Welcome Rhonda Lee Carver and Second Chance Cowboy

Second Chances

When you hear “cowboy” what comes to mind—lowered hat over steely gaze, a thin layer of beard, a brawny cow-wrangling chest leading to slender hips, worn jeans fitted to nice ass and dusty boots? I don’t know about y’all but I have a thing for hands, bigger the better.

Or, maybe your mind is on the naughtier side and you imagine your fantasy cowboy riding—curious if he rides thighs as smooth and skilled as he rides the saddle?


SecondChanceCowboy (2)

In Second Chance Cowboy (Book 1 of Second Chance Series) I don’t leave you wondering. Here’s an excerpt. And the best part, it’s FREE over at Smashwords. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/380344. Second Ride Cowboy (Book 2) is available at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DLC46AE/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=0TJZN8X06RWXK2N0S487&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1630083462&pf_rd_i=507846

Second Ride Cowboy -  eBook Cover (2)

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Chapter One

CARLY TAYLOR SNUGGLED closer to the warmth behind her as a muscular arm curled possessively around her waist and one powerful leg draped easily over the curve of her smooth calf.

The second leg, nestled between her inner thighs, pressed against her moist, sensitive core. Heat oozed from the pit of her stomach, spreading downward like honey and settling in her most intimate part.

It reminded her of a long lost feeling—one that she’d missed, but had stored into a forbidden area of her mind. Every now and again, she got a craving to ride a cowboy, to have a man deep within…

The thought was misplaced when something hard stirred against her bare bottom. Granite, warm and smooth…and easing against her moist folds as if searching for home.

Carly purred and circled her hips, rubbing the steely length with her ass in silent invitation. Her deep, needful moan spliced the silence.

She ached to have him inside—

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Carly froze. She knew that voice. Knew it well. Husky, rich, laced with a Texas drawl. Her heart pounded and her stomach did somersaults.

Shit! What had she done?

Last night’s events wriggled into her consciousness, plowing through her anesthetized, hungover brain. She forced herself to face her actions, one-by-grueling-one.

Carly remembered feeling sorry for herself.

Her mind journeyed to the night before…

She’d planned a quiet evening in front of the tube with a chick flick and a good vintage wine. The remote control had dropped to the floor, and as she reached for it, she came across something she’d hidden there two years before and had intentionally forgotten it. The box.

Opening the flowered container had been a big mistake. The box was like a treasure chest containing mementoes from the past—pictures of her and Chance, a locket he’d given her that had belonged to his mother, and movie stubs from their first show together. The memories had sparked an ache deep in her chest. She’d tried to drive the pain away, but there were some things a person could never forget.

As she’d thumbed down memory lane, her self-pity had grown to enormous magnitude. Wallowing in emotion wasn’t something she did often, but this one time she hadn’t had the strength to fight the demons. So, she’d drank a glass—or two, maybe three, a bottle—of wine.

Stopping after the first would’ve been enough if all she’d wanted was a good buzz. Not only had she overshot her intention, but she’d descended into oblivion and lowered to stupid actions. Real stupid.

Somewhere along her journey to insensibility, she’d made a phone call—six numbers to insanity. She hadn’t planned a booty-call, yet with the proof poking her, that’s how it seemed to have turned out.

“Cat got your tongue?” The whisper tickled her ear and all she could do was gulp a mouthful of air. He should have just licked her from thigh to shoulder, because each time he spoke, it evoked the same slice of heaven.

Stay on track, Carly.

She couldn’t muster up the gumption to turn around and face the imp. She counted to ten…backward, forward, upside down. No help.

Out of all the men in Shelby, how could she have picked him, her husband, to sleep with!

His hand clung to the curve of her thigh and the tenderness of his touch seeped inside her skin. Carly wanted to pull away, but God help her, revulsion was the last thing her body experienced. He’d made love to her thoroughly, all through the night. Now her treacherous body longed to have him again.

Her mind was convinced she’d made a mistake. However, it took a good ten seconds to convince her heated core that she wasn’t going for another helping. No matter how good his hands felt along the contour of her hip, she wasn’t succumbing to the emotion. They’d been there—done the relationship bit—and it hadn’t worked.

With that thought in mind, she took a deep breath and moved off the bed, pulling the red silk sheet along with her. She clutched the soft shiny material to her body as if it were her lifeline. It seemed pointless to hide her nakedness considering he knew, probably with eyes closed, every inch of her. After all, he’d discovered her like a treasure. A stinging sensation burned her cheeks.

Tilting her chin in determination, she turned. Chance Taylor, all six feet, two-hundred pounds of ribbed muscle and beautiful flesh was lying in her queen-sized bed.

A smug smile kinked one corner of his mouth and her muscles quivered. He moved a knee and her gaze slid to his stiffy positioned against his stomach. Damn the man. He could at least pretend he wasn’t showing off his package…and what a nice package it was.

Feeling her cheeks flush deeper, she turned away. A fraction of shame swept through her. She’d had sex, sultry mind-blowing sex, in her childhood room. This was where she used to have tea parties with her dolls. Where she’d play dress up. Where as a teenager, she’d listen to the music too loud and hang posters of boy bands. And last night, she’d christened her room as an adult.

Thank goodness her father had gone to the cattle auction for the weekend. Harry would have jumped to the hopeful conclusion that her and Chance were getting back together. Harry McAllister was a huge fan of the cocky man sitting in her bed.

Chance’s usual conceited smile was in place.

He was a perfect specimen of a virile man. Not an ounce of fat existed on his lean frame. His hair, shorter now than when they were together, was as dark as coal with only a few streaks of silver, which enhanced his looks instead of aging him. His penetrating green eyes managed to set her on fire, every time.

Her gaze sank to his erection of its own accord. He saluted her, as if teasing her. She knew the man had never-fail stamina. Dragging her attention back to his face, she focused on the thin white scar on his forehead to keep from staring at his hard body.

Parting her lips, she wanted to say something, but couldn’t get her voice to work.

“It’s too late to get all bashful now, sweetheart.”

Chance’s voice tormented her sensitive nerves, and tore open every memory of the fervor they shared during the night. She’d called out his name repeatedly during their lovemaking. Her legs stretched in angles she didn’t think possible. The heat of her blush burned its way from her dark hair roots to her red-painted toenails.

A warning shot off like the crack of a gun inside her head. Chance equaled uncontrollable, raw desire. She fought the reckless screaming inside her mind that urged her to pluck what was there for the taking. She searched her emotions for the downsides to Chance’s love.

His masculinity was her weakness. She wanted to fall into his arms and allow his powerful energy to consume. Being with Chance came with a price and she wasn’t willing to pay. He wanted her to move on, to forget their painful past, but Carly owned her heartache. She desperately wanted to hold on to it. It was much easier to harbor guilt than face the truth.

“Look, Chance,” she started and stopped. She scrambled for the right words. “We made—no, I made a mistake in calling you last night. If I hadn’t called you then this—” She glanced at his irresistible form again. Bad idea. “This wouldn’t have happened.”

Chance smoothed his hand over his disheveled hair. He showed no sign that her words reached or moved him. His attention dropped to the sheet clasped to her body and her mouth went dry. A tingly sensation swirled her nipples. She didn’t need a mirror to know they peaked like pearls.

His tongue slipped out and moistened his bottom lip as his sugary gaze glided over her in a visual caress. He held his jade stare at the apex of her thighs and she resisted the urge to squirm. His look of confidence and command triggered naughty thoughts inside her.

The phone on the bedside table rang and Carly jerked. The shrill ring was a cold dousing to her desire. She knew she should answer it. Her mind commanded her to, but her feet wouldn’t move. She stood statue-still, her breathing loud in her ears.

The sound stopped. She told herself it was the time for closure; destroy any remaining connection between them.

“I drank a little wine, maybe more than I needed, and I felt a bit lonely. I only meant to call you and….” She raked her fingers through her tangled hair. “I don’t know why I needed to talk to you.” She sighed. Where was the self-confident Carly? “I allowed you to come over but it wasn’t an invitation into my bed.”

Chance propped a shoulder against the sleek black headboard and pinned her with his intense gaze. Carly squirmed under his penetrating stare. Butterfly wings tickled the inside of her stomach.

“Don’t freak out, Carly. We’re married. Married people have sex.”

Her gut clenched. His calm words and the casual disposition of his body trickled enjoyment. He seemed so nonchalant about the situation, and it made her furious. It always did. This was his mode of operation. He was calm, cool, collected, even in a position where some level of anxiety was courteous.

“Not two people separated for two years. And especially not when divorce papers were filed. You signed the papers, remember? The divorce is final this morning.”

He winced.

There, she’d said the chilling “D” word aloud. Divorce.

His expression turned cold. Had he forgotten? She’d expected to get some sort of pleasure out of saying the word, but it wasn’t delight that clasped her chest. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt.

“Okay, Carly. I’ll let you use alcohol as an excuse for the first time we hit the sheets, although we both know you were sober when I walked through your door. What about the second and third, or the fourth and fifth time?” His thick eyebrow popped up in silent accusation. “You weren’t thinking divorce when your legs straddled me.”

Carly opened her mouth, and immediately snapped it shut. She had no defense. There were no justifications for last night, so why try? She’d only embarrass herself more.

When he’d shown up at booty-call-midnight, the part of her brain housing logical reasoning didn’t exist and the only thing she’d cared about was satisfaction.

Once he’d gotten near, she was lost in his magnetism. The draw was like silver chains holding her, making her powerless to run like hell. His allure beckoned her to him like a magnet to metal. He’d always held an invisible force over her emotions. Being alone in the same room with him after years of sexual dehydration had been an erotic wreck waiting to happen.

Chance’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed impatience. She knew his aloof attitude slipped a bit.

“I’ll go out on a limb, but maybe this—” He swept a hand through the air encompassing the bed. “—proves we belong together. You know it’s not too late.”

Carly dug her teeth into her bottom lip. She had to wonder why he waited to say those words until after they were divorced. He appeared so arrogant and composed, but she saw the signs of his thinning patience. A need to provoke him swept over her. She wanted him to feel the icy fingers of hurt as she had over the years. The culpability of the past ate away at her insides and now the pain had the intensity of a blazing fire.

“Do you actually think one night of sex can change two years? We could make love everyday for a month and it still wouldn’t change the truth.”

“Can we test that theory?” He grinned and Carly’s heart skipped a beat. He engaged what she called the ‘Taylor smile,’ an act that could melt glaciers and barricades surrounding a cold heart.

She wouldn’t fall, not this time. She couldn’t go back. The pain had run far too deep.

A tear crept from the corner of her eye as the thought processed.

She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with a needed breath. “I’ve been seeing someone. I happen to care for him a lot.” When his jaw tightened, she knew she’d hit bull’s-eye.

The cowboy wasn’t so calm and collected now, was he?

“That makes you an adulteress.” He slid to the side of the bed and placed his feet on the floor.

Red flashed before her eyes and her blood boiled. “Kiss my ass, Chance. Chris and I haven’t—” She stopped abruptly. She didn’t owe him an explanation. He could believe what he wanted to. After all, she made him angry and that’s what she’d hoped for. “Isn’t that the kettle calling the pot black?”

“I believe the phrase is ‘the pot calling the kettle black’ but okay, I get it. And no, it’s different for me.”

“Why? Because you and Leslie never publicized you’re seeing each other?”

His bitter laugh cracked the air like a whip.

She slanted a hip. “There are no secrets in a town this small. How long did you think it would take before I learned you and my veterinarian are an item?”

Chance’s amusement disappeared and he remained quiet.

Carly squeezed her hands into fists. “She came here yesterday morning. While she gave the mare a rectal exam, I should have inquired how the other horse’s ass was doing. My poor husband. How difficult it is for him to manage his inflated ego and keep his zipper closed.”

“We’re divorced, remember?” His voice reeked of sarcasm.

She groaned in irritation. Her pulse pounded in her ears like the beating of a drum. Her claws were showing, even though she suspected his relationship with Leslie was nothing more than his way of getting under her skin.

Sadly, it worked.

Chance didn’t blink an eye as he gazed at her across the room. “Honey, I can keep my pants zipped just fine. Problem is, you can’t keep your fingers off my zipper.” He rubbed his palm down his face. “What a shame it came to this. I would have liked to recap last night’s events, one slow move at a time. I guess it’s out of the question, right?”

Carly’s palm itched to slap him, but she restrained herself and tightened her hold on the sheet. “How do you think it’s possible we haven’t run into each other more than three times in the last two years?” She cocked her chin. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Let me fill you in. I’ve done everything in my power to keep from bumping into you. Do you realize how difficult it is to plan my schedule weeks in advance so I don’t have to see you? Is that a description of a woman who can’t keep her fingers off your zipper?”

“No, more like a woman who’s afraid she’ll forget what screwed up our marriage in the first place, realize she’s made a huge mistake and get her ass back home.”

“Humph, fat chance that’ll ever happen.” She fumbled with the sheet in irritation and gave her hair a toss over one shoulder.

Damn, he did have a point, although she’d never admit it to him.

“Yeah, right, Carly, because you can’t ever forgive and forget, can you? You think you’re the only one who has lost, don’t you?” His eyes became steely pools of green. His voice turned low and controlled. “I lost Devon, too. He was my son—our son. How long are you going to keep blaming me for his death?”

Carly swallowed the painful lump in her constricted throat. “I don’t blame you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He moved off the side of the mattress, not even slightly self-conscious of his nudity. But what man would be insecure with a body like his? Her body filled with unbridled need.

Battling the ache in her loin, she watched him pull on his wrinkled boxers and then tug on worn jeans. Then she said, “We both know why I left.”

“We do?” His bitter laugh split the air with its razor-sharp intensity. “I know you want to hold on to the belief that I’m the bad guy who drove you away, but isn’t it time you took half the responsibility for the failure of our marriage?” A trace of compassion softened his expression. He tugged on his shirt and finger-combed his hair.

“It wasn’t my fault you cheated.” Once she said it, she wanted to yank the words back. Too late, just like their relationship.

“You’re a broken record, sweetheart. It’s not worth denying the accusation any longer. Maybe eventually you’ll believe your words and feel justified in leaving. ”


4 comments on “Welcome Rhonda Lee Carver and Second Chance Cowboy

  1. I loved Second Chance Cowboy and Second Ride Cowboy is still on my wish list! 🙂

  2. Thanks, Rhonda. I got my copy. Happy Holidays!

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