City Boy, Country Heart: Contemporary Western Romance (Heart of the Boy Book 2) Read online

  CITY BOY, COUNTRY HEART

  A Stand-alone Sequel to BAD BOY, BIG HEART

  Heart of the Boy, Book 2

  By Andrea Downing

  Contemporary Western Romance

  Copyright © 2017 by Andrea Downing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Independently Published

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  About City Boy, Country Heart

  Rodeo star and rancher Chay Ridgway has left Wyoming to follow his girlfriend, K.C. Daniels, to New York. Leaving behind all he knows for a small bite of the Big Apple, Chay discovers the canyons of city streets may be too claustrophobic for this cowboy, especially when the trauma is compounded by the fact K.C.’s parents dislike him, their housemate is a harridan, friends are few, and the only job he can get is rounding up dinner plates.

  As K.C. continues her two years of study for her Master’s degree, can she also continue to keep a rein on Chay’s heart? Will this cowboy become a city boy, or will the wide-open spaces of Wyoming call his country heart home?

  CHAPTER ONE

  He was riding.

  The blue of the Wyoming sky is so pure, unlike any other, the blue of clear water, the blue of lakes you want to sink into, lose yourself in, and the blue of K.C.’s eyes right before I make love to her. And the air of the Tetons is so clean, invigorating, fresh, energizing; it fills my lungs and makes me able to do anything, ready for the day, able to face whatever comes my way.

  He shook awake.

  The stench hit him.

  As the subway car rattled through the menacing tunnels, Chay Ridgway tried to stop himself from either heaving or dozing off again at this ungodly, late-night hour. He kept a close eye on the drunk laid out across from him, a whiff of urine emanating from the man’s filthy clothes. He had no idea whether the stinking creature might rise and attack him. At least that’s what he sensed might happen. K.C. had assured him it was unlikely; drunks slept in the subway, that was all.

  Not that he was frightened. He just, pure and simple, could not get used to this environment: the closed carriages, being underground, the smell of dirty hot iron, garbage, and rats. At least if you met a skunk out on the road in the wide open spaces of Wyoming, it was in clean air. Not here. Everything closed in on him. It felt as if he were on a different planet.

  For all he knew, the drunk might be dead and he was sitting opposite a rotting corpse. The few other passengers ignored the body. Weary from long days, they glared bleary-eyed at phones or dozed over newspapers, kept their glances averted some other way, any way. But Chay’s curiosity still won out. He studied people, he took in his surroundings. A mix of inquisitiveness and uncertainty—was he safe? He never felt like this at home. Doors left unlocked, a life where everyone knew everyone who lived nearby, dropped in, looked out for you as his elderly friend Breezy was doing now. This world he had entered in moving to New York was as an apocalypse, some dystopian vision of hell. What had he done?

  Just what the hell had he done?

  * * *

  K.C. Daniels heard the key turn in the lock. She smiled at the attempt to tiptoe across the living room, and watched the door handle to their bedroom turn with careful determination.

  “You know I’m awake,” she whispered.

  As Chay sidled into the room, tapping the door closed with slow deliberation, she could gauge his mood by the set of his mouth. Tonight his lips turned down in a slight frown, and she caught the brief slide of his gaze over to her, and back to the door. He stood for a moment waiting to hear if their housemate, Daphne Baker, would charge out of her room as she often did with a complaint.

  All quiet.

  Chay waited, leaned back against the door, opened his mouth to speak and then jumped at the scream:

  “You did it again, Ridgway! You woke me up! This has to stop!” Daphne’s voice was shrill, a piercing siren, and K.C. knew that what had to stop was Daphne’s tyranny. Either that or they had to move. The soft thud of a pillow hitting the wall preceded the flap, flap, flap of Daphne’s slippers before she swung open her door.

  Chay stood statue still, his head bent to listen.

  A moment passed, and the door slammed shut followed by more flapping as her mules slapped wood.

  K.C. caught Chay’s look and grimaced, listened as his breath came out in a huff of fatigue, then smiled up at him as he approached the bed and sat down. He didn’t have to speak; she knew what he was thinking and didn’t want to hear it again.

  He leaned in to brush her lips with his, pulled back to look at her and ran his thumb along her chin line before his hand drifted to her shoulder and slid her nightdress strap down.

  “Chay.”

  “Ummmm.”

  “Chay.”

  “That’s my name, want my number?”

  “Chay.” K.C. kept the pitch of her voice moderated and tapped his forehead with her own. “It’s late. I have classes in the morning.”

  “Uh-hmmmm.”

  “And you smell of garlic and tomato sauce.”

  “From one of the best chefs in town.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “I’ll go wash.” He stood up and looked down at her, gave her a smile that was more questioning than affirmation, and which didn’t reach his eyes, and he headed to the bathroom, yanking off one boot after the other as he went.

  Smiling to herself that he still wore his cowboy boots in New York City, K.C. watched as his belt hit the floor, followed in some haste by the jeans meant to sit a horse, and the shirt that had covered the pronounced muscles of a man who worked cattle. The muscles were still there but K.C. wondered if they’d soon disappear, though she supposed not with the time he spent in the gym, running, and on his skateboard.

  A sense of responsibility hit her and she flipped her book shut, shoved it on the night table and stretched to dim the light. He had given up so much to be here with her, to let her complete her American History M.A. course as she wished. And there was no going back for him at the moment: the folks from the next ranch—the Bantries—had leased his north pasture, the house was being fixed up, and Breezy was seeing to paying guests with a long term tenant possible for the winter. And, yes, K.C. was responsible for all of it, answerable for his happiness, accountable to him.

  * * *

  Chay slouched in the bathroom doorway, his boxers signifying he had given up any idea of love-making for the night, sympathetic to K.C.’s wishes and cognizant of the fact he might not be in top form. As he stepped forward and slid between the sheets next to her, he gave the thought one more consideration, let it go, pulled her over to his chest and clutched a handful of her lustrous brown hair, cradling her head and guiding it to turn toward him.

  He slithered down lower in the bed, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her long and deep before rubbing noses with her and giving her a final peck on the forehead. As K.C. twisted to switch off the light, he stretched to turn her face to him once more, take her in.

  Hers was the face that had brought him here, out of Wyoming: the person—the reason—he tolerated the late nights dealing with jackass patrons at a pretentious restaurant downtown, an overcrowded city that made him feel stifled, a subway system that rep
ulsed him, and a number of people now in his life whose throats he’d be happy to wring. She was it, K.C. and her hyacinth eyes. It. Everything. And she was worth it.

  But would he last two years?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chay felt the chill of the floor as he ambled barefoot into the living room. His jeans had been pulled on and zipped up, but the waist was left unfastened like an arrow pointing to the taut lines of his stomach. Still not fully awake, he rubbed his eyes but caught Daphne’s peek before she pulled her glance back to the newspaper in front of her. K.C. looked up from her breakfast, laying a finger to mark her place in the essay she was re-reading, and smiled.

  “Sleepy head.”

  “Hmmm, well.” With a small snuffle, he turned to the refrigerator, yanked open the door to a sigh from Daphne, and grasped a carton of milk. He felt the housemate’s hard stare as he drank straight from the carton.

  “I hope that isn’t my milk!”

  The complaint in Daphne’s voice irked him. “For chrissake, don’t start this early in the morning.” He licked what might be a comical milk mustache from his upper lip and turned to her with a snort. “Do you think I’d dare eat or drink anything of yours? Lord, you may have contaminated it with your—”

  “Chay!” K.C. slapped her stack of papers. “Do you have to start?”

  “Start? Me?” He stood there, hand extended with the milk at a tilt.

  Daphne pounded the table making her bowl of cereal bounce. “You do everything possible to annoy me!”

  “My presence here annoys you!”

  K.C.’s, “Please stop you two; you’re acting like children. For heaven’s sake—” had no effect.

  “That’s right!” Daphne continued. “When I agreed with K.C. you could live here, I had no idea what an inconsiderate, slobby, dirty, noisy….”

  “Man?” Chay leaned back against the fridge, a few drops of milk sprinkling out onto the floor.

  “Seeeee?” Daphne snarled, pointing to the offending spots.

  K.C. pushed back from the table and started to gather her papers. “Daphne.” Her retort was in a restrained, quiet voice. “You leave things in the living area same as me and Chay; you were thankful for the agreed sixty, forty split in the rent with us having the master bedroom; we’ve agreed to all your terms as regards the use of the kitchen, cleaning, and so on. I don’t understand what it is you find so abhorrent in Chay.”

  “Well, look what he’s just done!”

  K.C. stood open-mouthed staring at her friend before moving toward the door.

  Chay leaned back against the fridge before placing the milk on the counter and grabbing a cloth. He bent down to wipe the spots on the floor, then peered up at Daphne. “Satisfied?”

  “I’m not satisfied with the noise you make each and every night when you come in! Especially when you have your skateboard with you. I’ve asked you before; in fact, I’ve asked several times to please be quiet, and yet you insist, you traipse in on purpose—”

  Chay rose and threw the cloth in the sink before turning back to his assailant. “First of all, I’ve stopped taking my skateboard to work—it takes too long to get home, I can’t wear my boots, and I keep K.C. awake. Second, Daphne, I don’t do anything ‘on purpose’ to annoy you. Lord knows, being quiet and obeying your goshdang rules is far easier than listening to this crap every single day. I’m a human being who moves and breathes and talks—”

  “And has sex! Geesh, the two of you are like animals!” She gasped, realizing what she had said met a heavy silence. She glanced over at K.C. by the door for a moment, before turning back to Chay who wore a smirk on his face.

  “Hmm.” Chay gazed across at K.C. trying to read her, but her face was a stoic blank. He rested his two hands on the table and leaned toward Daphne so he was right in her face. “A little bit of jealousy, have we, perhaps? You haven’t been listening at the door, have you, Daphne?”

  “Don’t be disgusting! You’re ridiculous.”

  As Chay stood again and leaned back once more against the fridge, not only did the chill of the cold metal cool him, but the realization he might have pretty well two more years of this froze him.

  As if reading his mind, K.C. offered, “We can look for another place, Daphne. I’m sure you’ll get another, more satisfactory roommate.”

  “No….” But Daphne’s voice trailed off without resolving anything and was met with the sound of K.C. heading out the front door, leaving the two opponents together.

  Chay took in a gulp of air as he turned, ignoring Daphne, to open the fridge and gather his breakfast. Outside in the October breeze, a tree tapped the kitchen window like some Morse code trying to tell him what to do. For a brief moment, he was glad they had found a brownstone apartment; the thought of being cooped up in one of those endless high-rise buildings sent a shiver of revulsion through him, but revulsion was pretty much with him on a daily basis since moving to New York. Too small spaces, too many people, too many cars, too many of everything.

  Feeling Daphne’s gaze boring into him, he grabbed the eggs and placed them with the milk before getting a bowl and a frying pan to make his breakfast. He peered over his shoulder at Daphne.

  She pushed her long dark hair out of her face and attempted a smile.

  “Eggs?” he offered, holding out the box. “Or are you afraid of getting egg on your face?”

  * * *

  Stomping into his running shoes, Chay took a quick peep out the window to check the weather before bending and tying his laces. Running on pavement rather than dirt roads had its advantages, as did the circuit he made in Central Park as opposed to the bridleway he had used at home. New York, one; Wyoming, nil. What else? What other good points can I think of today? He looped his headphones on, clipped his old iPod onto his shorts, and started off. Positive thoughts, let’s see. Hmmm. Convenience of shops, pharmacy, doctor if we need one, dry cleaner if we can afford one, food delivery, museums and theater if we had the money or the time. No need for a car—bit of a bummer, that, actually—good places to skate board? Hmm, maybe. K.C., K.C. and K.C. is about it….

  “Chay? Ridgway? Wait up!”

  Chay felt a tap on his back and swiveled to see a friend of K.C.’s, Adnan Kahn. He pulled off his earphones while trying to keep up his pace as Kahn ran alongside him.

  “I didn’t know you were a runner,” Kahn said. “I thought you people rode horses all the time.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “We people? We people? You mean like those of us of European descent? Or young men in their late twenties? Or maybe you mean people born in these United States? Or how about guys living in Hell’s Kitchen with very beautiful significant others?”

  “Now, now, Ridgway.” Adnan’s voice was mellifluous with a note of tolerance, as if Chay were a small child who had to be amused. “You know very well what it is I mean: westerners! Cowboys! The few times I have had the pleasure of your company with K.C., you have always worn those boots, those cowboy boots. I am therefore surprised to see you in running shoes.”

  Chay took a gulp of air and stopped at the corner with a red light, hanging over to stretch out for a moment before standing and facing Adnan who had come to a halt beside him. He gave the friend a crooked smile as he took in more air. “Adnan. This is 2017, I’m not some character in a Zane Grey book. Besides which, I have to keep fit so when I do get back to my riding, roping, and everything else we cowboys do, I’m fit enough for the work.”

  Adnan started to jog and Chay took up the pace once more. “So, tell me, what this is like to be a real, live cowboy. I thought they were a myth, or had died out by mechanization. Living in Pakistan this seemed a very strange occupation, requiring you to wear boots, a big hat, and spurs. But here you are, Chay Ridgway, a living, breathing cowboy. It is a miracle, is it not, you have not been replaced?”

  Chay swallowed his laugh and continued his run. “Yup, I’m alive and I’m a cowboy. That sure is one heckuva miracle.”

  Adnan looked across at him
as they entered the park. “You are making fun, I presume. You feel your life is a normal one?”

  “It’s the only dang life I know, Adnan. It’s normal for me, it’s normal out west. No, here in New York it may seem odd but ranching and cowboying is quite a normal occupation out west.”

  “Then you must be very unhappy to be so far from all you know.”

  They ran in a companionable silence for a stretch as Chay mulled this over. “It’s temporary. I’ll get back to my ranch in another couple of years, and I’ll be in a better position when I do to run it without worrying about money and so on, and K.C. will come live in Wyoming with me.”

  “So, you have this all worked out with her? She did not strike me as the sort of girl—I should say ‘woman’ perhaps?—who will move from New York. Her family, yes? They are here?”

  “Her family is here. In all their glory.”

  “It will be difficult.”

  “You moved from your family, didn’t you? And farther than K.C. would be moving. Besides which, she came out to Wyoming—it was her choice and she wants to move back there.”

  “Well, she is a woman and can change her mind, I hate to tell you. I am a man and have many responsibilities; coming to America was the best thing for me and for my family as well.” There was a pause before he said, “I have a fiancée, did you know? She is still in Pakistan but I shall be able to bring her sometime soon.”