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Hard to Handle


Blurb
The chemistry between horse wranglers Bailey French and Hondo Labar was hot enough to singe the air even before their unexpected meeting at Rawhide, a private bondage club. Their extreme edge play at the club feeds their sexual needs, but Hondo wants a relationship outside the club and Bailey refuses to acknowledge him as more than a fellow wrangler. When a riding accident puts her in his care, can she finally trust her heart as well as her body to a man who would Master her forever?

Excerpt 
Bailey shredded the hunk of bread in her fingers. 
“You heard me turn down Hondo and Dan today, right?” 
Liz nodded. “That’s why I thought it would be a good idea for us to have dinner and discuss the situation.” 
Bailey frowned. “I don’t understand.” 
“This isn’t an easy life you’ve chosen. You work hard. You need time to play. If not here, then someplace where you feel comfortable. It took me a long time to figure that out.” 
Bailey fiddled with her wine glass, trying to decide exactly how much she could tell this woman. Liz was easy to talk to but she was, after all, the boss. And she didn’t feel comfortable just blurting out that she was a hard-core sub looking for a Dom who didn’t abuse the privilege. Or run away from it.
“I hear you,” she finally said. “But finding the right people isn’t always that easy.” 
The other woman studied her. “I know you came here from Phoenix, but I guess I thought you had friends in the area. Something that drew you here. I probably should have asked at the time.” 
“Why would you?” Bailey took a fortifying sip of her wine. “My personal circumstances aren’t your worry.”
Something dark flared in Liz’s eyes for a moment. But it was gone so fast Bailey wondered if she’d imagined it. Did Liz come here to get away from a problem, too? 
“Maybe I sense a kindred spirit.” Liz said the words quietly, almost tentatively. 
Bailey lifted an eyebrow. “In what way? Were you—I mean—“ 
“Running from something? In a way.” 
The waiter appeared with their salads, momentarily interrupting their conversation. Bailey forked up a piece of lettuce and chewed it slowly, waiting for Liz to continue. They chewed in silence for a few seconds before Liz spoke again. 
“There were—are—things in my life that I had a hard time handling. Even understanding. Needs that I had.” She paused, took a moment to chew another bite of salad. “It made my life…complicated.” The direct look she gave Bailey was honest and assessing. “I sense you might be dealing with the same thing, Bailey. If I’m wrong, I apologize, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.” 
“You mean in isolating myself?” 
“I mean,” Liz said, “in the things that enrich your life. Not just friendships but sex. People talk about men’s needs all the time, but they never think that could apply to women.” 
Bailey stared at her, stunned that Liz brought the subject up. Sex? She’s talking to me about sex? What do I say to that? How do I answer her? 
All she could do was repeat the word. “Sex. You think I need sex.” 
Liz Wright burst out laughing, a friendly sound, not a belittling one. “Bailey, almost everyone needs sex of one kind or another. It’s part of the human psyche.” She leaned forward again. “Unless you have a problem of some kind, it’s really not healthy to go without it for a long time. And I don’t see you as the kind of woman who doesn’t enjoy it.” 
Bailey’s eyes widened. “Do I have some kind of sign on my back? You think I’ll do something to embarrass the ranch? And you?” 
Liz shook her head. “No. That’s not it at all. I’m doing this very badly.” She sighed. “I went without for a long time after I was hired at the Lucky L. Not because the opportunities didn’t present themselves. As with you, every one of the hands eyed me with a lot of speculation. And I think the single men in town were making bets who would be the first one to break the ice.” 
“Holy crap!” She shook her head, as much at the bluntness of the conversation as at the realization that the so-in-control Liz Wright had suffered the same things she did. “I guess I never…” She stopped, not wanting to be discourteous. 
“Thought I was in that situation?” Liz smiled. “Or that I had sex?” 
Bailey’s face heated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’ 
“It’s okay. Let yourself off the hook, Bailey. I understand what you’re saying.” She took a swallow of her wine. “Sometimes,” she said slowly, “it isn’t just the sex but the kind of sex that keeps you isolated.” 
Bailey froze. Was it possible… “Kind of sex?” 
Liz nodded. “I’m not sharing this with you lightly, Bailey. I’m doing it only because I sense a similar spirit here. I hope I won’t regret this.” She paused. “Some people might say my sexual needs are dark. Off the beaten path. Even unacceptable. For me and many others with the same desires, the elements of the BDSM lifestyle are as normal as breathing. But in a conservative community like this, one can’t exactly go out and ask where the nearest dungeon is or who’s into bondage.” 
Bailey almost swallowed her tongue. Liz Wright was into BDSM? 
Holy shit! 

Book Buy Links
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Guest Post 
The cowboy is such a romantic soul 
Every culture needs legends and heroes; the Cowboy is one of America's best. We see honor, leadership, integrity, hard work, strength and freedom in the cowboy. We envy the simplicity of his long day's labor and the wide-open spaces he roams. Little boys want to grow up to be him, and many little girls want to grow up and marry him. He contains the last vestiges of wildness allowed in the new millennium, and as much as our country changes, he remains the same. America needs the Cowboy both to remind us of how far we have come and to bring us back to the simplicity of the values he represents. 
From Zane Grey to Linda Lael Miller, authors have painted the cowboy as sexy, romantic, virile, the ultimate alpha male. He ropes horses, fights bad guys, wears jeans that hug him like a second skin and sweeps women off their feet. He dances the Texas Two-Step and the waltz with equal ease, sips aged bourbon or ice cold beer with equal aplomb and can shoot a target dead center from a thousand feet. I mean, what’s not to love? 
I live in one of the greatest places of the world, the Texas Hill Country, where I am surrounded by ranches. On a frosty morning I can see the quintessential cowboy mounted on his horse, buttoned into his sheepskin-lined jacket, his Stetson pulled low over his forehead to shield his eyes from the rising son, thighs clenched against the flanks of his mount as he urges him forward after a recalcitrant calf or a wandering cow. He is the idol of dreams, the star of fantasies, as he rides with a smooth gait across the acres of pasture rolling off toward the horizon. 
And then, of course, at the end of the day, with the dust of the land showered from his body, he makes mad, passionate, exquisite love to the woman of his heart. Or in some case, the many women of his heart! And this is why I make the cowboy the central figure in so many of my stories. 
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