drive
and forced her mind back to what needed doing before she could rest that night. Hard
work was what she needed—not anything the young cowboy had to offer.
And looking at her new home, she guessed she’d get plenty of cowboy antidote. A
long day’s work lay ahead of her—and that was before she could unpack the U-Haul
trailer laden with all her worldly belongings. She squared her shoulders. She’d make it
through the next couple of days like she had the last few years—one step at a time.
Her gaze lifted beyond the house to the field of ripening buffalo grass and broken
rock behind the chain-link fence surrounding the two-acre property. The landscape was
so different here.
Atlanta had just revealed the first hints of spring. Crocuses had pushed up through
the lawn. Daffodils bloomed beside the porch where she’d planted them during the first
year of her marriage to Chris, when she’d still had so much hope for their future
together.
Here, the few live oaks that dotted the landscape looked like bushes in comparison
to the tall pines of her former home.
And good Lord—the heat! Only April and already eighty degrees and climbing fast.
Katelyn opened her door, grateful for the stirring breeze. It was Monday; Thursday
she started her new job and she wanted all her things in their proper place before she
began her new life. She’d begin as she meant to continue—building order out of the
chaos her world had been.
Besides its less than pristine appearance, she quickly discovered another problem
with her new home—the ancient air-conditioner didn’t work. She raised every window
she could and propped open the back door to let a breeze waft through the house.
Warm though it was, the temperature outside was still better than the stale heat inside.
8
Ride a Cowboy
After wrestling with her bed frame, mattress, and small nightstand, she decided to
get a good night’s sleep and start again early the next morning. She lay down on top of
cool crisp sheets and sighed her relief. But despite her fatigue, she tossed on her
mattress, unable to fall asleep.
She would have liked to blame her restlessness on the warm weather. But the
temperature of the room had little to do with the heat pooling between her legs and
everything to do with the cowboy in the faded jeans.
After pounding her pillow for the second time, she surrendered to her body’s
demands and did something she’d only recently developed the skill to accomplish,
masturbating to orgasm being something her husband had considered a theft of his
own pleasure.
Moonlight glared through the top of the window and obscured her view of the
front yard, but she relaxed, knowing darkness, a good hundred yards distance from the
road and the spindly oaks in her front yard obscured the view inside her bedroom. She
didn’t live in the city anymore.
With one last guilty glance out the bare window, she slid her fingers beneath the
edge of her panties. And if her mind drifted to the tall Texan in the cream-colored
cowboy hat, well, she’d just put it down to a momentary weakness. He’d never know.
Feeling as low as a snake, the cowboy hid in the shadows just outside the woman’s
window and watched while her fingers disappeared beneath the edge of her pale
panties.
Such a private thing to witness. A weakness betrayed. A deep passion exposed.
He’d walked the quarter mile from his house to hers, following an urge so strong he
hadn’t questioned it. While she’d worked steadily, well into the evening, brushing
away a year’s worth of dust from her wooden floors and wrestling with furniture, his
gaze had followed her efficient movements, roaming the curves of her firm breasts and
ass and the tempting length of her legs beneath the frayed edges of her cutoff jeans.
9
Delilah Devlin
When at last she’d turned off the light, he’d been rewarded for his patient vigil as
she’d drawn off her T-shirt and bra and slipped the
and forced her mind back to what needed doing before she could rest that night. Hard
work was what she needed—not anything the young cowboy had to offer.
And looking at her new home, she guessed she’d get plenty of cowboy antidote. A
long day’s work lay ahead of her—and that was before she could unpack the U-Haul
trailer laden with all her worldly belongings. She squared her shoulders. She’d make it
through the next couple of days like she had the last few years—one step at a time.
Her gaze lifted beyond the house to the field of ripening buffalo grass and broken
rock behind the chain-link fence surrounding the two-acre property. The landscape was
so different here.
Atlanta had just revealed the first hints of spring. Crocuses had pushed up through
the lawn. Daffodils bloomed beside the porch where she’d planted them during the first
year of her marriage to Chris, when she’d still had so much hope for their future
together.
Here, the few live oaks that dotted the landscape looked like bushes in comparison
to the tall pines of her former home.
And good Lord—the heat! Only April and already eighty degrees and climbing fast.
Katelyn opened her door, grateful for the stirring breeze. It was Monday; Thursday
she started her new job and she wanted all her things in their proper place before she
began her new life. She’d begin as she meant to continue—building order out of the
chaos her world had been.
Besides its less than pristine appearance, she quickly discovered another problem
with her new home—the ancient air-conditioner didn’t work. She raised every window
she could and propped open the back door to let a breeze waft through the house.
Warm though it was, the temperature outside was still better than the stale heat inside.
8
Ride a Cowboy
After wrestling with her bed frame, mattress, and small nightstand, she decided to
get a good night’s sleep and start again early the next morning. She lay down on top of
cool crisp sheets and sighed her relief. But despite her fatigue, she tossed on her
mattress, unable to fall asleep.
She would have liked to blame her restlessness on the warm weather. But the
temperature of the room had little to do with the heat pooling between her legs and
everything to do with the cowboy in the faded jeans.
After pounding her pillow for the second time, she surrendered to her body’s
demands and did something she’d only recently developed the skill to accomplish,
masturbating to orgasm being something her husband had considered a theft of his
own pleasure.
Moonlight glared through the top of the window and obscured her view of the
front yard, but she relaxed, knowing darkness, a good hundred yards distance from the
road and the spindly oaks in her front yard obscured the view inside her bedroom. She
didn’t live in the city anymore.
With one last guilty glance out the bare window, she slid her fingers beneath the
edge of her panties. And if her mind drifted to the tall Texan in the cream-colored
cowboy hat, well, she’d just put it down to a momentary weakness. He’d never know.
Feeling as low as a snake, the cowboy hid in the shadows just outside the woman’s
window and watched while her fingers disappeared beneath the edge of her pale
panties.
Such a private thing to witness. A weakness betrayed. A deep passion exposed.
He’d walked the quarter mile from his house to hers, following an urge so strong he
hadn’t questioned it. While she’d worked steadily, well into the evening, brushing
away a year’s worth of dust from her wooden floors and wrestling with furniture, his
gaze had followed her efficient movements, roaming the curves of her firm breasts and
ass and the tempting length of her legs beneath the frayed edges of her cutoff jeans.
9
Delilah Devlin
When at last she’d turned off the light, he’d been rewarded for his patient vigil as
she’d drawn off her T-shirt and bra and slipped the
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