His Untamed Love (Cuffs and Spurs Book 4) Read online

  Mia flinched like she’d been struck. She hated confrontations of any kind. She always fumbled and never held her own. Her anxiety bounded to new heights and she prayed she didn’t make more of a fool out of herself. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been driving all day and am a little tired. You came out of nowhere.”

  The man shook his head and replied, “Just be more careful, city girl.”

  His enigmatic eyes pierced through her. The sexy, surly cowboy could obviously tell that she didn’t have her ducks in a row. In fact, she didn’t even have ducks—more like a band of kittens doped up on catnip.

  She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, blinking back the sudden onslaught of moisture. She wouldn’t let herself cry.

  “Again, I’m sorry. Truly it was an accident,” she responded with an exasperated huff. She should have saved her breath. The sexy, surly cowboy stubbornly wouldn’t budge from his stance and accept her apology. His hawk-like glare assessed her and, it was clear, immediately found her lacking. Before she embarrassed herself further, she swiveled and climbed back into her vehicle. Once inside, she waited, gripping the steering wheel tightly, watching as the sexy surly cowboy and black stallion trotted past the rear of her truck. The stallion’s tail flicked and swished as if it wanted to swat her away.

  She refrained from banging her head against the steering wheel. But just barely.

  Mia was sure there were worse ways to begin her stay at the Black Elkhorn Lodge. She just couldn’t think of one at present.

  Before she chickened out and drove back to the nearest interstate as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, she double and triple checked her rearview mirror and back window. After ensuring no one else was bounding from out of nowhere into her field of vision, she finished reversing out of her parking space.

  She drove forward. Slowly.

  The sexy surly cowboy on his trusty stallion plodded ahead, smack dab in the middle of road, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Mister sexy surly cowboy had been an over-bloated jerk. The man had acted like she’d intended to run him over and targeted him for annihilation. Thinking over their short conversation, Mia realized he hadn’t even accepted her apology. Instead, he’d treated her like she was a flighty, irresponsible city dweller without a lick of sense.

  Now she would admit she was tired, and prone to panic attacks, but she’d graduated cum laude with her PhD. She could translate both French and Latin, and had a passing knowledge of Greek. Not enough to speak it, but enough to be dangerous. Mia was anything but flighty or without sense.

  What she was, was burned out and lonely.

  Nearly flattening sexy surly cowboy and his horse could have happened to anyone. Mia hadn’t lied about being tired from her long drive. Today was her third day stuck in a car. By mileage alone, the drive from Chicago to Jackson Hole was a twenty-one-hour trip. That didn’t include the time for pit stops and sleep along the way. The first night, she’d stayed in Lincoln, Nebraska, and then last night she’d stopped in Cheyenne.

  She’d left Cheyenne shortly after nine this morning, but that had been more than eight hours ago. She was exhausted, and really wanted to snuggle into her bed and keep herself from a panic attack. She huffed in her seat.

  Mia should have told him to shove his attitude where the sun didn’t shine.

  But she couldn’t help but notice the command with which he rode the horse. Or how unapologetically alpha he appeared on horseback. He was potent and raw, and more man than she’d ever come into contact with. A flutter stirred in her body at the picture he painted, at his deep in the bone masculinity that called to a wildness in her that scared the willies out of her. Too much man for her, that was for certain. She didn’t like men who were arrogantly alpha. She preferred a nice, sweet, malleable beta.

  Boring for some women, perhaps. But she’d had the alpha once before and wouldn’t recommend it.

  Still, she was inherently thankful she had dredged up enough backbone not to stutter in front of him, or done something like faint into a whimpering puddle at his feet. Instead she had held her ground. That had to count for something, right?

  Horse and man trotted at a snail’s pace like they didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t turn and glance her way. Judging by the set of his shoulders, he knew she was behind him. The jerk. Sexy surly cowboy just didn’t care. Which only served to make her seethe with anger she rarely, if ever, let loose. Mia gripped the steering wheel more firmly, to keep her temper in check because she wanted to blare her horn at the duo. The only reason she didn’t was she’d feel horrible about scaring the horse. Sexy surly cowboy? Not a chance.

  When they reached the three-way split in the road, horse and rider turned left. He didn’t even spare a glance in her direction. She shook her head. There was no pleasing some people, no matter what you did. That one liked to carry a grudge over a simple, accidental mistake.

  Mia turned her Audi right at the three-way split. The blacktop road rose and wound up the hill with evergreens and rocky abutments littering the drive. She spied a few chipmunks scurrying over a nearby branch. A red-tailed hawk soared overhead, its shadow flashing over the hood of her vehicle, darkening the steel gray paint to almost black. As she drove, Mia passed a few cabins that didn’t appear to be occupied since there weren’t any vehicles parked in front of them. Granted, their inhabitants could all be out doing things and not acting like a recluse. Finally, she arrived at the cabin marked with a D on the front door. With a sigh of utter relief, she pulled her SUV into the designated parking space in front.

  And realized the cabin was delightful.

  Woodsy, hickory colored, with a pastoral façade, it was a real life log cabin. The historian in her was thrilled. She loved the way it blended in with the surrounding forests and fields as if it was part of the land. The realistic side of her wondered if she was going to have friendly visitors inside, like snakes or, even worse, spiders.

  Sexy surly cowboy was right about one thing. She was a city girl through and through, and wasn’t embarrassed by that little factoid in the slightest.

  Mia grabbed the packet on the passenger seat, along with the key and her purse. She’d open it up first to make sure she didn’t have any unexpected houseguests before she started carting all her stuff in. She had a lot of stuff. Mia didn’t pack light. And for a month long stay she had wanted—needed—to be prepared so she didn’t obsess.

  She ascended the three wooden steps up to the front porch. There were two wooden rockers off to the side, with a small table between them. If she were brave enough she’d write out here. Or perhaps just sit out here with a cup of hot chamomile tea and relax—try to, anyhow. Mia constantly looked for ways to ease her anxiety: yoga, tea, chocolate, or wine. Especially since the one thing that used to calm her had turned on her and now incited fear.

  Upon entering, she didn’t expect to find such a pretty interior. The solid wood front door opened into a living room replete with golden hardwood floors and chocolate leather couches. On the far wall was a set of inlaid, golden wood shelves in the same hue as the flooring. They were stocked with books and a few decorative knick-knacks. She’d have to glance at the titles more closely later. There was a great gray stone fireplace that dominated the center of the cabin. Next to the inlaid shelves was a bank of windows that had a crystal-clear view of the nearby mountains. There was a pinewood writing desk and matching chair positioned at the window. She could set up shop right there and work with the pretty view for company. A blind panic seized hold, constricting her chest, at the thought of work. Maybe she wouldn’t work. Maybe she would just sit and stare at the pretty scenery.

  Work shouldn’t be this hard. She gulped in a few deep breaths, imitating a fish on dry land.

  To the right of the sumptuous living room was a galley style kitchen that the lodge had pre-stocked with supplies at her request. She smiled at the welcome basket with fruit, chocolate, and wine. Well, she wouldn’t starve out here anytime soo
n, she realized as she quickly perused the items. She was stocked to survive the apocalypse if it came. So that was one worry off her chest.

  Beyond the kitchen was a tiny dining room with an oak table that would seat four. In there was a second entrance on her left that she went through as she explored what would be her home for the next month. In the hallway, there was a large closet with double sliding doors, and she peeked inside and found the washer and dryer for the unit, with the laundry detergent she’d requested. Not all of the cabins were fitted with a washer and dryer in them, but since she was going to be here a month, she wanted a cabin where she could easily wash her clothes.

  From the hall there was an entrance to what would be her bathroom. One look and she was in heaven. All the units came with a shower stall, commode and sink, but this one had a built-in sauna tub as well. She would take that sucker for a test drive later tonight, after she got herself something to eat.

  There were two bedrooms at the tail end of the hall. They both held huge king-sized beds, but one of them had a bank of windows with a window seat piled with cushions. The bed itself dominated the room. It was a wooden four-poster with seemingly acres of fluffy white pillows and blankets.

  At the foot of the bed was a leather bench. The room wasn’t overly large, but it did hold a good-sized dresser and armoire, and enough space for a pair of nightstands. On the wall opposite the windows was a closet for her to store whatever wouldn’t fit into the dresser.

  The second bedroom was just as nice and nearly identical to the first one, but it didn’t have the impressive windows with the comfy seat.

  After her tour of the place she’d be calling home for the next month, Mia began the process of unloading her SUV. And it was a process. She had packed for every situation under the sun. She’d checked weather reports and annual forecasts to make her decision about the clothes she should pack.

  She had jeans, leggings, sweatpants, yoga pants, and flannel pajama bottoms. She’d packed twice as many tops, because quite honestly, she couldn’t seem to eat without getting something on her shirt. She had boots, and dresses—although her decision to pack a dress for a cabin in the woods just proved how anxiety-ridden she had become.

  By the time she’d finishing packing in Chicago, she’d had six suitcases crammed with everything from boots to toiletry items, just in case she might need it. Then there were her books, her research books that she required for writing. Not that she’d been doing any writing lately, but having the three boxes of history books all on various topics of early westward expansion was akin to having a warm, fuzzy blanket. She felt better just having them with her. They soothed her, calmed her nerves a bit and, more importantly, if she got bored, she could immerse herself in one of them with startling ease.

  Then she had her computer, and her backup laptop, her tablet computer, her e-reader, her backup external hard drives. And yes, she had more than one, because what would happen if one of them failed or became corrupted? She could lose a whole book, or mountains of research.

  Then there was the case of wine she’d decided to pack, because if all else failed at jogging her muse and helping her surmount the wall of writer’s block, she might try the Hemingway method of writing drunk then editing sober.

  It took Mia a good hour to cart everything inside. She lugged and huffed until every parcel and bag was inside the front door. Yet her stomach rumbled as she rolled her luggage into the bedroom. Padding into the kitchen, she decided she needed sustenance before she could continue any further with unpacking and getting her things set up.

  In her fridge, amidst all the supplies she’d requested to be stocked, was a covered plate with a note on it. She pulled it out and looked underneath. The note was from Chef Emily at The Elkhorn Restaurant, welcoming her to the lodge and giving heating instructions.

  Her mouth watered. It was a homemade chicken potpie. Too hungry to heat it in the oven, she followed the microwave instructions. As it was heating, she opened one of the bottles of chardonnay she had carted with her.

  She plowed her way through the chicken potpie quite happily. Between the warm flaky crust and melt in your mouth chicken, she knew she’d have to visit the restaurant and see what else they had to offer. If a chicken potpie was this incredible, everything else had to be pretty spectacular too.

  When she’d finished her impromptu meal, she started in the bedroom, unpacking her clothing. She put her toiletries away in the bathroom, and then headed into the living room—and what would be her temporary office.

  She unpacked the research books she used most frequently and put them on the shelf near her desk. That way they would be within reaching distance if she wanted or needed to look something up. When it came to writing historical fiction, accuracy was key. She might have become a bit of a pariah in academic circles, but she would be damned if she played fast and loose with history.

  Mia refilled her wine glass, then worked at setting up all her technological equipment. She’d even brought a power strip that also served as a surge protector. One could never be too careful.

  She put her e-reader on her nightstand and then padded back into the living room. She hooked up her computer, and set her laptop up so that it was charging along with her tablet on the corner of the desk.

  Then she turned her computer on and the whole cabin went dark. Fumbling with her phone, using the flashlight option on it, she found the packet the front desk clerk had given her and called reception.

  “Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort, this is Billie, how can I help you?”

  “Hi Billie, it’s Mia Evans in cabin D, and I seem to be without power.”

  “Oh, goodness. Well, let me contact maintenance right away for you. Hang tight and someone will be at the cabin shortly. Was there anything else you needed?”

  “No, that was it.” Other than perhaps a hole to crawl in out of embarrassment. Really, she hadn’t even been here two hours yet.

  “Okay, I will get maintenance on it right away.”

  “Umhmm, thank you.” Mia hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Why did these things always happen to her?

  Chapter 3

  There were three things Cole wanted desperately.

  Considering the way his week had gone, he’d even settle for two out of the three. He strode into the main lodge of the Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort after a hellishly long day. Today capped off an endlessly long week. He’d led two back to back overnight fishing excursions, followed by an all-day guided horseback ride—and all of them in the last five days. All Cole wanted was a hot meal, his bed and, if wishes were horses, a warm, willing woman to slide himself into.

  Cole and his younger brother, Mason, were the owners of the Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort on the outskirts of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Mason was in charge of the day to day operations on the business side of things, while Cole spent the majority of his time taking tourists on fishing trips, hunting game, hiking, and camping, and overseeing all the outdoor adventures tourists could possibly want.

  Cole loved what he did and the life he had been able to craft. The thought of being cooped up in an office all day, staring at the same four walls—it would drive him insane. He figured that type of job was pure, undiluted torture and quite possibly one of the circles of hell.

  His office was comprised of the many trails leading away from the lodge, with the sky for his ceiling and nature as his companion.

  But after the last few days, he was ready for some hefty rest and relaxation, starting with a meal from his soon to be sister-in-law, Emily, who as it so happened, was also the chef of their on-site restaurant, the Elkhorn. Emily had helped the brothers out a few months back when she’d taken the position there. And his brother had all but taken one look at Emily and fallen boots over Stetson for the little cook. Not that he blamed his brother one bit because Emily, bless her, had fallen right back for Mason. They were neck deep in love and planning a summer wedding.

  Cole was happy for his brother, even if it meant he now s
pent more time at his mountain cabin than he did at home. The living situation was temporary. With the lovebirds setting up their nest at the house, Cole knew it was long past time that he build his own home. The house they were in now had been his parents’, and it had always fit Mason more than it did him. So he didn’t mind ceding it to Mason and Emily, and the family they would eventually have. It was something he and Mason had discussed long before Emily was ever in the picture.

  But it was time for the change. The firm he’d hired to build his place had broken ground this week, with the first hints of spring in the air. Granted, it was a tumultuous time of year when it came to the weather. Just because they’d had a few warm days, that didn’t mean winter had released its stranglehold.

  So hopefully, by summer, he would be in his own place and not having to worry about walking in on his brother screwing the little chef’s brains out—on the kitchen table.

  Cole wasn’t a prude in the slightest. He was a Dom. He preferred his women naked, bound, and on their knees before him. He wasn’t a stranger to watching another couple have sex. Over the years, he’d voyeuristically watched his fair share of scenes performed at Cuffs & Spurs, a local BDSM Club he belonged to that was run by his friend Spencer.

  Yet, he didn’t want to watch his brother have sex. At least not while he wasn’t getting it on a nightly basis himself. He hadn’t been to the club in nearly two weeks. And the last time he’d visited, while the scene he’d done had been pleasurable, he’d left the club less than satisfied.

  It was perplexing. Cole liked his life. He lived the way he wanted to and yet, lately, he’d been feeling unsatisfied. With everything.

  He hoped it was just a passing phase and that once he was in his own place, the funk would disappear. As happy as he was for his brother, seeing him with Emily, the love and happiness pervading them, reminded Cole of Lana.

  His phone rang just as he stepped into the lobby. “Cole Stewart.”