Book 3: Montana Rodeo Brides
Nico Steel entered Grey’s Saloon in Marietta, Montana.
Alone.
Something she’d never done before. Her throat closed tight. She wanted to turn and run.
No.
Her brain, drunk on affirmation podcasts about re-invention and redemption and every other touchy-feely, thumbs-up philosophy for the past three days, clamored for her walk to the bar. Order a drink. Pretend to be someone else so she could escape who she was. She could improv her way to a new life from the soles of her new boots up to the tips of her just colored bright red hair.
She wanted this.
She needed it.
A new life.
A new her.
And yet rocketing off to Mars seemed easier than taking the next step on the battered wood floor.
And then she locked eyes with the most beautiful man she had ever seen—a cowboy–and everything else—the music, the voices, the giggling bridal party shouting and her jangling nerves—disappeared.
Nico drew in a deep breath and centered herself on the man.
Don’t block.
Rule two of improv or rule three? She’d listened to a couple of podcasts and then an audible book about improv as there was some disagreement. Of course there was. How would someone else make money? By now she should have enough knowledge to have a social interaction, but that was theory versus real life. And she’d always excelled far better at theory.
“Yes,” she said the word aloud, a talisman, and like magic, he strode toward her with a walk that melted her mind and heated her lower abdomen, shockingly abrupt like he’d pulled a chord to a part of her she’d spent most of her life ignoring.
Yes, and….
The first rule of improv.
“I’m Bodhi,” the cowboy said. “What would you think about changing my life tonight?”
His eyes were the strangest, most beautiful blue she’d ever seen. There was a navy ring around the iris, and she could happily drown in the warmth and confidence he exuded. Was that a pickup line? She’d never heard anything like it. Men didn’t talk to her like that. Ever. No one with any insider information would have dared.
It should have sounded stupid. Ridiculous. Over the top cocky and insulting. But he made it sound reasonable. Possible. Happily appealing.
“Yes,” she said, although her brain was beginning to scramble from his beauty and sexual heat that emanated from him like a seductive cologne, “and I’d like you to change mine.”
Following the improv rules.
And bold and honest. A first for her in, well, forever.
His smile was as wicked as it was charming, and even though she’d traveled the world, had wielded a black Amex since she was a teen, and had undergrad and law degrees from an Ivy, Nico knew she was way out of her league.
“Darlin’, you have yourself a deal.”