Western Cowboy Quotes

There is no better place to heal a broken heart than on the back of a horse.

Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky." Excerpt from Grace Willow's Last Minute Bride

We are all in “the perpetual quest for keeping oneself occupied, entertained, and important—which burns at the edge of addiction.

There's something about a cowboy...

We say it’s a modern American Western - two gunslingers who ride into town, fight the bad guys, kiss the girl and ride out into the sunset again. And we were always talking from the very beginning that if you’re going to have cowboys, they need a trusty horse. —Eric Kripke on the decision to add the Impala

All the screen cowboys behaved like real gentlemen. They didn't drink, they didn't smoke. When they knocked the bad guy down, they always stood with their fists up, waiting for the heavy to get back on his feet. I decided I was going to drag the bad guy to his feet and keep hitting him.

The cowboy has now gone to worlds invisible; the wind has blown away the white ashes of his campfires; but the empty sardine box lies rusting over the face of the Western earth.

Unearth marvels as you walk the path, Stand in awe, Therein is the joy of life.

I'm beginning to think even wild horses couldn't have kept me away from you.

When they confronted her like this, she felt like a delicate freaking time bomb just waiting for a time and a place to explode.

I know what it’s like to be different. I’m a Native American in a white world.

I want you.” She chuckled without opening her eyes. “Again?” “Always,” he replied.

Lovemaking is more than sex, it's a connecting of hearts, meeting of minds, & touching of souls." ~ Dr. Scott Hensley

Love never fails.

No matter how much he loves you, sometimes he'd just rather have an inch of rain than anything else in the world.

Emma was a woman on a mission, and Logan was more than fine with that since the mission seemed to be getting alone - and naked - with him.

He sauntered across the kitchen, six feet of male hotness and charm, heading in her direction like a drone missile locked on a target.

If a heart could shimmer, hers did at that moment, and surely as bright as the stars in the sky.

Every woman wants a cowboy.

He envied her, sensing that she lived each day as if it was her last.

I wanted to wake with you in my arms,” he whispered. “Next time, don’t leave the bed,” he said.

I’ll always come back to you,” he said. “Always.

His father used to tell him that you can't eat principles. And no, you couldn't. But you could live by them.

I’d walk through fire for you.” His murmured vow rumbled deep in his throat an instant before he sealed his promise with a kiss.

One cowboy is never enough.

Cowboys don’t go around breaking hearts.

Let’s just say Noah and Flynn enjoy the chase, and when they catch their woman, they keep her tied so she stays caught when they play.

The French, it seems to me, strike a happy balance between intimacy and reserve. Some of this must be helped by the language, which lends itself to graceful expression even when dealing with fairly basic subjects.... And there's that famously elegant subtitle from a classic Western. COWBOY: "Gimme a shot of red-eye." SUBTITLE: "Un Dubonnet, s'il vous plait." No wonder French was the language of diplomacy for all those years.

To be chosen for herself—it was the secret desire of her heart. To be important to someone. More than a glorified servant who fetched and carried and entertained at her aunt’s whim. To be wanted truly for herself. Seen instead of invisible. Valued instead of tolerated.

So, you take no prisoners, huh?’ Flynn leaned in close. Her pulse clicked up a gear at the deliberate invasion of her personal space. ‘No, sweetie. We take prisoners, of the short, female variety. We just don’t fight fair when we catch ‘em.

Cooking isn't hard. It just takes a little bit of imagination and determination.

I couldn't even see that woman because I have blinders on when you are around, and every single thought in my head is about you.

Times may change, but I guess cowboys don't.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her he was all wrong for her and yet…

The motorcycle’s headlights cut through the darkness. Ahead the road was nothing but a black hole. She roared toward it.

You’re staring,” she said as she cut her eyes to him. Clayton lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I like what I see.

Tell me he’s got a cute ass in Wranglers,” Gloria pleaded. “I’ve got a weakness for cowboys.” Abby grinned. “It’s not cute. His ass is magnificent.

I always wondered why they don’t have a word for a parent who loses a child. If I’d lost Ben, I’d be a widow.

Let’s go.” “It’s not that easy.” He smoothed back her dark hair and looked into her beautiful, blue eyes. “It is when you have someone to catch you.

Unknown things make easy monsters.

The longer the anger lives in you, the more it erodes your soul and destroys your relationships. If you’re not careful, one day it’ll hollow you out and leave you with nothing.

He forced himself to look at her. “That’s the man I am, Damaris. Discontent, dangerous, and a tiny bit deranged.” “Hmm. I think I prefer driven, devoted, and dependable.

She was in control of her life, even though it seemed she wasn’t. All she had to do was take the steering wheel and start driving.

Behind the semi-elliptical bar four cowboys who had never been near a cow sang western songs which sounded as if they had originated in the far east.

Some criminals said fighting Nox was like fighting ghosts. He seemed to come from everywhere. Most criminals who fought Nox never said anything at all.

All the while, that seemingly sympathetic sun was growing a little fiercer, smiling a little broader. Sometimes the land didn't have to get you. You got yourself.

I always knew it was horses that would bring you back.

When I love, I love with everything within me.” Seeing him with his child, this was obvious. Did he mean…yes, he meant exactly what he said, and it was like he wanted her to know it went much deeper than only with his child. That whatever he loved, he loved with everything inside of him. “I sense that about you, Tristan. Your actions and words are heartfelt.

Howdy, ma'am. You always talk to yourself?” Velia glanced up into bright eyes, as blue as the flame on a cigarette lighter, belonging to a man standing in front of her desk wearing a cowboy hat tipped back on his head.

The sky is the most glorious blue I've ever seen." Nick must have heard her quiet words. "I used to think there couldn't be a more beautiful blue in all the world." The sound of his voice pulled Elizabeth into his presence. She said with a curious glance. "What changed your mind?" He flushed though his green gaze remained steady on her, "I saw your eyes.

She was dangerous. I’d heard the rumors, that she had a history as a wild woman, that she’d been married to a gambler, maybe even been one herself, that her past was scandalous at best. But who was I to judge? My past was littered with scandal.

When Tucker glanced in Becca's direction and saw her watching, he smiled and winked. That one move, just a wink, made her knees go weak. She swallowed hard and knew with complete certainty, she was going to do it - she was going to spend the night with him.

He had a hint of a Southern drawl, as if he’d worked hard to hide it, but couldn’t quite rid himself of the last of it. It was rough and gravelly, and had the seductive warmth of sinking into strong arms in front of a cozy fire. To my surprise, a spark of that long-dead heat stirred in my belly. This wasn’t the sort of response a woman should have to finding a strange man in her barn.

We'll ride along the river. It's a mighty pretty sight..." Puffy white clouds floated across the azure blue sky. Pine-covered mountains crowned with snowcaps folded down into foothills that ringed the valley. Beneath the clouds the play of sun and shadow cast hazy blue-green patches on the mountainsides. A distant large-winged bird rode on air currents before diving into a clump of trees.

When you are barely over five feet tall, you need all the extra inches you can get. But I suppose you wouldn't understand that, not being challenged for inches." He cocked a brow. Her face flamed. "That didn't come out right. At. All." "Yes. I'm thankful for all my inches." His lips curved in a slow smile that made her insides quiver. "They help me get into those really hard to reach places.

All I'm saying is that you shouldn't rule out the possibility that God has a hand in all our lives--yours, mine, your aunt's and Dub's. Have you considered that you might be here for a reason , and perhaps it has nothing to do Big Heart Ranch's donation?"~Lucy Maxwell

I was going to go to bed early and maybe read for a little bit." "Reading. Wow. Not sure I know many girls who do that." Her brows rose. "Then you're hanging out with the wrong girls." "No doubt. I most definitely have been... in the past, but I've raised my standards a bit recently.

Don’t be sorry, Darlin’”, he said in his best cowboy drawl, “for I’m certainly not. It’s not every day a man like me gets to assist such a pretty lady. Any time you need help in or out of a wagon, you just give me a holler” he said in a teasing tone, “I’ll be right there, hoping you’ll fall in my arms again.

She had to laugh. "You're making me hungry." "Me, too." His gaze locked with hers, making it clear it wasn't just barbecue he was hungry for.

Evie," he whispered next to her ear, "I want to make love to you, hold you in my arms, until the moon crosses the sky and the morning comes.

You're so pretty, Elizabeth,... Why, I'd never have taken you for a spinster.

She'd known from the moment she said "I do" that she really truly did.

They slept that deep sleep reserved for babies and consenting adults who have worn their bodies out with hot sex.

The third time is not always the charm.

we had talked ourselves into silence.

Getting sweaty with a woman after some good sex was one thing, but he'd rather not start out that way.

When a man that attractive licks his lips, a girl's got to look. And imagine...

Darlin', old don't mean dead.

Getting close to a woman, no matter if it's real or not, can backfire.

Shiloh had never seen a man who was a hunter. But she saw one now. There was an intense feeling around Roan, raw and untamed, as he studied her, his nostrils flaring to catch her scent. He ruthlessly dug into her opening eyes, reading her, trying to understand where she was at within herself and what she wanted from him. “This is your call,” he said, his voice low and guttural.

Tucker took off his cowboy hat and laid it on top of the dresser and then crossed the room to close the curtains. The big question of the night was answered - he did take off his hat for sex.

The previous year, Baba had surprised Hassan with a leather cowboy hat just like the one Clint Eastwood wore in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly—which had unseated The Magnificent Seven as our favorite Western.

I was disappointed when she suddenly looked away, bashful. It surprised me. Madison occurred to me as so cool and confident. This was her private space though, likely the place she was most herself, no facade, no way she had to be, just a girl with her horses. This was not the kind of place or girl that rodeo boys got to be in or near. Yet here I was, standing toe-to-toe with the goddess in her most private of cowgirl places.

Tell him I love him yet, As in that joyous time! Tell him I ne'er forget, Though memory now be crime! Tell him when fades the light, Upon the earth and sea, I dream of him by night, He must not dream of me! He must not dream of me!

He leaned forward and began to count off on the fingers of the hand that held the cigarette: She aint American. She aint a citizen. She dont speak english. She works in a whorehouse. No, hear me out. And last but not least—he sat holding his thumb—there's a son of a bitch owns her outright that I guarangoddamntee you will kill you graveyard dead if you mess with him. Son, aint there no girls on this side of the damn river? Not like her. Well I'll bet that's the truth if you ever told it.

Does misfortune follow you everywhere, Miz Powell?" "Not normally," She pursed the lips that he found increasingly fascinating. "Why do you ask?" "Because I'm thinking it might be prudent for me to increase my insurance before I drive you anywhere.

Omelets now or later?" she panted. "Later than what?" he asked huskily. "How hungry are you?" "For what?" She started unbuttoning his shirt at the top, stopping to admire and touch the soft hair on his chest on the way to the bottom. When she reached the last one, she tugged the tail out from behind his belt, slipped her arms around his body, and laid her cheek against his chest. "Let's make love and only use words when necessary," she whispered. "Is that a pickup line" he asked hoarsely.

That's why he liked bull riding - get a clear head, get in the chute, try not to get bucked off. Easy. Bull riding was simple, but women? Women were not. He should have said not to her invite. A smart man would have. He obviously was not a smart man.

A tree.” She spotted one. It was hidden behind a much larger tree, its limbs misshapen in its attempt to fight for even a little sunlight in the shadow. “Dana has this tradition of giving a sad-looking tree the honor of being a Christmas tree.” She walked over to the small, nearly hidden tree. “I like this one. “It’s…” He laughed. “Ugly?” “No, it’s beautiful because it’s had a hard life. It’s struggled to survive against all odds and would keep doing that without much hope. But it has a chance to be something special.

Screw you, cowboy!” she yelled after him, saying the word exactly as she had before. “And that horse you rode in on.” And—Whoops!—now everyone in the diner had turned to look at them. Zane turned around to her with amusement on his face. “Very original, princess.

So many of the men who came to the West were southerners— men looking for work and a new life after the Civil War—that chivalrousness and strict codes of honor were soon thought of as western traits. There were very few women in Wyoming during territorial days, so when they did arrive (some as mail-order brides from places like Philadelphia) there was a standoffishness between the sexes and a formality that persists now. Ranchers still tip their hats and say, "Howdy, ma'am" instead of shaking hands with me. Even young cowboys are often evasive with women. It's not that they're Jekyll and Hyde creatures—gentle with animals and rough on women—but rather, that they don't know how to bring their tenderness into the house and lack the vocabulary to express the complexity of what they feel.

If the plot is a machine that allows you to get from set piece to set piece, and the set pieces are things without which the reader or the viewer would feel cheated, then, whatever it is, it’s genre. If the plot exists to get you from the lone cowboy riding into town to the first gunfight to the cattle rustling to the showdown, then it’s a Western. If those are simply things that happen on the way, and the plot encompasses them, can do without them, doesn’t actually care if they are in there or not, then it’s a novel set in the old West.

With cold hands he massaged her right foot, his fingertips digging into all the right places to make her groan. "Feel good?" he asked. "You can't imagine. You have until midnight to stop." He chuckled. "Why midnight?" "Because from then until daylight you can work on the other foot.

All that adrenaline running through him with no outlet - God, what would sex be like with a man who literally vibrated with energy the way he was now? Explosive. Unforgettable. The exact opposite of how sex with Jerry had been. Becca realized that, against all common sense, she was dying to find out.

What do you men wear (to swim)?" Laughter glinted in his green eyes and he slanted her a mischievous grin. "Since Mrs. Carter came here to live, we swim in old pants cut off at the knees." Warmth crept up her cheeks. Bad enough to think of a bare-chested Nick swimming in the pool without thinking of him naked.

It was difficult being so far away from everything she loved. But here, she had Edward and Alice and her work. And now it seems she might have a cowboy to follow around. “A cowboy? I'm a city girl… What will I do with a cowboy?” Then her thoughts drifted back to the cowboy who sauntered in like he owned Tucson.

How are you this morning? You get up in time for your workout?" "Yeah. Just finished that. It was just a run... well, a run in full combat uniform including our packs, but it was only five miles so not so bad." Her eyes opened wide. "Oh, sure. That's nothing. I do at least that every morning, you know, before tea.

Becca had gone through many, many years of schooling in her life. She'd spent more hours in libraries than she could begin to calculate. Yet this was the first time she'd ever made out in one. As he claimed her mouth for the second time against the volumes of Chaucer, she realized all she'd missed out on in the past.

Through the earpiece, she heard Emma sigh. "All right, but you should really consider giving him a call. Just to let him know you're in town. You're new to Oklahoma. Maybe he could show you around to all the local hot spots." Any spot where Tucker happened to be would be a hot spot. Becca pushed that errant thought aside.

A cowboy is someone who loves his work. Since the hours are long—ten to fifteen hours a day—and the pay is $30 he has to. What's required of him is an odd mixture of physical vigor and maternalism. His part of the beef-raising industry is to birth and nurture calves and take care of their mothers. For the most part his work is done on horseback and in a lifetime he sees and comes to know more animals than people. The iconic myth surrounding him is built on American notions of heroism: the index of a man's value as measured in physical courage. Such ideas have perverted manliness into a self-absorbed race for cheap thrills. In a rancher's world, courage has less to do with facing danger than with acting spontaneously—usually on behalf of an animal or another rider. If a cow is stuck in a bog hole he throws a loop around her neck, takes his dally (a half hitch around the saddle horn), and pulls her out with horsepower. If a calf is born sick, he may take her home, warm her in front of the kitchen fire, and massage her legs until dawn. One friend, whose favorite horse was trying to swim a lake with hobbles on, dove under water and cut her legs loose with a knife, then swam her to shore, his arm around her neck lifeguard-style, and saved her from drowning. Because these incidents are usually linked to someone or something outside himself, the westerner's courage is selfless, a form of compassion.

Boy oh boy, this man is trouble. He was slowly tearing down the wall she’d built around her heart, brick by brick. Could any man be this perfect? He must have some faults. Maybe he is a chauvinist pig…no, doesn’t seem like it. He is kind to animals and children, he is a fireman, he looks like sex on a stick. What could be wrong with him? Maybe he snores. Oh, wouldn’t I like to find out?

Snuggle up with a hot fireman! Meet Tanner West. Sharon looked up into the most gorgeous face she had ever seen. Eyes like dark chocolate, deep and warm, stared out at her from a face that looked like it could have been chiseled in stone. Skin the color of burnished copper, high cheekbones, a sharp nose, full lips, and a cleft chin. How the hell had she failed to notice him before? Her heart skipped a beat and she ran her gaze down the rest of his body. He was tall, well over six feet, she would guess, with broad shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. His thighs, encased in worn denim, fit like a second skin against legs the size of tree trunks, and oh my, what lay between those thighs… Her attention snapped back to his face and she could feel the heat of a blush suffuse her skin.

One more salt to try," Kellan said, reaching into the box. He brought a jar of black, flaky crystals up to the light. "Black diamond finishing salt. Extremely rare and too bold for those with meek palates. But, for a true connoisseur, the flavor is incomparable." He lowered her head and torso to the ground and pushed her sweater up to expose her stomach and ribs. "I want to sample it on your skin.

She was everything he loved about a woman wrapped up in a cute little package. Golden blonde hair was secured to the top of her head in a ponytail, he bet it would reach her waist when it was loose. Her body was curvy in all the right places, her breasts more than filled out the T-shirt she was wearing and those hips, dang he could just imagine holding onto them while she rode him, instead of Big Red.

Don't suppose you'd want to stay long enough to scrub my back for me, would you?" Lizzy might have had a wonderful experience when she rose up from the bathwater, but it damn sure hadn't set her free enough to do what Toby asked. She shook her head and smiled. "This is not a real relationship, darlin'." "I'd be willin' to turn it into a real one for a good woman to give me a bath." His eyes glittered.

I didn't mean to upset you, Ms. Hamilton," his gaze shifted back to her. "It's a beautiful sight and I thought you'd like to see it." She gasped in delight at the vista before her. Distant purple mountains framed lush green meadows speckled with brown dots of cattle. A silver river threaded through clumps of trees. In the middle of the valley, ranch buildings clustered around a large white house. Elizabeth inhaled crisp air into her lungs...

At the curb, Velia turned, remembering the first day she stood here debating with herself about turning back, running home. But, her inner victim convinced her, this was the right thing to do. Now, she’d be leaving this home that gave her refuge for a time. Where she began to heal. She stood here as the person she used to be before falling victim to abuse—lost for a while. She smiled when she turned back to her car, loaded it, and left to be with the man she loved.

He pulled her closer and she felt the bulge in his jeans. "I never knew books were so sexy." "You got turned on today by a bologna sandwich, too." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't think it's the books." "You're right. Maybe it's not the books or the bologna." He leaned lower. "Maybe it's not." She rose up on her tiptoes, closer to his tempting mouth. He groaned and closed the small distance between them, backing her up against the shelves as his lips covered hers.

He stepped around the island and toward the cabinet, which would have been way too high over her head for her to reach anything anyway. It was a dumb place to put everyday glassware in his opinion. She moved in the same direction he did, and they crashed against each other hard enough to knock his breath out of him with an oomph. He reached out to steady her. "I'm sorr---" Becca never quite finished the word. Her eyes went soft as they gazed into his, and Tuck found his hands were no longer safely on her arms but now down holding on to her hips. Those round, beautiful hips he'd held on to for dear life while plunging into her in the hotel. Tuck swallowed hard and found it hard to breathe. The situation only got worse when she took a single step closer, putting her dangerously near the rising erection in his jeans. He drew in a deep breath, which filled him against with her scent. It was all too much. There was no fighting this attraction. Tuck dipped his head low and claimed Becca's mouth with his own.

Roan studied the photo in his hand. Shiloh Gallagher had to be twenty-nine years old according to what Maud had told him. Damned if she didn’t look twenty-five or so, her features unlined. She wasn’t model pretty, but she had an arresting face, with huge intelligent-looking green eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he felt himself stir. Her mouth would make any man go crazy. Her upper lip was full, but thinner than her lower one. The shape of her mouth made him feel heat in his lower body. “Is she married?” “No,” Maud said. She’s single. Never did marry. I don’t know why. Shiloh’s a beautiful girl.” She was hardly a girl, but Roan said nothing because he was fully reacting to her as a woman. He wondered if she was curvy or rail thin. He was disgruntled over his avid curiosity. “I have no problem with it. You know I get up early and come in late. She’s going to have to fend for herself. I’m not cooking for her.” “Right,” Maud agreed. “She’s pretty shaken up, Roan. You might find that stressful until, hopefully, Shiloh will start to relax.” Shrugging, he slid the photo onto the desk. “Maud, I just hope I don’t stress her out with my award-winning personality,” he said, and he cracked a small, sour grin. Maud cackled. “I think you’ll like her, Roan. She’s a very kind person. An introvert like you. Just remember, she’s trying to write. Because of the stalking, she’s suffering from writer’s block and she’s got a book due to her editor in six months. So, she’s under a lot of other stress.” “I’ll handle it, Maud. No problem.” “Good,” Maud said, relieved. She sat up in the chair. “I’ll call Shiloh back, let her know she can come, and I’ll find out what time she’s arriving tomorrow. I’d like you to pick her up at the Jackson Hole Airport. So take that photo with you.” He stood, settling the cowboy hat on his head. “Don’t need the photo.” Because her face was already stamped across his heart. Whatever that meant. “I’ll find her after she deplanes, don’t worry. Just get back to me on the time.