{"id":5930,"date":"2016-02-12T01:05:01","date_gmt":"2016-02-12T05:05:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kate-hill.com\/blog\/?p=5930"},"modified":"2016-02-06T18:06:59","modified_gmt":"2016-02-06T22:06:59","slug":"guest-blogger-anne-marsh-stripped-down","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kate-hill.com\/blog\/?p=5930","title":{"rendered":"Guest Blogger: Anne Marsh – Stripped Down"},"content":{"rendered":"

The following excerpt from Stripped Down is for readers 18 and over.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"LONESOME<\/a><\/strong>An excerpt from STRIPPED DOWN, a contemporary cowboy romance releasing on February 8th<\/sup>!<\/strong><\/p>\n

June<\/em><\/p>\n

ANGEL<\/p>\n

Blackhawk Ranch doesn\u2019t run dry on my watch. Almost three hundred years the Mendozas have owned this part of California, my forefathers wrestling the arid landscape into submission. We reign here. We\u2019re the fucking kings, and it\u2019s not an empty title. Stetsons instead of crowns are the rule, but I\u2019ve still got power. I run a fifty-thousand acre spread with ten thousand head of cattle. Forty cowboys depend on me for their living, and it\u2019s about more than keeping the lights on and beer in the fridge. These boys are mine, and in exchange for their loyalty, I take care of them.<\/p>\n

My name is Angel Mendoza, and anyone who hurts what\u2019s mine learns fast that I\u2019m more devil than not.<\/p>\n

Protecting and defending isn\u2019t the problem. Rain is.<\/p>\n

This is the second well I\u2019ve visited today. The first one was bone-dry, and this one yields only a sluggish trickle. Even a Mendoza can\u2019t force the winter rains to come. The creek we get our surface water from is dried-out mud, the bed baked into razor-sharp ridges by the unrelenting sun, and the surviving wells fight to bring the water up nine hundred feet. If will could do it, I\u2019d yank the water from the ground and feed it to the skin-drying heat of our California summer. Instead, for only the second time in my life, I\u2019m fucking powerless.<\/p>\n

The cowboys accompanying me eye first the well and then my face. They\u2019re gonna take their cue from me. I yank my Stetson lower and head back to my truck. My boys fall in behind me, led by Dare, my foreman. Dare\u2019s a tall, lean bastard who walks with a limp he took from a bad fall three years ago out in the mountains. The landing cut up his face some too because he and his horse planted on an old section of barbed wire fencing. It took us all night to get to him, and by then some of the damage was permanent. He wasn\u2019t dead, though, so that went in the victory column as far as I was concerned. And he\u2019d ride if he had to tie himself to the horse because he\u2019s mean son-of-a-bitch if you push him hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re dry,\u201d Dare states the obvious as he stares at the well. He flicks the brim of his Stetson back so he can get a better look at Trouble with capital T. He\u2019s not a pretty man. Unlike some of the guys who ride the Blackhawk spread, he\u2019ll never be cowboy poster material. His buzzed-short hair and scarred face makes him look more MMA fighter than rider. He commands respect, though. The other cowboys don\u2019t say shit when he talks, just wait for one of us to come up with a solution, to take charge.<\/p>\n

I have one ace in the hole. \u201cWe\u2019ll drill deeper.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sometimes cash can solve a problem and I\u2019ve got money. Plenty of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou so sure we\u2019ll hit water?\u201d Dare leans on the edge of the concrete reservoir, assessing first the water level and then the big yellow pipe sucking the wet stuff up from underground. He and I both know this isn\u2019t a mechanical failure. Dare fixes things. If a wrench could make this shit better, he\u2019d be all over it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s that fucking simple. Plan. Execute. Succeed. Failure simply isn\u2019t an option.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me a drill date,\u201d he says. If I say it\u2019s done, it\u2019s done and he knows that.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll have that for you tomorrow,\u201d I tell him. \u201cUntil then, truck the water in from the reservoir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hauling water is gonna cost money, but the ranch can handle it short-term. Longer term, we bleed cash, and I didn\u2019t build my ranching empire by losing money.<\/p>\n

After Dare is sorted, I get back in my ride and steer the battered pickup over the dark dirt road. Setting my plan in motion is as simple as punching the driller\u2019s number on my cell phone and giving the order to go deep. Drilling for water is expensive, the price rising with each foot you punch down and ending in a price tag that makes Tiffany\u2019s look like the Dollar Store. I know this, but even still the driller quotes me a per-foot price that makes my breath catch. For that kind of cash, he\u2019d damned well better hit water and it had better taste like liquid gold.<\/p>\n

Time kinda slows to heated, sensual shimmer outside the cab while the driller blah-blah-blahs his way through next steps because there\u2019s one driving urge pounding through everyone and everything on my spread: find water<\/em>. The cattle need it. My vaqueros<\/em> covet it. I\u2019ll be damned if I allow a dry well to consume what I\u2019ve built here.<\/p>\n

Making a living from the land means fighting every step of the way. Fortunately, I love a good fight and I\u2019ve also planned for this day\u2014already have the solution. I drill, the cattle can drink, and we all live happily fucking after. If<\/em> I hit water. If<\/em> it\u2019s enough.<\/p>\n

I drive for what seems like hours, making the rounds and ironing out problems. I\u2019m the best at what I do, and everybody wants a piece of me. I oblige, but by sunset I\u2019m pissed off and hot. Taking a few minutes for myself is a no-brainer when the turnoff for the swimming hole appears out of the shadows. I aim the pickup down the dirt road. I\u2019m bone tired from a day that began before sunrise and has only just ended. I\u2019m hot, and I smell like sweat, horse, and probably a dozen other unpleasant things as well. Right now, a swim sounds perfect, exactly what I need to cool down and think things through.<\/p>\n

I pull in and kill the headlights, soaking up the nighttime peace and quite. You can practically feel the heat escaping slowly from the ground. Images flicker in the corner of my vision, but those are ghosts. I\u2019m home. I\u2019m in charge of my life now, and Afghanistan is far, far away. I\u2019ve put a continent between me and that place.<\/p>\n

The quiet grows when I get out of the truck. After a long day wrangling the ranch, I need to be alone. Sometimes, there are too many bodies, too close, and it\u2019s hard not to remember that last month in Afghanistan.<\/p>\n

Fuck.<\/p>\n

And sometimes memories refuse to leave me alone.<\/p>\n

I shut the truck door carefully, deliberately. Slamming shit doesn\u2019t help because I don\u2019t want or need the loud crack of sound that follows the violence. Something got broken inside me in Afghanistan, something I haven\u2019t fixed yet, but I will. Failure is never an option. Turning toward the swimming hole, I fist the bottom of my T-shirt, ready to strip down. Ready for the cold lick of water on my face and my balls.<\/p>\n

Except . . . I\u2019m not alone. Tucked into the edge of the road is a beat-up Bug I can\u2019t believe made it down the dirt track. Even in the near-dark, the hot pink paint job is an eyesore. One tire looks almost flat, and there\u2019s a crack that stretches the entire length of the windshield. California plates, though, so I\u2019ve got myself a local.<\/p>\n

Christ, I\u2019m sick and tired of the trespassers who think ignoring Blackhawk\u2019s signs and fences is a game. High school kids have been sneaking onto Mendoza land for decades, which is a stupid fucking thing to do. We\u2019re a working ranch, and we run cattle. Idiot kids wise up fast when they meet the wrong end of a bull, a barbed wire fence, or a snake. All they have to do is ask and follow a few basic rules to keep themselves safe. I\u2019d say yes. Instead, they\u2019re all about forbidden fruit, reenacting their own twisted version of the Garden of Eden and the fall. They get hurt, when all I want is to keep them safe.<\/p>\n

Scrubbing a hand over my head, I reach in and snag the Stetson from the passenger seat. Somehow, I\u2019ve acquired the reputation of being a mean-ass, coldhearted bastard. I cemented my new rep when I came home from the SEALs. Since I don\u2019t give a damn what folks says, my fan club isn\u2019t all wrong. Safety comes first.<\/p>\n

I move out silently. No point in advertising my presence until I have to. Tonight\u2019s trespassers are probably just kids and nothing more sinister, but, damn it, it isn\u2019t<\/em> safe to swim out here unsupervised. I\u2019ve warned them not to come at night and never to come alone. I have to know when someone\u2019s on my land because too many things can happen out here if a person isn\u2019t careful. And if it turns out the visitor is less benign, well, I\u2019ve got a Glock tucked in the waistband of my jeans. I don\u2019t leave shit to chance. Not anymore.<\/p>\n

It takes just a minute to penetrate the fringe of cottonwood trees ringing the swimming hole. Older than anyone now living on the ranch, those trees have seen plenty. My brothers had a rope-and-tire swing here. They spent hours whooping it up, clambering into the tire, soaring out over the water, and then letting go of the rope as soon as the swing floated over the center of the pond where the water ran deepest. They\u2019d free fall screaming with pleasure, never second-guessing their landing. The temperature hovers too close to frigid for comfort, but the water table isn\u2019t deep enough to tap. It can\u2019t end my dry spell.<\/p>\n

When I reach the edge of the trees, my feet stop moving without a direct order from my head; tonight\u2019s swimmer is unexpected. I expected <\/em>to find a few high school kids. Maybe a cooler of beer or a couple busy discovering each other. Instead, there\u2019s a woman in the water.<\/p>\n

A damned fine, completely bare-ass naked woman. She cuts through the dark surface with slow, lazy strokes. Not too tall and real damned curvy. Her sun-kissed skin is on display in the silvery moonlight and ink curls up her spine and wraps around her throat and her ribs. I can\u2019t tell what the design is from where I\u2019m standing, but there are branches and flowers and curly shit that follow the lines of her body. When she moves, the ink moves with her like leaves and vines shifting in the wind. It\u2019s fucking gorgeous. Water-slicked blond hair covers her bare shoulders and back, obscuring more of the lines and colors. I should be a gentleman, should look away. But damned if her paddling around bare-ass naked in my swimming hole wearing nothing but ink isn\u2019t the sexiest thing I\u2019ve seen in a long time.<\/p>\n

She dives beneath the surface, treating me to a spectacular view of her ass. Fuck if I don\u2019t swallow hard. Her curves look soft as peaches and every bit as luscious. The urge hits me hard to cup both cheeks in my hands. Run my fingers down that skin and explore every inch of her up to and including the shadowed crease between her cheeks. I\u2019ll show her every dark, sweet, dirty pleasure I know\u2014and I\u2019ve got a long, long list.<\/p>\n

For the moment, though, I stand and look, feeling an unexpected grin tug the corners of my mouth. She\u2019d be so much safer if my hell-raising younger brothers had been the ones to find her. I don\u2019t pretend to be nice. I don\u2019t have to. The Mendozas own this ranch. This world, this place, is mine<\/em> because I\u2019m the<\/em> Mendoza, <\/em>the oldest and the patriarch even if I\u2019m only thirty-two, and here she is, blatantly trespassing without so much as a by-your-leave.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll let her make it up to me.<\/p>\n

My sexy swimmer reaches a rocky outcropping and grabs for a plastic bottle of shampoo. The scent of green apples fills the air as, with a little hum, she treads water and lathers up before slipping beneath the surface of the water. That body of hers is now slick with foam and apple goodness.<\/p>\n

Christ, I love apples.<\/p>\n

Even though I haven\u2019t seen her face yet, she looks good enough to eat.<\/p>\n

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