Hey, everybody! Let’s get the weekend started with a Sexy Saturday snippet!

Since this week’s theme is “My Sexy Vacation” I chose to do a clip from my novella, Busting the Greenhorn. Jake is on vacation at a resort along the Russian River, when he garners the attention of one of the locals while sunbathing:

Silence fell, leaving only the murmuring of the river as it babbled over rocks and roots. The birds had stopped their chirping in the trees, and Jake heard rustling in the thick foliage along the watercourse. Tales of bears and other wild animals crossed his mind. He sat up and gave some thought to packing and leaving. The rustling grew louder; Jake heard actual snapping of branches. A dark figure moved out from the undergrowth; someone on a large horse trotted out of the bushes onto the sandy margin. In the gold afternoon sunlight the figure resolved into a man in a black Stetson. Seated atop a black stallion, he appeared to have ridden straight out of an old Zane Grey western. A faded blue chambray shirt and jeans completed the likeness. He reined in the horse and waved to Jake. “Howdy!  Did you happen to see a golden retriever pass this way?” Removing his hat to wipe his forehead, he flashed a big white smile framed by a thick black mustache. The deepest blue eyes Jake had ever encountered sparkled in a handsome, tan face. The rider’s eyes held the writer’s gaze hostage with their intensity.

“N . . . no, no I haven’t,” Jake stammered out after a few seconds. He didn’t seem to be able to get his tongue to work right. He was trying not to stare but wasn’t having much luck—he couldn’t look away from the horseman.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your vacation, but my dog ran off.” The baritone richness of his smooth voice played counterpoint to the alto burbling of the nearby water. The man replaced the hat, adjusting its position. “He knows the way back to the ranch, though. If he sees you, he’ll probably come over to say hi.”

Jake swallowed past a lump in his throat, wishing the cowboy would come over. “If I do see him, I’ll tell him to go home. Good luck finding him.”

The horseman touched the brim of the Stetson. “Thanks, I appreciate it!  See you ‘round.” He set his spurs to the horse and wheeled about to disappear back into the brush.

Jake fell back on the towel; his heartbeat thudded in his ears, galloping away of its own accord. For too long he’d been among starchy, corporate types and pale, technophile geeks; the horseman’s sheer, raw masculinity set his heart racing. The rancher had worn his shirt open; every time he had moved, the hairy cleft between his chest muscles had rippled, and Jake wanted to explore that valley. The horseman’s wind-burned face had been open and honest with deep-hewn laugh lines embracing his mouth. Lizard-skin boots and black, denim jeans spoke of a working man, not some weekend cowboy. He’d sat the horse comfortably, clearly in command of the large animal.

Yawning, Jake stretched and decided to go take a nap until cocktail time. There wasn’t any point becoming a lobster on his first day. As he climbed the bank to his cabin, he turned and glanced down to the riverside. Briefly he saw a black horse and rider moving back into the trees. Had his cowboy come back for another look? Jake hoped so.

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