Ride a Cowboy by Desiree Holt

but whatever he was lying on was harder than a concrete floor and killing his back. He needed aspirin and coffee in large supply. He tried to raise his hands to press them against his aching temples but something jerked his right hand and prevented him from lifting it. Now he opened his eyes. And wished he hadn’t.
    Unfortunately this wasn’t the first jail cell he’d been in, but he was pretty sure it was the worst. And he was pretty sure it hadn’t been modernized in the last fifty years. One wall consisted of the usual arrangement of bars with a portion of it hinged for a door. The sleeping arrangement, rather than a crummy cot that would have been a vast improvement, was a flat piece of wood with a mattress on it so thin he was sure he’d be able to see through it. And it was the kind that pulled down from the wall on chains.
    And speaking of chain, he yanked at his right hand again and discovered he was handcuffed to one length of chain.
    Damn! What the hell had happened? What had he gotten himself into now?
    Squinting against the brightness of the light from the ceiling lights he looked down the length of his body.
    Boots. Check.
    Jeans. Check.
    He clapped his left hand over his waist in a sudden panic.
    Champion belt buckle! Okay! Check.
    Shirt. Check.
    He rubbed a hand over his square jaw, feeling the stubble of yesterday’s beard growth. Testing everywhere on his face he discovered his nose was tender but not broken, but the rest of his face felt as if a bull had stomped on it.
    Wait. Was that what had happened? The last thing he remembered was lasting the full eight seconds on Sodbuster before landing in the dirt of the rodeo arena. Everything else was a blur.
    “Well. It looks like you’re finally awake.”
    The voice was pure music, soft, with a faint drawl. Squinting through the bars he thought for a minute his heart was going to stop beating. In the hallway looking in at him was about five-foot-four of the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. Dark blonde curls tumbled down to her shoulders, framing a lightly tanned face with emerald green eyes peeking out from thick, thick lashes. The stiff fabric of the uniform shirt she wore couldn’t conceal the lush ripeness of her breasts any more than the pants hid her mouthwatering curves.
    But what really shook him up was the star gleaming from its place of prominence on her shirt, right over one of those nicely rounded breasts.
    Holy hell! This was the sheriff?
    He looked at her and something inside turned over. He had an urgent need to see this woman naked in his bed, but not the way he did with the usual women he rolled in the sheets with. Not an eight-second ride and done. No, even in his pitiful condition he could imagine making slow, soul-searing love to her. Everything from his balls to his brain went on instant alert.
    Kyle did his best to clear the frogs out of his throat and twist his dry lips into a smile.
    Have pity on me. Whatever I did, I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.
    “Mornin’, ma’am. I’d tip my hat to you but it seems to have disappeared.”
    “The only pleasantries I’d like from you, Mr. Mitchell, are an apology, your fine paid and to see the backside of you as you leave my jail.”
    There was no humor on her face as she swung the door open, strode across the cell and reached to unlock the handcuff. Kyle didn’t know if it was his apparently scruffy appearance or the shit-eating grin on his face that made her stop just before she reached him.
    “Swing yourself around and sit up, Mr. Mitchell. And keep your free hand to yourself. Don’t let my size or my sex fool you. I’m an expert in three kinds of hand-to-hand combat.”
    He felt every one of his thirty-five years and his head still pounded like a jungle drum, but he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. He sure did like women with spirit, and this one obviously had more than her share.
    “Can I ask why it was necessary to keep me cuffed