One Hard Ride Read online

  One Hard Ride

  by

  M.M. Bordeaux

  Copy right

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

  One Hard Ride

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by M.M. Bordeaux

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, June 2012

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-398-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-397-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction acknowledges the following trademarks:

  Jeep: Chrysler Group LLC

  Dedication

  To K, my soulmate.

  Thank you for your encouragement and advice

  and especially for your love.

  Chapter One

  Amanda groped for her ringing cell phone, knocking the alarm clock and her vibrator off the nightstand before she had the damn thing in her hand. She fully intended to hang up but made the mistake of checking the caller ID.

  “‘Lo Sarah,” she said sleepily. “What’s up?”

  “Time to rise and shine sweet cheeks. It’s eight fifteen on a beautiful sunny day in Manhattan, and you owe me breakfast. Get your pretty ass out of bed and get dressed. I’ll see you at Beans in twenty minutes. I’ve got a big surprise for you.”

  The cheery voice was like a suddenly raised window shade, flooding the room with bright light. “Jeez.” She held the phone away from her ear. “How do you know I’m not already dressed? Maybe I’ve just come in from a two mile run.”

  “Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of Sheba. It’s just past eight on a Sunday, so I know you’re still in bed. The question is, where and with whom? You still seeing that blonde Viking? Are you at his place or yours? I would really love to see the mast on that man’s longboat.” Sarah giggled.

  “Well, you would be very disappointed, just like I was,” Amanda groused. “And I’m afraid that relationship is over.”

  “You’re kidding! After just a month? You two seemed like the perfect couple.”

  “I guess things aren’t always what they seem, are they?” Amanda’s question dripped with sarcasm, but failed to breach Sarah’s optimism.

  “I want to hear all about it over breakfast. See you in twenty.” The phone finally fell silent.

  “Make it thirty!” she yelled, but Sarah was gone.

  Leaning over the side of the bed, Amanda picked up the alarm clock and her vibrator, sighing as she sat the vibrator on the nightstand. It was frustrating to think that a battery powered piece of plastic could offer more satisfaction than a flesh-and-blood man. Why couldn’t she find a man who could unlock her libido and awaken the sensual being she’d always been afraid to reveal?

  Wondering about Sarah’s big surprise, she took the vibrator into the bathroom for a wash-up and then took a quick shower. Scrambling through a drawer of lingerie, she selected a tiny thong in fine mesh trimmed in lavender lace.

  She was very conservative in the way she dressed, except for her lingerie. Her one fashion indulgence was very erotic lingerie from high-end shops. The sexy panties and bras she wore, like her vibrator and shaved pussy lips, were her secrets, something only a few men ever got to see.

  She slipped into the lace thong and looked in the mirror. She liked the feel of the thong on her ass and she didn’t have to worry about panty lines. She also enjoyed feeling the material of her skirts and pants on her bare skin.

  She kept the small dark triangle of pubic hair just above her clit neatly trimmed and, as she adjusted the panties, she made a mental note to make a wax appointment.

  The matching lavender bra clearly showed her nipples through the transparent cups. Her nipples were large, sometimes embarrassingly so. When she was aroused or cold, the tips grew even larger, tightening almost to the point of pain.

  She slipped into a pair of indigo skinny jeans and a black T-shirt. A pair of sandals completed the outfit. With a quick dab of makeup, she was off to meet Sarah at Has Beans, their favorite coffee shop/breakfast bar, where the walls were decorated with photos of celebs the paparazzi had lost interest in.

  Amanda made it to Beans by nine and immediately spotted Sarah at their favorite corner table. It wasn’t difficult. The neon pink mohair sweater she was wearing, which matched the inch wide strip of pink in her raven black hair, stood out like a beacon in a room crowded with New Yorkers dressed in de-rigueur black.

  Sarah was an administrative assistant to Richard Patterson, Amanda’s boss at Peabody, Patterson & Cope. She was also Amanda’s closest friend.

  In addition to Sarah’s day job, she was a modestly successful artist, specializing in male nudes. The paintings were very popular among gay collectors, including their boss.

  In appearance and personality, Amanda and Sarah seemed like polar opposites. Sarah, with her full red lips, eyebrow stud, and streak of pink in her coal black page boy reminded Amanda of a new age pin-up. She even wore bomber bras, garters, and stockings under her outrageous fashions, unless she was painting. Then her retro underwear was all she wore.

  Amanda envied Sarah’s wild non-conformist streak, which was coupled with a wickedly uninhibited libido. She was sure Sarah never let a man walk away without giving her an orgasm. Even if it meant she had to bring out the whips and handcuffs. Sarah’s uninhibited sexual lifestyle made Amanda’s lackluster sex life seem even more depressing by comparison. But she did enjoy hearing about some of the outrageous situations Sarah found herself in.

  “Hey girl.” Amanda slid into a chair across the table from Sarah. “Love the outfit.” Beneath the mohair sweater, Sarah had on a cone shaped bra that lifted and pointed her breasts like a fifties-era starlet.

  Sarah smiled. “So tell me all, sweetie. You and Sven are no longer an item?”

  “His name is Arne. And yes, we are no longer dating. What’s in the box?” She nodded at a large box on the chair next to Sarah.

  “You’ll see. I want to hear all about your breakup with Arne.”

  When their waitress appeared, Amanda ordered a biscotti and cappuccino and they both ordered eggs Benedict. As the waitress walked away, Sarah asked, “Was the sex that bad?”

  Amanda looked at Sarah in surprise then quickly leaned across the table. “Shhh! Keep your voice down.” She looked around to make sure Sarah’s comment hadn’t caught some patron’s attention. “What makes you think the sex was bad? There might be a dozen reasons we decided not to see each other.”

  “Name two.”

  Amanda tried to think of something. “Well…it might be…”

  Sarah grinned. “Look. The man is successful, handsome, and has a killer bod. I only met him once, but he seemed nice enough. Maybe even charming. And he certainly wouldn’t dump you. So it must be him and it must be the sex. Right?”

  Amanda blushed and glanced around again. “You’re right. The man has no idea how to please a woman. I haven’t had that many lovers, but I deserve more than a five minute grope and poke, even if it is followed by a sincere ‘thank you’.”

 
Sarah made a face. “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. The man doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Any chance you could train him? He is damn good looking.”

  “I don’t know.” Amanda dipped her biscotti in her coffee. “We tried three times and it was bad every time. For me at least.”

  “Honey, three times in one night isn’t bad.”

  “I meant three times in a month.”

  “Oh. That’s bad. Did you tell him what you wanted? I mean, what you wanted him to do to you?”

  Amanda blushed again, the glow rising from her neck and shoulders to her cheeks. “Well, I didn’t say exactly what I wanted. But I hinted around and even suggested that we try oral sex sometime.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I think it’s too messy for him. Doing me, I mean. The man is a total priss when it comes to keeping things neat. The second time, we were at his place and he put towels down so we wouldn’t get wet spots on the sheets.”

  “What about you doing him?”

  “He never even asked. He just wanted to bang, bang, bang, get it done. Come and go, so to speak.”

  Sarah grinned and leaned back in her chair. “So this whole past month, you haven’t had an orgasm?” This was said just as the waitress delivered their breakfast. Amanda glanced up to see the young girl smiling. When the girl left, Amanda leaned across the table and whispered. “Will you keep your voice down? Everybody in New York doesn’t need to know about the sad state of my sex life. Or lack thereof. Besides, I’ve had orgasms lately. Just not with a man.” She paused and frowned. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever had an orgasm with a man. At least not in the classic big O sense.”

  Sarah leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Honey, you just need a good fuck with a man who will unleash your inner wildcat. Maybe I should set you up with one of my models. Seriously. Just for a nice fuck. No strings attached. With a guy who will do whatever you want.”

  Amanda smiled. “That sounds like an offer I’d be foolish to refuse. But for right now, I think I will. Thanks anyway.”

  “Okay,” Sarah sighed. “You’ve got my number if you change your mind.” She grinned. “Or if you run out of batteries.”

  There was a moment of silence as the two friends finished breakfast and sipped their coffee. Maybe I should take her up on a nice fuck from a handsome model, Amanda thought. What could it hurt? Even if it would only be a mercy fuck.

  Glancing up, she saw Sarah looking at her with a Cheshire cat grin. “What canary did you swallow? And what’s in the box?”

  Sarah waited for the server to clear the table, then handed Amanda the carton. The box was big, half the size of the table, but not very heavy. Amanda looked at her friend with a lifted eyebrow, and then slid the lid off the box. Inside, to her total surprise, sat a brand new felt cowboy hat. The hat was pearl grey with a black braded leather band around the crown. The crown was creased and the brim pre-rolled into wearing shape.

  Sarah was grinning and squirming happily on her chair, unable to sit still. “Put it on,” she said excitedly. “See if it fits.”

  Amanda looked at the hat, then at Sarah. She glanced at nearby tables and saw several people looking at her and the hat. “I’m not putting this on. And why on earth are you giving it to me?”

  Sarah’s grin grew brighter as she answered Amanda in a slow drawl. “Cause yer gonna need it shugga. Down thar in Texas.”

  Amanda stared at Sarah as if she were daft. “Texas? What the hell are you talking about?” Just then her phone rang.

  “That will be Richard,” Sarah said. “Don’t tell him I told you about Texas. Or that I gave you the hat.”

  “You haven’t told me anything about Texas,” Amanda lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi Richard. What’s up?”

  “Mandy, darling.” Richard sounded somewhat breathless. “Have you read your e-mail?”

  “I only look at blogs and tweets on Sunday. And my laptop is at home. I’m having breakfast with Sarah.”

  “I know, sweetie. Has she told you anything? I told her I wanted to tell you.”

  “She gave me a cowboy hat. Said I would need it in Texas.”

  “You will, sugar. Maybe some boots, too. Do you have any cowboy boots? Never mind. You can buy some.”

  “Richard, would you tell me what in the world you’re talking about?”

  “You’re going to Texas, sweetie. Tomorrow. Sarah’s made all the arrangements. Tickets, hotel, reservations for a car. You leave tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s too early in the day to be joking, Richard. And I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Darling, you need your beauty rest! And I’m serious. You are going to Texas. Tomorrow.”

  Amanda paused, trying to wrap her head around what she had just been told. “You’re really serious?”

  “As a heart attack, sweetie. I need you in Texas tomorrow.” Her boss practically purred.

  “But Richard, I don’t do Texas. I do Western art but not on location. I barely know where Texas is. I may have flown over it once or twice.” She glanced at Sarah, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  “You don’t have to know Texas sweetheart. Just art. Western art. This is right up your alley.”

  “Who’s the client Richard? What is this all about?”

  “A pair of brothers—Jake and Justin Morgan. They’ve got an honest-to-God cattle ranch out in West Texas about three hours northwest of Austin. Jake Morgan called me and said he wants to sell a painting. From his tone, I suspect he needs to raise some cash. Maybe cattle ranching hasn’t been a growth industry for the past few years.”

  “What kind of painting Richard? Who’s the artist?”

  Patterson couldn’t seem to conceal the excitement in his voice when he replied. “You won’t believe this sugar, but the man sent me a jpeg of a signed Charles Randell painting titled ‘Cowboy on a Horse.’ Typical Randell scene.”

  “That could bring in a nice commission,” Amanda said.

  “Oh, that’s not all. I’ve studied everything I could find on Randell. As far as I can tell, this painting has never been cataloged.”

  “Do you think it’s real?”

  “It could be. Morgan said the artist gave it to his great granddaddy back in the late 1800s. It’s been hanging on a ranch house wall for a hundred years. If it is an unknown Randell, it will be worth a small fortune.”

  Amanda felt a slight constriction in her chest and realized she had been holding her breath. “No. It could be worth a big fortune if it’s the real deal.” She was trying to remember all she knew about one of America’s most famous Western artists. He had given away lots of paintings and drawings when he was first starting out. “Jesus, Richard. This sounds exciting!”

  “Go home and open your email. But do it in the bathroom because you’re liable to pee your panties.”

  Amanda’s mind raced. Charles Randell had done four thousand paintings, drawings, illustrations, and sculptures. Who could say he hadn’t done four thousand and one, or four thousand and two? It seemed every twenty years or so a new Randell painting or drawing surfaced somewhere.

  “This could be a major find Richard, if it’s real. Do you know what the last unknown Randell brought at auction?”

  “I do know, sugar. It made a very cool twelve million. That’s why you need to get your cute butt down to Texas. We need to make sure it’s authentic, at least as much as we can. And we need to get the Morgan brothers to sign with Peabody, Patterson & Cope as their exclusive brokerage firm.

  “This could be huge for us Mandy. We’ll have to put it through the ringer to verify authenticity, but just in case it might be the real deal, we need you in Texas, shaking hands with the Morgan boys.”

  “I’ll pack tonight,” Amanda said, already wondering what she should wear. “Do you really think I need cowboy boots?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” Richard replied. “And wear the cowboy hat. Put on some tight jeans, too. We need to take advantage of your natural ass-ets!�
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  “You know I could sue your ass for sexual harassment, Richard. I only let you get by with all that ‘sugar’ crap because you’re as gay as a maypole.”

  “I know, darling, I know.” Richard giggled. “Have fun in Texas. I can’t wait to hear what the Morgans have hanging on their wall. You should plan on spending the night at their ranch. They have a guest room and there are no hotels or motels within a hundred miles. Call me as soon as you know something. Anytime, day or night.”

  Amanda clicked off and looked at Sarah, who hadn’t been able to wipe the grin from her face.

  “Texas!” Amanda said.

  “That’s right partner. Where they drive around with cow horns on the front of their land yachts. I’ve made your reservations. You change planes in Dallas. There will be a car waiting for you in Austin.”

  Amanda smiled then slowly lifted the cowboy hat and sat it on her head, not caring that several people nearby were staring at her. “Texas,” she said again.

  “And cowboys,” Sarah added. “Rugged, handsome cowboys.”

  “Yeah, right. Those ranchers are probably fat and fifty. I’m interested in seeing the artwork.” She paused a moment. “I’m thinking about buying some cowboy boots. Want to go shopping with me?”

  Sarah grinned then stuck her leg out to one side of the table. “No need to,” she said, pointing down at her foot. “You can borrow mine.”

  Amanda looked down, then shook her head and grinned. Sarah was wearing a pair of pink ostrich skin boots. A wild collage of colorful jewels formed a peacock pattern on each side. “Thanks, but no. I don’t think a rhinestone cowgirl is who they will expect from a prestigious New York art brokerage firm.”

  Amanda thanked Sarah for the cowboy hat, gave her an air kiss, and hurried home to look at the photo of the painting Richard had sent her. She spent the rest of the morning at the computer researching Charles Marion Randell. She couldn’t find any Randell works that matched the Morgan painting. And from what she could tell from the jpeg, the Morgan work had the same brushwork, color palette, and style as a genuine Randell.