The Cowbear's Curvy Valentine (Curvy Bear Ranch 5)

The Cowbear’s Curvy Valentine

Liv Brywood

Description

After losing the trial of the century, disgraced lawyer Abigail Holt flees the unforgiving press in Dallas. With only the clothes on her back, she ends up driving to the small town of West Yellowstone. She needs to hide for a while, just long enough to figure out how she’s going to move forward with her life. The Curvy Bear Ranch seems like the perfect place to retreat. But when she meets Cody Grant, a tall, sexy cowboy with bedroom eyes and a panty-melting six-pack, she wonders if she’s headed for another disaster. She has no idea that the man she secretly craves is hiding a huge, furry secret.

When Cody meets Abby, her curves set his body on fire. His bear can’t wait to claim her as his mate, but Cody isn’t ready to commit. He’s not interested in dating another broken woman. With his last, failed relationship in mind, he agrees to her no-strings-attached proposition. But after one mind-blowing night together, he agrees with his bear. He’ll do whatever it takes to convince his fated mate that they belong together. And he’s very, very convincing with his naughty tongue.

Excerpt

Moonlight glinted off strands of Abby’s golden hair, giving it an ethereal glow. Bright splotches colored her cheeks. Her blue eyes flashed as Cody moved close enough that their knees touched.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said in a husky tone. “I’m going to have to come over there.”

“Then come over here,” she challenged.

He tilted his head to one side and studied the slight tremble in her lips. She was vulnerable right now, obviously upset about the case she’d lost. Did that give him the right to take advantage of her? No, not really.

Who cares?
His bear huffed.

Of course the feral little beast would want to plunge forward before considering anything other than his animalistic instincts.

“Abby?” her name came out breathier than he’d intended.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I think you’re upset…”

“I am.”

“And you might not be thinking logically…”

“That would be a first for me,” she said.

“So maybe we should call it a night.”

“Do you really want to do that?” she asked in a seductive tone.

He groaned and wet his lips with his tongue.

Go for it
, his bear hollered.

“Oh hell,” he cursed softly.

As he reached to cup her face, she turned and brushed her lips across the palm of his hand. A shock of pure lust arced from his fingertips to his core. Every inch of his body went on high alert as she slid a knee between his thighs. His hands tangled in her silky hair. He searched her eyes for any sign that she wanted him to stop, but he only found unchecked desire.

The Cowbear’s Curvy Valentine

Liv Brywood

The Cowbear’s Curvy Valentine

Copyright© 2016 Liv Brywood

Amazon Edition

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

A Note from Liv

Chapter 1

In an effort to keep her gaze from straying across the courtroom, Abigail picked a piece of imaginary lint off of her suit. As lead prosecutor, she’d spent so much time cross-examining Edward Lee Drake that she could still see the evil in his eyes when she tried to sleep. The month-long murder trial would end today. This victory would solidify her rightful place in the DA’s office. A conviction in such a high-profile case would finally silence the whispers about her father’s role in getting her this job.

She glanced over her shoulder. The parents of the murdered child sat two rows behind her. As the young couple clung to each other, Greg, the husband, gave her a slight nod. Instead of instilling confidence, a tremor rippled down her spine. Juries could be unpredictable. Although she’d presented an open and shut case, reasonable doubt was all the defense needed for an acquittal.

The door to the left of the bench opened. A hush fell over the attendees.

The lanky bailiff crossed to the front of the courtroom. He stopped and fixed his scowl on the gallery. “All rise. This court is now in session. The honorable Judge Slate is presiding.”

Whispers spread through the room as the judge took his position on the bench.

“Be seated,” he said. “Bring in the jury.”

As the twelve jurors filed into their seats, a few people in the gallery coughed. Abigail stacked several pages of trial notes into a pile before shoving them into a manila file folder.

“Jury, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

“We have, your Honor,” replied the forewoman.

“Mr. Drake, please rise,” the judge said.

As the defendant stood, he sneered at Abigail. A rush of evil filled the room, as if the devil himself stood before the court. She met his gaze and forced a blank expression. She refused to betray the revulsion in her stomach. Images from the crime scene photographs of the mutilated boy’s body flashed through her mind. Coffee churned in her gut. She regretted skipping lunch, but she’d been too nervous to eat.

“On the first count, kidnapping in the first degree, how do you find?”

“Not guilty.”

A collective gasp blasted through the gallery.

The judge slammed the gavel. “Silence or I will clear this court.”

The room stilled.

Abigail leaned forward. This couldn’t be happening. This was only the first charge, but it wasn’t a good sign.

“On the second count, aggravated sexual assault of a minor, how do you find?”

“Not guilty.”

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Hailey, the murdered child’s mom, sag against her husband. An inhuman wail escaped her lips.

“On the third count, murder in the first with special circumstances, how do you find?”

The forewoman hesitated for a moment before responding.

“Not guilty.”

Pandemonium broke out in the gallery. Screaming, wailing, shouts of horror overrode the few people clapping for the defense.

Time slowed for Abigail. The judge’s mouth kept moving but she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of blood through her ears. She turned to watch the boy’s parents sob in each other’s arms. The boy’s father glared at her before pressing his face against his wife’s shoulder.

When Abigail turned back toward the defendant, cold fingers of dread raked down her spine. Edward Lee Drake winked at her before turning to stare at a young boy in the gallery. A glint of pure lust flickered in his eyes and in that moment she knew—without a doubt—that he’d do it again.

She shoved her files, notepads, and pens into her briefcase and stood. As the judge left the chaos, he shot her a disapproving look, as if she’d been the one to fail. And maybe she had. She’d ripped apart Drake’s alibi, but the defense had discredited the witness. She’d shown the jury a video of the boy being snatched up outside a convenience store, but apparently the grainy image wasn’t very convincing.

Even without all of the other evidence, the video confession obtained after the suspect had been arrested should have been enough. Had the jury actually believed Drake’s claims that the confession had been coerced?

As the jury stood, she searched their faces.
Why? Why hadn’t they convicted him?
Most of them wouldn’t meet her eyes. The few who did shook their heads as if to say they were sorry.

“Ms. Holt, may I speak with you?” The DA stepped out from behind a throng of reporters who were all shouting at her. His square jaw twitched as he waited for her response.

“Yes,” she said.

She followed closely behind him as he shoved a path through the reporters. Outside the courtroom, the crowd thickened as all of the people who couldn’t fit into the room surged toward them.

“Step aside,” the DA barked as he rushed through the frenzied melee.

When they reached a conference room, he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. He slammed the door in the reporter’s faces then stalked to the window and closed the blinds. Abigail set her briefcase down on the long mahogany table.

“Sit,” he commanded.

“I’d rather not.”

Nervous energy skittered along her muscles. She knew what was coming.

DA Browning stood at the head of the table. He gripped the backrest of a black, leather chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” he asked.

“It’s not good.” Even as she spoke, she knew it sounded lame, but what else could she say?

“Not good? Not good?” His voice rose as he repeated the rhetorical question. “You just lost the trial of the century. Everyone’s carrying this story. CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC. Everyone.”

“I know. I don’t know what happened. The jury must have—”

“I knew I never should have caved to political pressure from the mayor’s office. If your father wasn’t so influential, you never would have gotten this position.”

“I earned this position.” Tension kept her back ramrod straight. She’d be dammed if he’d make her feel like she wasn’t qualified. “I graduated at the top of my class at Yale. I interned at Briggs, Myers, and Hudson. I am more than qualified. So don’t tell me I was handed this position because of my father.”

Browning waved his hand through the air as if dismissing her comments. “Regardless, I can’t have someone in my office who can’t even win a slam-dunk case.”

“What are you saying?” she asked.

She knew. In her gut she’d known that she’d lose her job if she lost this case, but she wanted him to say it. She’d never quit anything in her life, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. If they wanted to get rid of her, they’d have to fire her.

“I think you know what this means,” he said.

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re fired.”

The shock of actually hearing him say the words rooted her in place. It wasn’t until he’d crossed the room toward the exit door that she could string a sentence together.

“You can’t do that,” she said.

“I can, and I did. I’ll have your things packed up and sent to your house.”

“I only lost one case. Other prosecutors have lost far more than one case and you didn’t fire them,” she said.

“An idiot could have won that case. You should be ashamed of yourself for losing it. Can you imagine what the kid’s poor parents are going through right now, knowing that their son’s murderer will walk free?” He smirked as he opened the door. “If you feel that your termination is discriminatory, take it up with the mayor’s office. We’ll see how many strings your daddy can pull this time.”

When he slammed the door behind him, frustration brought her to tears. Was he right? Was it really such a clear case that it should have been an easy win? Had she completely failed that family?

She leaned forward and rested her hands on the table. She hung her head. Maybe she had failed. Maybe he was right and she didn’t deserve the job. Or maybe he was just being a jackass. She needed time to think.

After grabbing her briefcase, she opened the door. A reporter with perfectly coifed hair spotted her from across the hall. She grabbed her cameraman and ran toward Abigail.

“How does it feel to set a murderer free?” the reporter asked with a gleam in her eyes.

Abigail ignored her and hurried down the hall, but it was too late. Reporters surrounded her. They shoved microphones in her face and hollered a barrage of increasingly vindictive questions.

“Did you fail at your job?”

“Are you still working at the DA’s office?”

“Has your father called you yet?”

She shuddered as she took the courthouse steps two at a time. Outside, the murky Dallas air whipped across the portico. After racing down the stairs, she ran across four lanes of traffic toward the parking garage. The vicious reporters made it to the sidewalk just steps behind her, still yelling insulting questions.

Inside the parking garage, she hurried past several rows of cars. When she finally spotted her BMW, she ran toward it. A group of reporters had already staked out the car. They jumped to their feet when they spotted her.

“Will you ever get the images of Nate’s twisted little body out of your head?” a reporter asked.

“Get out of my way,” she snarled.

“Do you have a drinking problem?” another asked.

“What? No,” Abigail said.

“Was the verdict fair?”

“Will you be appealing?”

As she stepped into the car, a reporter jammed her hand between the door and the frame in an effort to stop her from leaving. Abigail shoved the reporter. As soon as the woman released the door, Abigail slammed it and turned on the engine. She peeled out of the parking lot onto the road, grateful for the sudden silence.

The drive home only took twenty minutes. When she turned the corner onto her street, her breath caught in her throat. Browning was right. Everyone from CNN to NBC to CBS had camera crews and reporters staked out at her house. She whipped the car around before they could see her and raced back onto the road.

Now what?

This morning, she’d woken up thinking she’d be a hero for putting a murderer in prison; now she was persona non grata number one. She wasn’t safe anywhere. Not at court, not at home, and certainly not anywhere in the state of Texas.

For a moment, she considered calling her parents, but she couldn’t. The fact that they hadn’t already called her was nothing short of a miracle. Maybe her dad was too busy doing damage control. Family came second behind his political aspirations. As mayor, it wouldn’t be good for him to have a daughter who’d just lost the biggest case of the year.

She pulled onto Highway 287 north. She had no idea where she was headed, but she had to escape this nightmare.

***

Cody stomped his boots on the front porch of the Curvy Bear Bed & Breakfast. Clumps of snow fell from between the thick rubber treads. If he tracked snow through the entryway, Madison would give him an earful. He wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at, so he lifted each foot to inspect the boot before proceeding.

Satisfied, he opened the front door. He pulled off his boots and set them on a rack next to the door. After sliding out of his jacket, he hung it on the coat rack. He didn’t really blame Madison for being such a stickler for keeping the place clean. His mom would have been proud of her efforts had she still been alive. They all pitched in to keep the B & B in good shape. It was their way of honoring their parents who had worked so hard to make the ranch a successful business.

“Is that you, Cody?” Madison called from the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He entered to find her teetering on a stepladder over the stove.

“Jesus, Madison. Get down from there.” He rushed to her side. “Mack will have an aneurysm if he finds out that you’re still climbing ladders.”

“I’m only four months along. Why is everyone acting like being pregnant is an excuse to sit around eating bonbons all day?” she asked as she took his outstretched hand.

“No one can accuse you of not having a good work ethic,” he said.

“I want to pull my weight.”

“You do. You do more around here than almost anyone else. But sometimes you need to rest. Go sit down for a minute. What did you need from up there anyway?”

“I was looking for my mixing bowl. Vicki was helping me in the kitchen yesterday. I appreciate the extra hands, but now I can’t find anything,” Madison said.

“She just wants to feel useful,” Cody said.

“She already spends half the day cleaning the rooms for me.”

“Let her work as much as she wants. Now that she’s kicked the drug habit, she needs something to keep her occupied. She told me that she’s much happier when she’s working,” he said.

“Since when did you become Dr. Headshrinker?” she asked.

“That’ll be five hundred dollars,” he grinned.

“In your dreams. Anyway, we have a new guest arriving soon and I wanted to see if you could show her around the ranch. Mack said that if he catches me out in the cold again, he’s going to tie me to our bed. Which might not be such a bad thing.”