Curvy Girls: Claimed By The Cowboy (The BBW and the Billionaire Rancher) Read Online Free PDF

friends in the world, and they had her surrounded. Cheyenne sat to her left, Betsy and Carlotta sat across from her, at the Daily Grind coffeeshop.  They were staring at her like she was a bug under a microscope.
    Abigail squirmed uncomfortably, taking another healthy swig of sweet, light coffee.
    “Wow,” she said, looking up at her friends. “Suddenly, I know how all that wildlife feels when I’m staring at it through a telephoto lens. It’s actually pretty creepy.”
    “Spill it, and get to the good stuff immediately,” Cheyenne directed her.
    “Yeah. We want details. And we’ll know if you’re lying.” Carlotta was plowing through a giant stack of pancakes, shoveling forkfuls into her mouth without taking her eyes off Abigail. She and her husband Lorenzo, a sheriff’s deputy, were expecting twins. She was five months pregnant, the globe of her stomach already swelling gloriously, her smooth olive skin glowing. Her dark black curls were shinier and more lustrous than ever, and she ate enough to feed a small football team every day.
    “Like how big is his cock?” Cheyenne added.  “I’d heard stories, but I always wondered.”
    Betsy and Abigail both gasped. “Cheyenne! Keep it down!” Abigail hissed. “It’s possible that SOMEONE in the entire frickin’ town might not know what happened last night.”
    Cheyenne glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Naaahhh. This is Crooked Creek. Population, nosy. By the end of the week everybody in town will know.”
    “But you should watch your language in front of the children. Use euphemisms,” Betsy said virtuously, shielding Carlotta’s stomach with her hands.
    “Betsy, they don’t actually have ears yet.” Carlotta swallowed a gigantic spoonful of cheesy scrambled eggs.
    “So, how big is your husband’s cock?” Cheyenne asked Carlotta, with a wicked grin at Betsy, who glared at her and then leaned down to shout at Carlotta’s swollen stomach “Don’t listen! Cover your little earbuds!”
    “Seven thick, uncut inches. Why I married him,” Carlotta said around a mouthful of pancake, unperturbed. “Also, because he came with his own handcuffs.”
    “Oooh. Does he have a brother?” Cheyenne’s blue eyes sparkled with hope.
    “Yep. Francesco. You slept with him.” That was also true of a good percentage of Crooked Creek’s single male population under the age of 35. Cheyenne had a healthy libido and no sense of shame whatsoever.
    “Oh, yeah. Last year. I think. He was pretty good, actually.” Cheyenne looked thoughtful, as if she were considering a repeat performance.
    Carlotta held up her empty fork and waved it in the air. “Hell-oooo. We’re interrogating Abigail. Spotlight on Abigail. Let the storytelling begin.”
    They all swiveled back to focus on Abigail again. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment.
    “For the sake of argument, what makes you think that anyone else knows that Ty and I…”
    “Fucked like bunnies?” Cheyenne finished helpfully. “Okay.  Everyone in the universe knows that Ty is back in town for Boone’s funeral.  Yesterday, when Molly made it back to the stable alone, and the storm hit, I figured you were stranded somewhere and I needed to come get you, so I called a bunch of people to find out where you might have gone. Dylan fessed up, because I threatened to kick his ass.”
    Dylan, Betsy’s cousin from Montana, was the new staff photographer at the Crooked Creek Telegraph, one of the oldest newspapers in the country, in operation since the town was founded in the 1880s. It was owned by Betsy’s father.
    “Tattletale,” Abigail grumbled.
    She and Dylan were photo buddies, frequently going on nature hikes together to capture the stunning Colorado landscape.
    “Pussy,” Carlotta said scornfully.  
    Betsy shuddered, imagining the years of therapy Carlotta’s twins were going to need thanks to their mother’s potty mouth.
    “Anyhoo, when he told me that you were on the Jackson ranch, I was worried