How to Kiss a Cowboy Read Online Free

a Sunday night affair with Brady wouldn’t last through Monday’s sunrise. But just this once, she let herself go. She felt like what they were doing was meant to be, as inevitable as the flowing of a river or the whisper of the wind in the trees.
    She knew she was feeling too much. Men like Brady didn’t want women to fall in love with them. Sex was a game to them, and if you took the game too seriously, nobody would ever pick you for a partner again.
    She broke the kiss, turned away, and walked smack into the side of her trailer.
    â€œYou okay?” Brady took her by the arm and looked her up and down.
    Oh, those eyes. Hot fudge. Warm and sweet.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said. “Just clumsy.” She laughed, and it came out a little too high. She sounded kind of crazy.
    Brady smiled, putting the killer dimples on display. “We’re all clumsy sometimes. I fall off horses a lot.”
    She laughed. “You do, don’t you?”
    He sobered. “Sometimes I’m clumsy about kissing too,” he said. “I hope you didn’t mind.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “No, I didn’t mind. It was fine.”
    He looked so deeply hurt she almost rushed to reassure him before she realized he was joking. “Fine?” he said. “Just fine ?”
    â€œMore than fine.” She gave him her best smile, but she could feel it trembling at the edges. How could she tell him how much she’d liked it without sounding like a seventh grader? She needed to be honest somehow, without giving too much away.
    â€œIt made my night.” She finally found the right, light tone. “Thank you.”
    She opened the door, flicked on the light, and turned to face him. Miraculously, she didn’t slam her face into the door or fall off the step.
    â€œGood night, Brady.”
    â€œAren’t you inviting me in?”
    Another land mine. How was she supposed to politely refuse what he was offering? Because he wasn’t angling for an invitation to tea.
    She’d just say no.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œOh.” He looked so disappointed, she kind of felt sorry for him. He’d ditched the three rodeo queens to follow her, after all.
    He strolled over to the folding camp chairs she’d put beneath the chili pepper lights and sat down. Slouching until his long, lean body was practically horizontal, he crossed his ankles and folded his arms behind his head, making himself very comfortable in her space.
    Her private space. She liked to sit alone outside her trailer in the evenings and listen to the conversations all around her. When it got late and the talk died down, she’d turn off the tiny lights and gaze up at the stars, feeling just as small as those faraway twinkles, lost in the vastness of the universe.
    â€œCome on,” he said, patting the other chair.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDang, girl, is it that bad?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMy reputation. Is it so bad you’re afraid to sit out here and talk to me?”
    To her surprise, she realized she wanted that. Just to talk.
    It would be foolish to sleep with him, but there was nothing wrong with talking for a while. She could use a friend, and who better than Brady? He seemed to understand her.
    â€œYou want a beer?” she asked.
    â€œSure.”
    She reached into the little refrigerator, which was only a foot or so from the doorway, and grabbed an ancient six-pack of Bud. She’d had it for months, and it had been in and out of the fridge. Probably tasted like panther pee by now, but what the heck.
    She stepped out of the trailer, letting the door slam behind her, and sat down in the second chair. She’d always wondered why she bothered to set up two when she almost always sat out there alone.
    Now she knew.
    Pulling two beers out of the plastic six-pack carrier, she handed one to Brady and popped the other one open for herself. She didn’t drink, but this seemed like a