number for their home phone line. That too rang and rang until the message came on.

  “What the hell?” Ellen clenched her teeth in frustration.

  Of all nights for Wes to not hear his phone… He was probably over at Maryann’s and had the phone on vibrate in the pocket of his jeans, which by now would be in a pile on the floor while he snored in bed. Shit. She hated to do it, but she dialed the number for Maryann’s cell phone, cringing when she glanced at the time on her cell and saw what she knew already, it was very late. Well after midnight since she’d worked past the end of her usual shift to keep an eye on a patient in a hypertensive crisis.

  “’llo?” Maryann sounded like she’d been dead asleep and Ellen felt even worse.

  “Hey, it’s Ellen. I’m so sorry, sweetie, but is Wes there with you?”

  “Mm, it’s okay. No, he’s at your flat. He took some pain pills for his knee and fell asleep on the couch while we were watching the telly. I covered him with a blanket and left. Are you all right? Where are you?” A tone of concern began to creep into Maryann’s voice.

  “I’m fine. It’s just…well, I’ve got a dead battery.”

  “Where are you? I’ll come collect you.” Even half asleep, Maryann sounded cultured because of her British accent.

  Ellen hated that her Texas drawl would never sound so high-class, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She heard the sounds of Maryann jostling the phone as she must have been getting out of bed. “No really, Maryann. Don’t come all the way over here. I’ll just go inside and see if somebody has jumper cables in their car.”

  “Ah, right. Cables. I don’t have those, but I could give you a lift home.”

  “Seriously, Maryann. Stay in bed. I’m sure security is prepared for little emergencies like this. It must happen all the time. They’ll help me.”

  “Are you sure, love?”

  “Totally. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “All right. Ring me up again if you need me.”

  “I will. ’Night.”

  “Cheers.”

  Ellen could hear the weariness in Maryann’s voice. There was no way she’d ask her to come out and get her at this time of night. Maryann had only just moved here from London and was still getting used to driving on the “wrong” side of the road, as she put it. She shouldn’t be driving in the dark alone to a place she’d only been to once when she’d accompanied Wes to drop Ellen off when her car had, once again, been acting up.

  After a frustrating twenty minutes, during which she learned the night watchmen weren’t prepared to handle car troubles, Ellen stood by the door of the hospital and stared at her cell phone. She didn’t want to do it, but after exhausting all other options she scrolled through the numbers and hit the send button.

  “Ellen? Jeez. Um. What’s up? Are you okay?” Shooter sounded totally surprised and—rather than his usual cocky self-assuredness—kind of odd. He seemed surprisingly awake for the hour. He probably had a girl in his bed or something.

  “Uh, yeah. Kinda.” She stumbled, dreading asking him for help with every fiber of her being. She forged ahead. “I hate to ask you this and if I had anyone else to call I wouldn’t but I’m at the hospital and my battery is dead—”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  She had her mouth open to explain why Wes couldn’t come, and why she didn’t want Maryann to, but Shooter cut her off. Ellen frowned. “You will?”

  “Sure. Which parking lot you in?”

  “The employee lot, off to the left, past the entrance to the emergency room.”

  “Okay. See you in a few.”

  He’d long since disconnected the call, but Ellen remained standing with the cell phone and her mouth both still open. The moment she
’d said the word battery she had expected some smart-ass comment from Shooter. A crack about her needing good batteries since she had no man in her life or something equally lewd. Instead she’d gotten total compliance, willingly, no questions asked.

  He must want something. Maybe he’d contracted some sexually transmitted disease and needed Ellen to get him penicillin. That was more Shooter’s style than riding to the rescue of a damsel in distress—not that Ellen would ever call herself a damsel. Though she should probably learn some basic car maintenance, and start carrying jumper cables in the trunk. It was frustrating that she could care for both humans and horses, but her car foiled her at every turn.

  With a sigh, she turned toward the vending machines in the lobby and dug in the bottom of her purse for loose change. Might as well get a cup of coffee while she waited. Even if Shooter did as he said and came right over from his place, which was doubtful, it was still going to be a long night, following a long shift at work. She was tired, cranky and so not in the mood for this shit—or for Shooter—but beggars can’t be choosers.

  Ellen plunked the quarters into the slot and selected the buttons for cream and sugar as she wondered what buckle bunny was currently getting ousted from Shooter’s bed so he could come and jumpstart her car. The machine spouted steamy, hot liquid into the paper cup. The caffeine would work to keep her alert, but that’s about it; you definitely didn’t drink vending machine coffee for the enjoyment of it.

  She took a sip, decided it was drinkable, and snapped the plastic lid into place. After glancing at her watch so she’d know about what time to expect Shooter, if he showed up at all, Ellen pushed through the lobby’s glass doors to go out to her car. She was more likely to waylay an arriving or departing employee who could possibly have jumper cables if she waited in the staff lot. Always good to have a backup plan when dealing with unreliable cowboys. If she had to, she would call Maryann back and ask her for a ride, but maybe Shooter would surprise her and come through for once. Stranger things had been known to happen.