Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgment
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
City Country
ISBN # 978-1-78430-723-3
©Copyright BA Tortuga 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2015
Edited by Sue Meadows
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
Roughstock Sweethearts
CITY COUNTRY
BA Tortuga
Book one in the Roughstock Sweetheart series
Traditional cowboy Cotton and tattooed Emmy couldn’t be more different. That’s part of their attraction, but different worlds can make for a lot of heartache.
Emmy doesn’t really like cowboys. She might be from Texas, but she’s a city girl, truly invested in keeping Austin weird, just like the slogan says. With her corsets and tattoos, she stands out at the western bar where she ends up after being abandoned by her friends. That might be why she catches the attention of Cotton, who’s a bull rider by trade, and definitely a cowboy. Cotton thinks Emmy might be the most fascinating girl he’s ever met. She’s not a cowgirl, and she’s not model skinny, but she’s beautiful and smart and he wants her like he’s never wanted anything before.
As one date turns into months of seeing each other in between bull riding events, Cotton starts to think that Emmy is the all-important One. Cotton’s friends and family might not be so sure, though. As Emmy’s life starts to unravel around her, Cotton has to fight his fears and his confusion to prove to Emmy that city and country might just be able to work after all.
Dedication
To Barbara—I will always love Austin, and I will always miss you.
Hey, y’all! The Roughstock world is a labor of love for me. Cowboys are my weakness, after all, and Texas will eternally be where my heart lives, so it’s incredibly important to me to be as honest and true to the culture I was raised in as I can. I want to say that, despite the best efforts of my editor, I take a great many liberties with language in this universe, both in narrative and in dialog. I felt I really needed to portray the rough and tumble world of bull riding and rural Texans as I know them, instead of attempting to polish the narrative up and give it a more literary style. So, with that in mind, any and all mistakes in the text are mine and mine alone.
Also, if you’re following along with the Roughstock series, as well as the Roughstock Sweethearts, you might want to hold off reading this title until you’ve read And A Smile and File Gumbo.
Cowboy up, y’all! Come take a ride with me.
Much love, y’all.
B.A.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Dukes of Hazzard: Warner Bros. Television
Doc Martens: Permira
The Wizard of Oz: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
Shiner: Spoetzl Brewery
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Bugs Bunny: Warner Bros. Cartoons
Coke: The Coca Cola Company
Threadgills: Eddie Wilson
Best Western: Best Western International, Inc.
Nintendo DS: Nintendo Co., Limited
KY: Reckitt-Benckiser
Bomb Pop: Blue Bunny
Blackburn’s: T J Blackburn Syrup Works
Log Cabin: Pinnacle Foods
Mrs. Butterworth’s: Pinnacle Foods
Schoolhouse Rock: Disney-ABC Domestic Television
Alamo Drafthouse: Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
Conjunction Junction: Disney-ABC Domestic Television
Father, Son and Lolly: Disney-ABC Domestic Television
Wranglers: VF Corporation
iTunes: Apple, Inc.
iPhone: Apple, Inc.
Marlboro Man: Leo Burnett Worldwide
ESPN: ESPN Inc.
I Wanna Be a Cowboy: Nick Richards and Brian Chatton
Southwest: Southwest Airlines Co.
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
FedEx: Federal Express Corporation, Inc.
Tylenol: McNeil Consumer Healthcare
The Matrix: Warner Bros.
VW Bug: Volkswagen Group
Whataburger: Whataburger
Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
Super 8: Super 8 Worldwide
Doctor Pepper: Dr Pepper Snapple Group
Cranapple: Ocean Spray
Domino’s: Domino’s Pizza, Inc.
Mad Dog: 20/20 Wine Company
iPod: Apple, Inc.
Thermos: Thermos L.L.C.
Jingle Bells: James Lord Pierpont
Bud: Anheuser-Busch
Twitter: Twitter Inc.
Sheraton: Starwood Hotels & Resorts
Photoshop: Adobe Systems
Burger Tex: Burger Tex
Toyota: Toyota Motor Corporation
Place d’Armes: Valentino French Quarter Hotels
Cafe du Monde: Fernandez Family
Cheshire Cat: Lewis Carroll
Mason jars: Jarden Corporation
McDonald’s: McDonald’s Corporation
Slim Jims: ConAgra Foods, Inc.
Oreos: Cadbury (Mondēlez International)
Jack Daniel’s: Brown-Forman Corporation
Depends: Kimberley-Clark Corporation
Chapter One
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Em.”
Emily was going to beat her best friend to death. With a hammer. A dull, rusty hamme
r. “Oh, stop it, would you? My fucking feet are tired, Ricki, and I want a goddamned beer.”
Ricki’s kohl-rimmed eyes went wide as she stared at the neon sign above the club. “The Wagon Wheel. Yay.”
Emily sighed and nodded, knowing this wasn’t the best possible choice, but the bus didn’t run for another hour and fifteen this late and Sixth Street was another hour’s walk and… Hell, her feet were killing her in her thigh-highs. Really. Even with the platforms, the heels were deadly.
“I’ll buy. One beer each, huh? I swear to you, the steel guitar won’t kill us.”
Ricki blinked, looking more and more like a raccoon with each passing minute. “No, but the shit-kickers might.”
“One beer. I’ll protect you. I’m butch.”
Country music types milled around out front, and a guy with worn-down boots and a big cowboy hat was perched on a stool by the door. “Ladies’ night. No cover for y’all, ladies.”
“Thanks, man.” She grabbed Ricki around one rubber-and-lace-clad arm and tugged. “Come on.”
Hell, if Ricki hadn’t fought with Preach and Tin Lizzy, they wouldn’t be hoofing it home from the rubber ball, would they? No. No, she’d be in the back of that weird-assed conversion van heading down toward SoCo.
Conversation just inside the door stopped dead when they walked in. The girls were all plaid shirt, Daisy Duke, straw hat types, and they obviously didn’t like the Goth aesthetic.
“Just one beer, huh? Then we’ll go.” Em doggedly tugged Ricki toward the bar, her desperately tragic-looking, waifish best friend managing to dig those Doc Martens in good and hard.
“Screw it. I’m calling a cab. You’re on your own, Auntie.”
She was never going to live down The Wizard of Fucking Oz. Ever.
“Thanks, man. You’re a pal.” She rolled her eyes and let go, trying not to rejoice too hard at the way Ricki stumbled backward and almost fell. Knowing Ricki, she’d at least get her cab ride free. The skinny girls always did better that way. Em made her painful way to the bar, then propped herself up on a stool, and waited for the bartender to notice her.
As if anyone in this hick bar hadn’t noticed her five foot nine, corsetted, stiletto-heeled, pink and green highlighted hair, tattooed self.
The bartender was more freak-friendly than expected, with a ponytail and a gold tooth. “Hey, darlin’. What’ll you have?”
“A Shiner, please.” She smiled back, propping her heels on the rungs of the bar stool.
“You got it.” He gave her a wee napkin and some nuts before heading off to get her beer, which was when she noticed the little pod of cowboys standing off to her right.
Did they call a group of cowboys a herd? A round-up?
A posse. That was it. A posse of cowboys.
God, they were all tiny.
Her head was as big as some of their shoulders.
There was one who kept staring at her out of the corner of his eye. He was adorable, all red hair and big green eyes—that smile enough to light up Rockefeller Center at Christmas.
Edible.
Utterly, totally edible.
She was careful not to make eye contact—guys like that didn’t notice girls like her—but still…
Yum.
In a totally aesthetic way, of course.
He stood as if he owned the world, hips thrust forward and to the side a little, thumbs hooked in his front pockets. He glanced over every few minutes, each look longer than the last.
“You want a glass, honey?”
“No. No, the bottle’s fine, thanks.” She was a girl—she knew how to work a longneck bottle with the best of them.
“Cool. You running a tab?”
“I… Yeah. Yeah, I am.” She pushed over a credit card for him to run. She wouldn’t have more than two.
“There you go.” He left her after that to fill a bunch of froofy beer orders for a little group of cougars dressed in really tight clothes. There was no way on earth those tits were all real. No fucking way.
She glanced down at hers, which were, if not little and perky, at least firm and very well presented. Not to mention the ink and the pretty little rings that no one could see. That made her grin, made her feel settled in her skin a little more.
She was getting good at ignoring the crowd and had just about finished with beer one when the bartender, whose name was Jib, came to check on her. “Want another one?”
She checked her watch. “Yeah. Yeah, one more. I have half an hour before the bus comes.”
“I’ll get this one, Jib.” The cowboy had a surprisingly light voice. Not girly or anything, but the kind of voice tiny people have.
“Oh? Thanks, man. That’s sweet.” It was the pretty cowboy, too, with a glint in his eyes that promised pure evil.
“Sweet.” He nodded, his chin strong enough to pound nails. “That’s me. Soul of kindness. What’s your name?”
“Emily.” She chuckled. Someone had lost a bet and had to talk to the scary girl. “What’s yours?”
“Cotton.” He held out a square, oddly pale but freckled hand. That single hand said a lot about him. It looked like it had been through a war.
“Cotton? Like the plant?” That was rocking cool.
That hand was strong, solid. Firm.
“Yep. When I was born, my momma thought I was an albino. I had little tufts of cotton white hair.” He grinned, and the world almost caved in. He had the most amazing smile ever.
“Oh, man. That is a wicked fun story.” She laughed, clapping a little bit. When his eyes dropped to her chest, she couldn’t help the little sense of ‘score’. “I’m just named after my grandmothers—Emily Cecilia.”
“I have an aunt named Cecilia. ’Course, she’s Mexican.” He laughed, too, nodding at the bar. “There’s your beer. Want to go sit?”
“Sure, for”—she checked her watch—“fifteen minutes. I have a bus to catch.”
She stood up and shook out her little skirt.
“A bus, huh?” He put the hand not holding his beer under her elbow, steering her a little. When she glanced over, his little cadre of friends were long gone.
“Yeah. I was at a party and my ride went AWOL.” Sort of. “So I walked a bit and thought I’d catch the bus home.”
He was stronger than he seemed. Really.
“I could give you a ride, Emily Cecilia. Got my truck.” At her raised eyebrow, he held up his beer in a defensive gesture. “No strings attached. I been on foot when the gang disappeared.”
“Yeah? It’s a little aggravating, especially in the boots.”
“I bet. I wouldn’t want you to have to ride the bus at this time of night.” They sat, him waiting until her butt hit the seat to slide into the booth.
“You’re sweet. Are you from around here?” Austin was one of those places where you couldn’t tell, not really. All sorts of people came from everywhere.
“I’m from up north of here some.” That glinting, pure-devil smile came again. “And you keep saying I’m sweet.”
“You keep not proving me wrong.” She took a drink of her beer, the cold bitterness just what she needed.
“Well, I’ll try not to let you down.” He tapped his foot, the boot toe making this neat sound. “So what do you do?”
“I design first person shooters with Fractal Monkeys.” It was a great job. She’d been the secondary designer of Betty Bosoms and of Crackhead’s Gang. She wasn’t going to get her own game, not any time soon, but… Right. Focus. Small talk. Pretty cowboy. “What about you?”
He tilted his head, one eyebrow all but disappearing under his straw Stetson. “I’m a bull rider. Now tell me what you do with monkeys again?”
She chuckled, grinned wider. “Mostly? I drink a lot of coffee with them and animate pin-up girls.” She exposed one shoulder with an inked homage to Bettie Page bent over a chair. “I design video game characters with this look in mind.”
Bull rider, huh? That was a new one.
“Oh!” His cheeks w
ent red enough that the freckles all ran together. “I was thinking zookeeper. Well, that’s neat, honey. I’ll have to tell Kynan. He’s big on video games.”
Ah. Neat. The phrase of ‘oh, you’re a smart girl, I bet you don’t put out’. “It’s a great job and keeps me in clothes. How did you become a bull rider?”
“Oh, I grew up on a ranch. Got on a calf when I was five.” Cotton shook his head. “Ain’t much to it. Not like what you do.”
“I bet it’s wicked fun, though. One hell of a head rush. Are the bulls, like, vicious mean?” She had the image of the bull from Bugs Bunny, shooting bullets from its horns. Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Not most of them. I mean, some are… Just like folks, you know?” One shoulder went up and down. “Most of them are just doing their job. They like the game as much as we do.”
“That’s cool.” She finished her beer. “Are you sure about the ride thing, because I have about five minutes to catch that bus.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.” He waggled his nearly empty beer. “I only ever have one. Oh, now, I ain’t against it, obviously, so don’t look at me like that.” He chuckled, reaching out with his free hand to pat hers. “I had my liver torn in half once. Lacerated a kidney. I got to be careful, is all.”
“No shit? In half? How?” She scooted closer, a little fascinated.
“Well, a hoof hit me under my vest. He came down on me so hard that he scrambled all my insides.”
She was Texan enough to know the ‘no shit there I was’ tone, but she didn’t mind at all.
“Do you remember it?” The one time she’d been in an accident, she’d come to in the hospital and she couldn’t recall a bit of it.
“I can remember the hit. Like a freight train. Then I woke up.” He laughed, stroking the back of her hand. “You tell me when I’m boring you and you want to go. Not that I want you to.”
“Boring? No. No, not at all.” And she wasn’t lying. He was sort of fascinating. “So, how could you get back on the bull, after? Weren’t you scared?”