The Wrong Cowboy

If you love friends to lovers, where opposites attract and Mr. Wrong is actually Mr. Right, then this is your next one-click!

Graduate from college? Check.
Land a school counselor job? Check.
Seduce her forever crush? Epic fail!

In fact, he's not interested, period. But Emma is determined to change his mind until his cousin, Gabe Buchanan, puts a definite crimp in her perfect plans.

Gabe has come to help his cousin with work around the ranch while struggling to unravel his next book plot. The last thing he expected to find was literary inspiration in the curvaceous cowgirl pining over his cousin. Determined to prove he is the right match for her, he devises a plan to win Emma's heart.

As much as Emma wants her childhood crush to finally take notice, she can't help but be intrigued by the sizzling hot and funny Gabe. When he asks her out, she can't say no. Besides, it's just a friendly dinner. No big deal. Yet when the lines between casual and interested blur, neither can deny the chemistry between them.

Can Gabe fill every box on Emma's checklist and give her what she needs the most? His heart and a future together?

Emma studied the dusty black Charger and shook her head, resisting the urge to stroke the sleek metal. She would not ask for a ride in that machine, would not ask how fast it could go or if it roared like thunder when it raced down the highway. A Charger wasn’t a sensible car for Montana winters, especially not for a rural area or a rancher, no matter how much you lusted over the power that resided under the hood. This was a frivolous waste of money, when everyone knew any spare funds were reinvested into the ranch infrastructure or into cattle to make the herd stronger, for more profits.
It had to belong to the city guy. Gabe Buchanan. He was the only one who would be able to drive a car that was purely for pleasure. She sighed and let her hand rest on the hood for a brief moment. But what a ride it would be.
“He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he?”
A low voice drawled from the back end of the car and she yanked her hand away as if it’d been scorched. She scowled at Gabe, who leaned against the bed of her truck, one ankle crossed in front of the other, arms folded across his chest as he smirked at her. Cam must have put him to work today, since it appeared he had just showered. His sandy brown hair was damp where it curled around the nape of his neck and up under his hat. His plaid shirt was clean, his jeans, worn and comfortable-looking, frayed along the seams, as if they were old. And damn if he didn’t look even better than he had in his fancy city clothes that morning.
She folded her arms and glared. “I thought all cars are women. Temperamental and something to be taken care of.”
He pushed off the end of the truck and sauntered toward her. “That’s a very old-fashioned view of women, Emma. First off, women don’t need to be taken care of. My momma taught me that they can handle most anything thrown at them, possibly better than men, and I listen to my momma. Second, I believe in equality. A car can be male or female, and trust me. This beast is all male.”
She sucked in a breath and narrowed her gaze. He was going to school her on feminism? “I don’t need a lecture on women’s rights, Gabe Buchanan. Because this car is tough, it must be male?”
Gabe’s smile never wavered. He leaned forward as if imparting a secret, his breath teasing her ear. She shivered. “Nope. I checked under the chassis. He’s male.”
He stepped back, his laughter ringing out around them. Her eyes widened and she was about to give him a blistering reply when she paused, realized he was teasing her. She relaxed and laughed with him. “Do you take anything seriously?”
He cocked his head, considering her words for a moment. “My momma, because she scares me. The IRS, for the same reason. God, because I’m hedging my bets there. And my family. Other than that, probably not.”
She shook her head and turned to the cab of her truck. “I don’t think I’d better take anything you say seriously.”
He rested a hand on the frame of the truck, right above her head. “You want to go for a spin? He handles real nice. If you’re good, I might even let you drive him.”
“And how do you define nice?” She tensed, waiting for a smarmy come-on.
He must have correctly interpreted her body language because he straightened and his tone, when he spoke, was serious for once. “It’s simple. Kind words, respect, maybe a little flirting. Nothing else. Anyone who asks for anything else is an asshole.”
He turned and started to walk stiffly toward the house, the moment clearly broken, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just expected you to say something else.”
He stopped but didn’t turn back. “Obviously.”
She sighed. “Can you help me carry these bags to the house?” she called after him. “I brought you both dinner. I know Cam sucks at cooking and you probably didn’t want to go back out for food.”
He whirled around, all smiles and affability again, and returned, taking the large paper bag she offered and holding it from the bottom. He inhaled deeply and sighed. “Fried chicken?”
“Earl makes a good chicken.”
As they walked toward the house she asked the question that had been bugging her since that morning. “Why did you defend Cam to those guys?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t like bullies. How long has that been going on?”
She looked up at the porch and let out a breath. “A long time. Probably since his father died.”
Gabe cursed under his breath. “Stubborn fool. He had family who would have helped him. He kept us all at arm’s length for years. We would have been here a long time ago if he would have let us.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have waited for an invitation.”
He nodded after a long moment. “Maybe we shouldn’t have.”