Free Cowboy Heaven by Cheryl L. Brooks

conclusion.”
    He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a jump really. I’m not too sure about the difference myself, but I do know it wasn’t anything like what I’ve felt with other women. Ever.”
    â€œWhich could be good or bad.” But it was encouraging.
    Although what if Troy decided to stay forever? What then? Sure, he was cute, but would I love him?
    I let out a ragged sigh. “What a day this has been! I don’t think I’ve ever had one quite like it. Let’s give it a rest and go put up your saddle, shall we? I need a break.”
    Troy grinned. “I’m good for more later on if you want me.”
    I just shook my head and led the way to the tack room. This fuck every twenty miles was undoubtedly going to kill me, and even if it didn’t, then the two when we got there probably would.
    Maybe I was too old for a boy toy.

Chapter 7
    The tack room was quiet, except for the cat nursing her kittens in a box in the corner. We found an empty rack for Troy’s saddle, then went out into the stable where I introduced him to the horses, including my Palomino mare, Goldie, who was due to foal at any time.
    â€œYou can ride Dusty’s horse for now,” I said. “He’s a pretty good guy and shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
    â€œDusty or the horse?” Troy teased.
    â€œBoth, actually. Never had a lick of trouble from either one of them.”
    â€œUntil now?”
    â€œI guess you could call a broken leg trouble. But Dusty can still feed the horses, pigs, and chickens, and he can drive a truck, so he isn’t a total loss. I hadn’t planned on hiring anyone to replace him until you came along. I’m not surprised he thought we might fire him. Although if he thought that, he must not have a very high opinion of us. Firing a guy because he got hurt on the job wouldn’t be quite cricket, now would it?”
    Troy shrugged. “It happens. Most people seem to think ranch hands grow on trees.”
    â€œNot the good ones. It takes a certain kind of man to work on a ranch and live in a bunkhouse. Most guys want a family and their own place, which means a lot of our men are the loner type. They seem to get along with each other pretty well, though. I can’t remember the last time Rufus had to break up a fight.” I paused for a moment, thinking about what Dusty had said. “You know it still bugs me that Dusty would think we might fire him. It’s been ages since we let someone go. Some have quit, but fire one of them? No way! They’re more like family than employees—at least that’s how I see it. It never occurred to me to tell Dusty his job was safe after his accident—mainly because it never crossed my mind we wouldn’t be keeping him on. It’s not as if he’s never going to be able to ride—the doctor said he’d be fine in a couple of months.”
    â€œSounds like he’s heard some horror stories about what happens to broken-down cowboys. God knows there are plenty of them. I’ve been busted up myself a time or two.”
    â€œYeah, I noticed the scars on your shoulder. Torn rotator cuff?”
    He nodded. “I’m surprised you saw those, under the circumstances.”
    â€œI don’t miss much,” I said. “Like the fact that your left boot heel is more worn than the right. You drag that foot slightly, don’t you?”
    â€œTorn ligaments in the knee and hip,” he replied with a grimace. “Courtesy of a Brahma named Carlos, which is why I gave up bull riding. Son of a bitch threw me up in the air like a rag doll. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill me.”
    â€œI never could understand why anyone would feel the need to ride a bull! Bronc riding, yes, although nobody breaks horses that way anymore. But bull riding? As far as I can tell, it’s nothing but a male ego thing—a contest to see who has the biggest balls. Most of