Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 13485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Josie Reid abandoned her Texas hometown six years ago, when Weston Jessup chose his family’s ranch over her. Now a country music sensation, she’s back where it all started to officiate her brother’s wedding. Wes is the best man, and he’s determined to make things right. But can he convince Josie to give him another shot, or is their love song played out?
Jessica Peterson’s Save a Horse, Keep the Cowboy is part of Summer Lovin’, a sweet and sultry collection of short summer romances that turn up the heat—and the heart. Read or listen to each short story in one easy, breezy sitting
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1: Cowboy Country
Josie
He’s here.
My body knows it with a certainty that makes me short of breath.
I’ve always had this sixth sense, a kind of Weston Jessup internal radar system. It’s been that way since we met eight years ago, on a hot summer day just like this one.
Despite the fact that it’s a hundred degrees and I’m wearing the tiniest bikini I own, I’m still shaking like a leaf, my heart throbbing in the back of my throat.
I should’ve brought a road soda.
That’s all I can think as my best friend Quinn and I pick our way down a dirt path that winds through the Texas Hill Country brush. A hazy sun bears down on us through the dense canopy of leaves overhead. The humidity is so thick we’re practically swimming in it.
Sweat gathers on my temples and breaks out on my forearms when I hear voices rise and fall nearby. There’s a splash. Male laughter.
Yeah, I definitely should’ve pounded a beer or a shot or something on the drive over from Hartsville’s tiny airport. I landed ready to go, having changed into my swimsuit before our descent in the cushy bathroom on board the private jet my record company chartered for me.
Quinn, bless her, was waiting for me on the shimmering tarmac in my brother’s beat-up truck that’s about as old as I am. We found a bottle of tequila in his glove box, but it was empty.
Grady is nothing if not a good time.
One of the (many) perks of flying private is the ability to land directly in my teeny-tiny hometown, population one thousand. I wouldn’t say I was necessarily calm on the flight down from my last tour stop in Charlotte. But I had managed to convince myself I’d be just fine officiating Quinn and Grady’s wedding this weekend.
I may have performed in front of tens of thousands of people on a nightly basis over the past six months. But that never terrified me nearly as much as joining two of my favorite people in holy matrimony.
That probably has something to do with the fact that Grady chose Weston to be his best man.
Wes, the first guy I ever fell head over heels in love with.
The guy who dumped me out of the blue and broke my heart.
“Three things you should remember.” Quinn grabs onto a nearby tree to steady herself. “One, you look hot in that bikini. Does a Brazilian wax hurt? I can only imagine what it feels like to get your whole—”
“I went the laser route.” I slap my arm, squishing a mosquito. “And yes, it did hurt. But totally worth it.”
“Those costumes you wear do show a lot of leg. And butt.”
“Makes them easier to dance in,” I say with a grin.
“Of course it does. Two, you’re a literal rock star who’s crushing life. Whatever happens tonight, you win.”
Running a hand through my hair, I laugh. The humidity has turned it into a frizzy rat’s nest, despite the heinously expensive extensions I wear. “I’m so glamorous, I know. Even fame can’t win against the Texas heat.”
“And three”—she cuts me a look over her shoulder—“I love you. I can’t thank you enough for coming this weekend. We’re going to have a great time, yeah?”
I manage a grin, feeling ever so slightly better. Leave it to Quinn to soothe my nerves. “Absolutely. Best weekend ever starts now.”
Out of all my accomplishments, the fact that I’m surrounded and loved by excellent people is the one that makes me the most proud.
My pride, however, is apparently no match for Hartsville. When Quinn mentioned the rest of the wedding party was gathering at the river this afternoon, I wanted to vomit.
Back in the day, we used to spend our summers hanging at a glorious spot on the Colorado River just off Highway 71. The river winds its way through these hills. At this particular spot, the water is deliciously cold from its journey through the Rockies. Canyons rise steeply from its northern bank, and you can swing out over the water on a rope that’s been there for as long as anyone can remember.
As teenagers, we’d while away scorching afternoons at this spot. We were living large with our coolers of pilfered beer and playlists that were half George Strait, half Snoop Dogg.
At night, Wes would park his truck on top of a nearby canyon. The things that happened in that back seat? Scorching doesn’t begin to describe the way that man lit my body on fire.
When Wes was around his brothers or with his friends, he was all cowboy—gruff, businesslike. He’d talk about sports and the weather, just like his daddy. But when it was just the two of us, he’d open up and show me a side of himself no one else got to see. The vulnerable, tender side. The one that loved music, and the stars, and long, deep kisses.