Texas Outlaws: Billy

“This is all about business …”

Sabrina licked her bottom lip and Billy had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “My business. FindMeACowboy.com.”

“Sounds highly illegal.”

A grin tugged at her full lips. “It’s a dating service.” “Why cowboys?”

“Because they’re generally hard workers, trustworthy, loyal.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever thought about meeting someone online?”

“I meet plenty of women as it is, and I barely have time for any of them. I ride bulls for a living, and I’m this close to my first championship.”

“Yet here you are dancing with me.” Despite the stiff way she held herself, there was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep blue eyes that said she was hungry for more than she wanted to admit. “One would be inclined to think you’re looking for someone.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t about a date.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s about sex, darlin’.” Billy pulled her closer, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm around her waist.

“Lots of breath-stealing, bone-melting sex …”

Texas Outlaws: Billy

Kimberly Raye

USA TODAY bestselling author KIMBERLY RAYE started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. To date, she’s published more than fifty novels, two of them prestigious RITA® Award nominees. She’s also been nominated by RT Book Reviews for several Reviewer’s Choice Awards, as well as a career achievement award. Currently she is writing a romantic vampire mystery series that is in development with ABC for a television pilot. She also writes steamy contemporary reads for the Mills & Boon® Blaze® line. Kim lives deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country with her very own cowboy, Curt, and their young children. She’s an avid reader who loves Diet Dr Pepper, chocolate, Toby Keith, chocolate, alpha males (especially vampires) and chocolate. Kim also loves to hear from readers. You can visit her online at www.kimberlyraye.com.

This book is for Josh. You’ve turned into a fine young man and I couldn’t be more proud of you! Go Tarleton Texans!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Excerpt

1

PRO BULL RIDER William Bonney Chisholm had a hard-on the size of Texas.

He stood smack-dab in the middle of the kickoff dance for the Lost Gun Fair and Rodeo, a three-week-long event taking place at the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town. The band had started up. Couples two-stepped across the dance floor. The pungent scent of beer and livestock teased his nostrils. Cigarette smoke cluttered the air.

Easy, bud. Easy.

He shifted and damned himself for being such a sucker for the opposite sex. Blondes, in particular.

He’d fallen hard and fast years back the first moment he’d set eyes on Tami Elder’s Malibu Barbie. Tami had taken riding lessons at the ranch where Billy and his two older brothers had grown up. They’d been taken in by rodeo star Pete Gunner after their crook of a father had died in a house fire. Since Billy’s mother had passed years before that and the Gunner spread was an all-male domain—home to the infamous Lost Boys, a crackerjack group of young riders trained and honed by pro bull rider Pete Gunner himself—the only female Billy had ever kept company with had been a paint horse by the name of Lula Bell.

Until Tami had started coming out to the ranch every Sunday. He’d done his best, like any ten-year-old boy when faced with a cootie-carrying girl, to make her life a living hell. He’d shot spit wads while she’d rubbed down her horse and fired his water gun at her while she’d trotted around the corral.

He’d hated her, and she’d hated him, and all had been right with his male-dominated world. Then one hot summer afternoon, everything had changed. That had been the summer he’d turned eleven and spied his oldest brother, Jesse, kissing Susie Alexander, the local rodeo queen.

Kissing, of all things.

Billy had been hurt, then he’d been mad, and then he’d glimpsed an actual tongue and he’d been damned interested. For a little while. Then he’d been mad again and he’d raced off to gather some chinaberries for his slingshot. To see how many shots it took to get his brother away from Miss Travis County.

He’d been up in a nearby tree counting his berries when Tami had finished her riding lesson. She’d slid off the horse and wandered over to the tree, her doll case in hand, to play until her dad finished talking to the riding instructor. He’d meant to shoot off a few practice shots at her, but then her dad had called her over. He’d climbed down and had been about to stomp the daylights out of her Barbie when he’d realized that it wasn’t just any old Barbie.

It was a naked one.

Just like that, his belief system had done a complete one-eighty. One glance at all those interesting curves and that long blond hair and those deep blue eyes, and he’d started to wonder at the possibilities when it came to the real thing.

Yep, he loved blondes.

The trouble was, the pretty little thing standing near the bar was a brunette.

His gaze swept from her long, wavy brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail to the shiny tips of her black stilettos, and back up again. She looked nothing like the other buckle bunnies crowding the dance floor. No itty-bitty tank tops or scandalous Daisy Duke shorts. Instead, she wore a black skirt that accented her tiny waist and a sleeveless black blouse that fell softly against a modest pair of breasts. There was nothing voluptuous about her. Nothing outright sexy.

Ah, but there was something about the way she stood there, her back so stiff and straight, her lips parted slightly as she sipped from a red plastic cup, that made his adrenaline pump that much faster.

She was a yuppie through and through. Out of her element, given the three-inch heels and what he would be willing to bet was wine in her glass. Probably a big-city reporter who’d gotten stuck covering the local rodeo.

He would have figured her for one of the big-time reporters who’d been in attendance to cover the “Where Are They Now?” episode of Famous Texas Outlaws, a documentary that had featured his father and the crime that had brought a wave of notoriety crashing down on the small town of Lost Gun, Texas. The original episode had aired just six years after his father’s death, and the “Where Are They Now?” follow-up just two short weeks ago.

But most of the press had all cleared out, making way for the influx of rodeo riders and fans who’d come from all over the state for the best little rodeo in Texas.

Still, she had that big-city look about her.

She didn’t belong here, and damned if that didn’t pique his curiosity. A man could only drink black coffee so many mornings before he started hankering for something different. Maybe a few packets of sugar to sweeten things up. Or one of those fancy lattes with all the whipped cream.

A vision hit him, of her naked beneath him, whipped cream covering the really interesting parts, and his groin throbbed. He shifted, eager to give himself a few precious inches of breathing room. No such luck. He’d been training for weeks, straddling the celibacy horse in order to maintain his focus. Tomorrow was his chance. His first shot at riding his way straight into the champion’s seat. His brother Jesse, the current PBR champ, had just announced his intention to marry the love of his life and start a business breeding his own bucking bulls. After sweeping the preliminaries with perfect scores just a few days before, he’d decided to pull out of the local rodeo. He was ready to step down from professional bull riding completely and turn his attention to something more long-term. Which meant every bull rider from here to kingdom come was gunning for that top spot.

But the winner’s seat belonged to Billy.

He’d waited too long for this shot, worked too hard. He wasn’t letting anything mess it up and he wasn’t letting anyone beat him.

All the more reason to turn and get while the getting was good. Billy had come out tonight to have a few beers and relax. To lose the nerves.

He’d had a shitty training session today and all because he was wound tighter than a rattlesnake about to strike. He’d gone four days without a decent night’s sleep. Four days of tossing and turning and visualizing the semifinals coming up in eight days. He needed a good strong ride to push him into the finals. And he needed great to actually win.

And he had to win.

Because even more than the title, Billy had several sponsorships riding on this next win. Big money all looking to back the next superstar since they were losing Jesse. And if there was one thing Billy liked, it was money. Before Pete had taken him in, Billy and his brothers had grown up dirt-poor without a pot to piss in. Their dad had spent his time drinking himself into a stupor and looking for the next big score instead of taking care of his three boys. That had meant cheese sandwiches for dinner every night.

When they’d had dinner, that is.

There’d been too many times when they’d had nothing at all. No food on the table. No shoes on their feet. No decent clothes on their backs. No bed to lay their heads. He and his brothers had spent more than one night in the backseat of their dad’s broken-down Chevy because the old man had gone on a drinking binge, thanks to some moneymaking heist gone wrong.

Billy had been young at the time, only eight when Silas Chisholm had died in that fire after the biggest score of his life had earned him two minutes of fame and a feature spot in the hour-long Famous Texas Outlaws.

More like Stupid Texas Outlaws. The old man had been celebrating with a case of white lightning that had made him more than a little careless with a lit cigarette. He’d set himself on fire and taken the money with him.

At least that’s what everyone thought.

Billy ignored the mess of questions swimming in his head. Questions that had just started to surface, thanks to a surge of new interest sparked by the anniversary of the documentary and his oldest brother’s crazy intuition.

Jesse had dropped the bomb just a few days ago that he felt certain the money was still out there and that Silas had had a partner in the heist. His older brother had even uncovered said partner’s identity.

Not that Billy gave a shit about any of it. He was more content to let sleeping dogs lie. To stop trying to dig up the past and just leave it six feet under where it belonged.

He wanted to forget those early days. The cold upholstery beneath his cheek. The hunger eating at his gut. The uncertainty knocking in his chest. And the bitter fact that out of all three boys, Billy was a chip off the old block. The spitting image of his father.

The same hair.

The same eyes.

The same, period.

Like hell.

He might look like the old man, but he wasn’t following the same miserable path. He was going to ride his ass off, impress as many sponsors as possible and bring home a win.

Hopefully.

He stiffened against the niggling doubt and took another drink of his beer.

He needed to get out of his head and breathe for a little while. Maybe talk shop with the other contestants and see who posed the biggest threat. He had an idea, since he’d been following all of his fellow contenders, but still. It was good to see them face-to-face, to look deep into their eyes and see the drive. The determination. To see who messed up tonight by drinking too much, or staying out too late, or carousing with too many women. All three were distractions better avoided.

Which was why Billy sure as shootin’ wasn’t out tonight looking to get laid. No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

Hell, no.

He tugged at the top button of his shirt and tossed down another swallow of Coors Light. Neither did much to cool the fiery lust burning him up from the inside out. Tossing down another long swallow, he turned his attention to the old cowboy standing next to him.

Eli McGinnis was the grandfather that Billy had never had. He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a Larry McMurtry novel with his snow-white slicked back hair and a handlebar mustache that curled up at the ends. He wore a plaid Western shirt starched within an inch of its life, a pair of Wranglers and a knowing expression that said he’d been there and done that a dozen times over. An old rodeo cowboy, he’d been a permanent fixture at the Gunner spread for as long as Billy could remember. A mentor to all of the Lost Boys, Billy included. Eli had also been instrumental in Billy’s success on the rodeo circuit. The old cowboy had been handing out advice and badgering him into hanging on just a little longer, a little tighter, a little more, for years now.

“...make sure your hand’s under the rope real solid before you even think about giving the signal.”

“Got it.”

“And keep your back bowed, but not too bowed.”

“Will do.”

“And get your eyeballs back into your head.”

“Already done—” The comment cut off as Billy’s head snapped up. He stared into the old man’s knowing gaze. “What the hell are you talking about, Eli?”

“That uppity-up over yonder.” Eli motioned across the sawdust floor. “If you keep staring at her like that, she’s liable to burst into flames right here and now.”

“You’re losin’ it, old man. I’m doing no such thing. My mind’s all about tomorrow.”

“True enough, but to get to tomorrow, you’ve got to make it through tonight.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Landsakes, do I have to spell it out for you?” He gave Billy a nudge. “Get your ass over there and dance with the woman. Otherwise, you’ll keep wonderin’ and that sure as shit’s gonna kill your concentration and lead to another sleepless night. Better to blow off some steam and get your mind off everything for a little while.”

“I thought it was better to avoid any and all distractions.”

“Yeah, but if that isn’t working out too well, you have to move on to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Just get to it and get it out of your system.”

Billy glanced across the dance floor, his gaze colliding with the hot brunette’s. The air rushed from his lungs in that next instant, and for a split second he forgot to breathe.

A crazy reaction. But then that’s what happened when a twenty-six-year-old, red-blooded male in his prime went without sex for four months and six days and two hours and twenty-nine minutes.

Lust.

That’s all it was.

And nerves.

Tomorrow was big. The first official day of training for the semifinal round that would, hopefully, lead him straight to the finals. The press would be there. The rodeo officials. The fans. All watching and speculating. It made sense he’d be a little nervous. Not scared, mind you. More like anxious. Excited.

He sure as hell wasn’t getting all worked up because of the way her eyes sparkled and her lips curved into a smile.

A smile, for Christ’s sake.

“Maybe you’re right,” he heard himself say. “Maybe I should just get to it.”

“The sooner you start, the sooner it ends.” Eli nodded. “Then you can get focused again and forget all about those long legs and that tiny little waist and those really big—”

“Enough,” he cut in. “I get the point.”

“Then stop talking and start walking.”

“Yes, boss.” He left the old man grinning after him and headed across the dance floor.

2

SABRINA COLLINS NEEDED a cowboy in the worst way.

One hundred and fifty of them to be exact, which was the only reason she’d agreed to leave her L.A. apartment and head for a place like Lost Gun, Texas.

The small town played host to one of the biggest rodeos in the state, which had started a few days ago with several preliminary events. The official start, however, was tonight’s dance. While the town was little more than a map dot, for the next few weeks it would be the place to be for rodeo fans across the nation. Particularly the male variety.

On top of that, the town had gained recent notoriety thanks to a documentary featuring famous Texas outlaws. Lost Gun had started out over one hundred and fifty years ago as a haven for outlaws and criminals, and so it had been a natural pick for the documentary crew who’d not only played up the town’s history but also focused on a crime committed by one of Lost Gun’s very own who’d robbed a local bank and then bit the bullet in a house fire. The money had supposedly perished in the fire, but the television host had raised enough questions to make viewers think that the treasure might still be out there. The town had been a go-to spot for fortune seekers ever since.

Not that Sabrina was interested in a bunch of treasure hunters.

She wanted cowboys. Hot, handsome, real cowboys.

Just like the one headed straight for her.

He had short blond hair and chiseled features. The faintest shadow of a beard covered his strong jaw. A white cotton T-shirt—the words Cowboy Tuff blazing in red letters across the front—framed his massive shoulders and hugged his thick biceps. Worn, faded denim cupped his crotch and molded to trim hips and long, muscular legs. His scuffed brown boots had obviously seen better days, but then that was the way every cowboy worth his salt liked them.

She could still remember the boys back in her small-town high school, a map dot in East Texas that wasn’t so different from this one. The boys back home would rather duct-tape their favorite boots than give them up for a shiny new pair.

There was no duct tape in sight, but this guy still looked every bit as wild as any wrangler she’d left behind when she’d rolled out of Sugar Creek and headed for UCLA.

Sabrina’s fingers tightened around the plastic cup in her hand and a shiver of excitement worked its way up her spine.

Because he was a cowboy and another name to add to her currently growing database.

She certainly wasn’t feeling all tingly because of the way he looked at her. As if he wanted to take several slow bites and savor each one.

No biting.

No savoring.

No.

She pulled a business card from her purse that listed her email address and her cell phone number.

Numbers. It was all about the numbers.

That’s what Mitch, team leader for the investment firm, had told her when she’d approached them about fronting the start-up cash for a new online-dating service that specialized in Western singles. The service was the brainchild of Sabrina and her two college roommates, Livi Hudson and Katherine Ramsey. Since Sabrina knew how to write, she’d penned the business model, while Livi focused on the marketing and Kat handled the actual web design. The idea had grown out of yet another bad breakup for Livi, followed by a night of apple martinis and Bonanza reruns.

Forget the bank executives and the grungy tattoo artists and the egocentric personal trainers. Livi wanted a real man. A man’s man.

A cowboy.

And if she wanted one, then there had to be a ton of other women out there who did, too, right?

Sabrina hadn’t been as convinced, but money talks and polls on Facebook and Twitter had convinced her that Livi’s idea might be just the ticket to becoming her own boss.

The three had set up a website, done some soft-launch testing at various singles events and now it was time to put up or shut up. If they could prove to potential investors that they could stock their database with an adequate number of profiles, both men and women, then Southern Money International would front the initial capital needed to officially launch FindMeACowboy.com. They’d given the trio three months to build their singles database.

That had been two months and two weeks ago and while Sabrina and her besties had managed to sign up a decent number of females, they were falling a little short when it came to eligible males.

Men were crucial.

Tall, strong, Stetson-wearing men.

With time running out, Sabrina had had no choice. Kat had stayed back in L.A. to fine-tune the website and finish entering profiles while Sabrina and Livi had headed to Texas. It was Lost Gun or failure.

“Listen, I know this isn’t your favorite place, but how bad can it be?”

Sabrina cast a sideways glance at the petite redhead standing next to her at the bar.

Livi shrugged. “Okay, so we’re talking bad with a capital B. You hate small towns and we’re in a small town. Still—” she cast a glance around “—it’s kind of fun. I always wanted to learn to two-step.”

“And I want to be the next Woodward and Burns.”

Or at least, she had back when she’d been a freshman taking her first journalism class and the real world had been four years away. But entry-level journalist positions were hard to come by, and if she did manage to land one, she wouldn’t make enough to cover her rent, much less pay back the mountain of student loans.

Which is the reason that she’d taken a slight vacation from hard-core journalism to write fluff pieces for a few local tabloids and work on FindMeACowboy.com. The fluff coupled with the dating service would pay the bills and then some. Meanwhile, she would keep writing for the few blogs that actually liked her work and build her résumé. She was already brainstorming a new piece—an in-depth look at the bank robbery that had put Lost Gun on the map. Who knew? Maybe she could find a new twist regarding the missing money. She was here, after all. She might as well ask around.

In the meantime, she was going to sign up as many cowboys as possible and get the hell back to the city just as soon as she filled up her database.

“I feel like dancing.” Livi’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m going to head over to that table and ask one of those hunks to dance.” She indicated a handful of good-looking men in starched Western shirts. “And then I’m going to sign him up and find him the love of his life.”

Sabrina smiled as Livi made a beeline for the group. The expression died a heartbeat later when she heard the deep, seductive voice.

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Excuse me?” She cast a sideways glance at the hunky cowboy she’d spotted earlier.

Up close he was even more mouthwatering.

“Love.” His eyes glittered a hot, potent violet. His lips curved in a sexy smile. “Life isn’t about love. It’s about lust.”

“Is that so?”

He shrugged. “Lust makes the world go ’round.”

“So sayeth a commitment-fearing man.”

“I don’t fear commitment, sugar.” He shrugged. “I just don’t see the point in it.”

“And you are?”

“William Bonney Chisholm—” he touched a tanned finger to the brim of his Stetson and tipped it toward her “—but folks around here just call me Billy.”

“As in the Billy Chisholm?” Her mind scrambled, recalling bits and pieces from the posters plastered around town and the commentaries airing on the local radio stations. “The bull rider?”