I'm not entirely sure where it started. Maybe it was the country music my mom listened to when I was growing up. I think it had something to do with the cowboy movies she used to watch…Urban Cowboy may have been what clinched it for me…but where ever it came from, I have always had a thing for cowboys. Tight wrangler jeans, cowboy hats, the hands of a man who works hard for a living – there's no bigger turn-on for me. Unfortunately, it was a fantasy that had never been lived out. Well, for a long time it was, anyway. Until this summer.
I'm a city girl, born and bred, but I've always wanted to go to the country. When my mother's cousin Gwen asked me if I wanted to come spend the summer on her South Dakota ranch, I practically tripped over myself to get there. I had this little fantasy all worked out in my head. I could just picture myself walking down the street and spotting a gorgeous hard-bodied cowboy, maybe watering his horses outside a saloon. I would saunter over there and introduce myself, and it would be love at first sight.
Looking back, it's funny just how wrong I was. When I got off the plane in Rapid City, things looked about right to me. Well, it was an airport, but there were guys in cowboy hats, and a couple of women in broomstick skirts. There were cowboy souvenirs in the gift shop. Most people there looked about like me, in jeans and a t-shirt, but I overlooked that, and I only saw the ones who fit the image I had created.
Gwen helped me with my bags and we got into a beat-up old Chevy pick-up truck that was parked next to the curb. There was dirt on the floorboards and a bale of hay in the back, and it all made me smile. I was giddy with anticipation. I couldn't wait to meet my cowboy!
The heat was unbearable, and the drive was eternal. I have never seen so many fields of nothing in my entire life. We drove and drove and drove…well, you get the idea. It must have been three hours before we finally turned down Gwen's dusty drive – if you can call it that, it was barely a dirt road – and started toward the house. Looking around, I couldn't see another house for miles and miles, let alone a town. It was about then that reality started to hit me. How was I ever going to meet a cowboy here?
It was turning into a long summer very quickly. Gwen put me to work doing things I had never heard of – feeding cows and everything else – but then one day, after I had been there about two weeks, she sent me to town for parts. A tractor had broken down, and the hired hand (a young man I had thought might have some potential until I saw his wife and five children) was busy on other projects.
Excited to get away from the ranch and get into town, I got in the pick-up and set off down that long dirt road toward town. I had the windows rolled down all the way, and the wind was blowing through my long dark hair as I drove along. The wind felt so good – it had been scorching all week. I was dressed – barely – in tiny little denim short-shorts and a white half t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. I felt like Daisy from the Dukes of Hazzard, and I know I looked sexy as hell.
Driving along as fast as that old pick-up could carry me, I was singing along with the radio and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel when I spotted him. He was a tall hunk of a man, dark skin peeking out below a plaid work shirt with the sleeves cut off. Muscles rippled up and down his arms as he stood in the back of his pick-up and tossed a bale of hay out the back. A white cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes blocked his face, but I knew it was him. It was my cowboy.
I resisted the urge to slam on the brakes, but I did ease off the gas and slow down as I approached him. He was working not far off the road, and from where I sat I had a perfect view of his fine cowboy ass, accented by a pair of blue wrangler jeans, caked with dust from a hard day's work. I couldn't help myself. I pulled over to the side of the road and snuck a glance at myself in the mirror. I looked rather delicious, I thought, and my outfit left little to the imagination.
Before I could even get out of the pick-up he was there, leaning against the door frame and poking his head in the window. He smelled of sweat and dirt and some sort of cologne I had never smelled before but had imagined a million times. I felt the tiny piece of material between my legs growing damp as he spoke.
"Hey there, little lady, can I help you with something?" he asked. He had piercing blue eyes, the bluest blue I have ever seen, and perfect cheek bones. A dark, sexy mustache arced over his lip, and I watched it as he spoke. The years had only added to his handsome face. I smiled a little as I thought to myself that he was at least twice my 20 years, maybe more.
