The Trouble With Cowboys Read Online Free PDF Page A

green cubes. Beautiful.
    Halfway through the second bunch of celery, though, something terrible happened. Amy’s mind locked implacably on Kellan Reed. The celery got her thinking of how grateful she was to have acquired it, which led to the memory of Kellan at the Quick Stand, with his patronizing smile and lazy drawl. From there, it was a mere skip of the mind to the feel of his lips on hers, the dark look of need in his eyes when they reached his bedroom, and the hard plane of his chest against her palms when she rode him.
    A small, stinging pain sizzled up her arm. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and watched a drop of blood trickle over her knuckle from the side of her finger. She’d nicked herself.
    “Cowboys,” she cursed, turning to the sink to run the cut under water.
    Once again, she’d allowed herself to be distracted by sexy boots and the next thing she knew, she’d been hurt. One could postulate that, after being humiliated by a two-faced cowboy on Ultimate Chef Showdown, Amy would’ve learned her lesson. Guess she wasn’t that smart. In fact, the way she’d courted trouble by catapulting herself into Kellan’s bed, she was getting stupider by the day. With her family home on the line, the last thing Amy needed in her life was more cowboy trouble. Especially with a potential business associate.
    “What’s wrong?” Rachel stood in the threshold, her cheeks red and filmed with perspiration, her shirt crumpled and her brown hair flat, probably due to one of the utilitarian sun hats she wore while working.
    With her finger under the stream of water, Amy shrugged. “No biggie. I cut myself.”
    “You okay?”
    “Yes. Happens all the time.”
    “Then why do you look so upset?”
    Because I let another damned cowboy get under my skin. “I’m mad at myself for getting distracted is all.”
    The explanation must have worked for Rachel. Or maybe, after their heated conversation the previous night, she was walking on eggshells the same way Amy was. She nodded and pushed off the door frame. “First-aid kit’s in the right drawer of the bathroom. You need my help patching that finger?”
    “No. Thanks anyway.”
    “Then I’m going to shower so we can get to the lawyer meeting on time.”
    “Where’s Jenna?” Amy called after her.
    “Dropping Tommy off at the sitter.” Rachel’s voice sounded from the stairwell. “She’ll meet us out front at noon.”
    With the weekend chore list at the farm as long as the weekday one, Amy hadn’t had much face time with her sisters—not counting their failed attempt at a calm discussion about their mom’s care the night before—so she welcomed the three-hour drive to Albuquerque as a chance to make peace and reconnect with them before they needed to show a united front to the lawyer.
    Her gaze drifted to the stack of paperwork on the table, proof of their mother’s complete and irreversible mental collapse. A whole pile of evidence, from letters by her doctors to bank statements, proving Bethany Sorentino had permanently lost the capacity to care for herself. Though this latest legal development had been coming on for nearly a year, Amy still felt the heavy drag of sadness every time she thought about what happened to her mom.
    She wrapped her injured finger in a paper towel and grabbed a bowl for the diced celery. Out back, the four sows squealed at her approach and jutted their heads through the slats of their pen, clamoring for the unexpected treat.
    She tipped the celery into the trough. “Here you go, ladies. Bon appétit .” They jostled for position, grunting enthusiastically as they chowed down. “And you might as well know up front, you’re going to be dining on a lot of celery from now on. You can bank on it.”

    At noon, Amy climbed into the backseat of Jenna’s car. Rachel, as bossy as she’d always been, took the wheel. Jenna rode shotgun.
    Amy patted the empty car seat next to her. “Who’s watching Tommy?”
    “Charlene