Stockton County Cowboys Box Set

Chapter 11: Tall, Dark, and Handsome

Part 2: Tulsa, Oklahoma

Chapter 11: Tall, Dark, and Handsome

Arched Q Ranch

Near Tulsa, Stockton County, Oklahoma

8:12 A.M. June 19, 20—

The dirt road off US-412 ended at a hand-carved wooden sign weathered by seasons of rain and snow, hanging from rusty chains. It read “Arched Q Ranch” and swung creakily in the rising June wind.

Cord Darringer’s ranch sprawled across Oklahoma’s “Green Country,” green fields rolling for miles. I’d Googled the spread before I’d left Naples, so I knew that it covered thousands of acres. In a fenced turn-out to my right were a number of Quarter Horses, along with some Palominos and Paints. To my left was a red wooden barn. Next to the barn was a sky-reaching silo painted in the same red hue. At two o’clock in the distance stood a blinding white farmhouse. Outbuildings surrounded the ranch’s main house, some of which looked occupied by animals or farm equipment.

My rented Nissan Frontier kicked up a cloud of dust as I drove up to the house. How strange it felt to be away from the Gulf Coast and its steamy-hot lifeguards with their bronzed skin, lounging in the early summer heat. Country boys ruled the land where I was now. Which I didn’t have a problem with, since I enjoyed rounding them up like I was a cowboy and they were my herd.

What possessed me to take a week off from my job and head to the cowboy’s home state? His “Dear Bradley” note, of course. As the minutes and days ticked by in Naples, I couldn’t ignore Cord’s words: Come and find me. I’ll be waiting for you. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sexy cowboy: his suave yet up-front nature; the way he knew how to handle my city-boy body; his affection for my tenderness. Why wouldn’t I chase after Cord when he’d left such a positive impression on me?

* * * *

Of course, Melanie Banks thought I’d lost my mind when I told her about my spur-of-the-moment trip to Stockton County. Her words still bombarded my mind: You’ve lost it, darling. What spell has that cowboy put on you? You should make an appointment with my therapist. Marlene is one of the best. I’m sure you’ll snap out of this soon. Don’t be foolish and set yourself up for another disappointment. Cord Darringer was only after your body—which he had in full, according to what you’ve told me. Stay in Naples, pumpkin. Find a man here in Florida. God knows a number of golden boys with triple-X-built bodies would love to have you as their significant other.

But I felt whole-heartedly that I didn’t make the wrong decision. Chasing cowboys was a pastime of mine. And even though my relationships with Land barker and Jax Temple failed for one reason or another, I was determined to chase another cowboy, Cord Darringer, whom my heart yearned for. And yes, my body was overcome with lust for him, too, desiring no other.

Melanie had called me a fool for flying to Tulsa. She said, “Stop chasing these cowboys. They only break your heart. Don’t you remember how Land and Jax destroyed you? Both of them cheated on you. You were broken for months after each one. How many cowboys will you have to go through before you learn your lesson, Bradley?”

“I want to do this,” I replied, listening to my best friend warn me while I packed for my trip. “My mind says to do this. Plus, you’ve always told me to follow my heart.”

She shook her head in disdain and sighed, “Go for it, then. When Cord breaks you, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”

“Because that’s what best friends are for.”

“Exactly,” she sighed. But I knew she was judging me: there was no happiness in her voice.

“So you don’t hate me?” I asked, trying to handle the discussion like an adult, instead of getting angry at her attitude and telling her to leave.

“Of course not, darling. Why would I ever hate you?”

“Because I have a thing for cowboys.”

“Sweetie, we all have things. I could never hate you for having your own.”

Hours later, I took a plane out of Naples in the early morning hours, flew northwest, and searched out the man of my dreams, a wealthy cowboy named Cord Darringer.

* * * *

“You must be the gator guy,” a tall, dark, and handsome man in his early twenties—I thought he looked Cherokee—eyed me from head to toe when I stepped out of the Frontier in front of the house.

“Gator guy?” I echoed.

“You’re the handsome stranger from Florida.”

I reached to shake the stud’s hand, which he accepted, and said, “Bradley Hull, from Naples, Florida.”

“Joel Smith,” he replied. “I’m one of Cord’s ranch hands.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” I said, tilting my head like I was tipping my cowboy hat to him.

“Cord is away on business in New York, but he should be returning this afternoon. Something told me you’d be showing up. I have everything handled.” He grinned and snagged my bag from the truck, told me to follow him into the house. “There’s a spare room for you. Next to Cord’s. How long you plan on staying?”

We crossed the house’s wide front steps and went inside. The place was beautiful: mahogany staircase to the left; country-style dining room with wood paneling, plaid curtains, and even rooster decorations, to the far right; a sitting room to the left done in brown leather and Frank Burgess cowboys—hell, they looked like originals, which I knew would be worth a mint. Joel led me upstairs, into a wide hallway with doors on both sides. A second, separate staircase led up to the third floor. Joel led me up those stairs, too. At the top, there was a small room decorated in orange and yellow. The room had a single bed, a window, a small writing desk, and more Frank Burgess art.

“This is your room,” he said, dropping my bag on the bed. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be in the barn if you need me.”

“Thanks,” I said. I decided to unpack.