420 Bride Street: Cherry Falls, Book #16

winces. He’s lying flat across the bed, one leg of the side of it, arms spread wide, with an empty bottle of whiskey lying on the pillow next to him.
His muscles clench and ripple as he startles awake. I suddenly remember again that he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. My face reddens as my eyes slide down over his grooved, muscled, gorgeous body.
But when my jaw drops in utter shock, it’s not because of those washboard abs. It’s not for the quarterback arms, or the Brad Pitt shoulders. Or the Viking warrior chest. It’s, uh, another muscle that pulls every ounce of my attention.
It’s another “muscle” that’s just hanging out there; and it’s living fucking large.
Huge, actually.
“Who the fuck are you?”
His voice rasps out hoarse and sexy—smokey and whiskey smooth. My mouth snaps shut, and I somehow pull my eyes from between his muscled, naked thighs, up to his face. I gasp when those blue eyes pierce right into mine.
“I—I’m—”
He frowns groggily at me and half sits up. His muscles ripple, and that… well, the appendage between his legs slaps against his thigh, audibly. My eyes almost bulge out of my head.
“I’m—-”
“Breaking and entering is what you’re—”
“I’m Tansy,” I blurt. “Tansy MacInyre?”
The absolute hunk brings hand up to rake his nails across his squared jaw. Slowly, a rogue smile spreads over his face.
“Well well,” he drawls.
“I—”
I can’t help it. My eyes drop right back to the very last place in the freaking room they should be looking again.
“I’m looking for Mr. Patton,” I manage to fumble out, talking to his crotch.
“Well, look no further.”
My heart skips. My eyes instantly snap up to his. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said look no further,” the sickeningly handsome naked man grunts with a grin. “Cause you’re looking at him.
My face burns hotly. Oh, I’m looking at him, alright. All of him.
He grins. “Welcome to Cherry Blossom Ranch, Tansy MacInyre.”
Without missing a beat, I turn, and I bolt out the door.

2 Colt
Shit.
It takes me a second to actually realize what’s just happened when she bolts. I make a move to lunge after her. But when I flex to jump from the bed, I wince in agony. Mother fuck; my head. The hangover payback for last night’s excess hits me like a sledgehammer to temple. I groan as I slump back to the bed, hands sliding over my face.
Okay, it’s not like waking up hungover and butt-ass naked is a usual thing for me. This might actually be a first. Great timing, I grunt to myself.
Last night was not a normal night for me. Mercifully for my own health, drinking a whole fifth of whiskey all by my lonesome is not a typical Wednesday night. I frown as I try and put the pieces of the map that lead me here back together. My eyes swivel gently out through the open bedroom door, at the kitchen.
Right... the garbage disposal. That bastard. I’ve been trying to get this cottage in shape for the guest that’ll be staying in it. When Cassidy Watts mentioned that her pops had hired a new vet—a friend of hers, no less—but that this vet job didn’t start for a month, I jumped at the opportunity.
Taylor’s been doing what he can to help with Chance, my stallion. But he’s booked up solid down at the vet clinic, and Chance needs someone day-to-day to get him through this… well, whatever the problem is. A mating stallion that can’t “rise to the occasion” is going to become a bit of a problem.
Enter: Tansy MacInyre.
Cassidy described her as a hotshot young vet out of New York. And hell, if she was good enough for Taylor to hire her, that’s good enough for me. Cassidy did all the go-between arranging, and soon enough, I had me a live-in vet for a month. All in exchange for some pay and a place to stay in my guest cottage.
Except with three days to prepare for this new guest of mine, I’ve been working my ass off trying to get the place looking decent. And part of that was tickling the ornery son of a bitch garbage disposal that’s been acting up.
The whiskey I’d cracked for an after-work, disposal-fixing drink. I’d planned on one drink. Maybe two. But then, Satan had called.
No, not really. But you can be damn sure that’s what she pops up as on my phone. “She” would be Deirdre, my ex-wife. Honestly, having her in as Satan in my phone is probably disrespectful. To the actual Satan.
I married young and dumb. I was still in the service back then, before I came up with Mare-Mate. I’d been a chemistry major before the Marines. And since I’d grown up on farms, it was kind of a kismet kind of thing. Mare-Mate is a food additive for breeding horses that helps with viable conception. It’s safe, it keeps animals healthy and viable, and stallions can eat it with zero negative effects, since the enzymes are only digestible by mares. It’s also made me a very nice chunk of change.
It also might have been the beginning of the end for Deirdre and me. Like I said, we’d married young—young enough that it wasn’t long before we both grew into different people. Or she did. My goals never really changed. All I ever wanted was this land, these horses, and my peace and quiet.
All Deirdre wanted was more. More money, more pretentious, expensive shit she could post about on fuckin’ Instagram. More credit cards, more cars, and as it turns out, more new dick.
I’d had hunches for a while. But hunches became reality the day I walked in on her with one of my business partner’s shrimpy excuse for a cock down her throat. Or, if we’re being anatomically correct, probably barely tickling her back molars.
I doubt many divorces are “clean.” But ours was about as messy as it can get. Thank God we didn’t have kids. But Deirdre came after everything—and I do mean everything. She and