Ride a Stud (MM)


Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 12,101
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Sequel to "Save a Horse"

Ranch foreman Bo Clack has been besotted with town sheriff Nicholas “Bulldog” McMurtry for years. Bulldog knows it, the town knows it, and even Bo knows nothing will ever happen, but he seems to be stuck in a lovesick rut. Then Sam Kinsey, a regular guest at one of the sheriff’s weekend barbecue orgies, takes an interest in Bo, and he won’t be ignored.

Except, Sam can’t seem to say the right thing to the foreman and puts his foot in it too many times to count. And then others try to give Bo and Sam a helping hand and make things worse. From a fistfight to fending off unwanted advances at a bar, Bo navigates this brave new world where everyone is trying to get him a happy ending. With Sam.

Maybe he should let them. Because, once you save the horse, then you, uh, ride the stud.

Ride a Stud (MM)
0 Ratings (0.0)

Ride a Stud (MM)


Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 12,101
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Written Ink Designs

In the middle of the week, while I was eating lunch and checking my personal email, a message popped up from an unknown address. The subject line read, KenKen tournament. Okay ...

I opened it and learned I’d been invited to participate in a competition to be held at a library in the city. It was open to everyone, any age and would be held on Memorial Day, a little over a month from now. Who the hell knew I played KenKen in my spare time? I was in a few online clubs and participated in forums, but ... Then I saw the signature line. Oh no. Please tell me Bulldog hadn’t given Sam my personal information. What, were they besties now? Shit!

I immediately picked up the office phone and dialed the sheriff’s office. Bulldog answered, so I guess his deputy was on break.

“How could you?” I asked, not even bothering with a greeting.

“How could I what, Bo? And good afternoon to you, too, fussy britches.”

“You know what, you little turd. I didn’t ask you to give Sam Kinsey my email address. You’re messing with things that don’t concern you.”

“All I’m trying to do is give you an opportunity--” he stressed that word deliberately--“to spend some time with the man. He’d be good for you. Heaven knows I never will be, and you need to get that out of your head already, for the love of God.”

I sucked in a breath, but before I could give a scathing reply, Bulldog said, “Just give the guy a chance, would you? I know for a fact that he’s pretty damn hot in bed, and I think he would suit you to a ‘T.’”

“I really didn’t need to hear that part, Bulldog,” though it was ... intriguing.

“Just trying to help. You know I’d screw your tight ass in a heartbeat, but that’s all it would ever be. I bet you’re super tight, too. Ooh, I wonder if we could do a three-way. That would be hotter than hell, I bet.” I heard his chuckle over the phone and bristled.

“Fuck you, you unrepentant bastard, and stay the hell out of my business, damn it,” I yelled and hung up on him.

Jesus, it was like dealing with matchmaking old biddies, no disrespect meant to the little purple-haired old ladies I adored in town.

It was as if the universe was underlining my decision to move the hell on, already, and I was even getting help from my unrequited crush. What the fuck?

I looked at that message again, trying to decide if I really wanted to open that particular door. What do you have to lose? a voice whispered inside my head. Everything.

I waited until closer to bedtime when I was propped up against the pillows with my laptop. I replied to the message: I’ll participate in the competition, but don’t expect anything else. I hit send and brought up one of my favorite videos so I could apply Nature’s best sleeping pill.

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