Humbling Her Cowboy (Miller Brothers 0f Texas Book 1)

by Natalie Dean

  Humbling Her Cowboy

  Miller Brothers of Texas Book One

  Natalie Dean

  Kenzo Publishing

  © Copyright 2020 by Kenzo Publishing - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Dedication

  I’d like to dedicate this book to YOU! The readers of my books. Without your interest in reading these heartwarming stories of love, I wouldn’t have made it this far. So thank you so much for taking the time to read any and hopefully all of my books.

  And I can’t leave out my wonderful mother, son, sister, and Auntie. I love you all, and thank you for helping me make this happen.

  Most of all, I thank God for blessing me on this endeavor.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Other books by Natalie Dean

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  About Author - Natalie Dean

  1

  Solomon

  “And remember to keep your eye out for that Annie Haynes. She’s a real viper. She’ll be on the lookout for anything to say we’re out-of-touch billionaires trying to buy our way into heaven.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Solomon said for what felt like the fifteenth time on the call. Unfortunately, the drive to the city from their estate was a good hour long, so Dad had plenty of time to micromanage his second eldest son.

  Solomon almost wanted to tell his father to go to the grand opening of the reconstructed megachurch himself. After all, they had helped fund the rebuilding after a terrible storm damaged it the previous year. And Dad was still the patriarch in charge. But Solomon knew it wasn’t worth the hassle. As the eldest son who worked on the ranch, he was due to inherit the company when Dad eventually did pass, so he needed to learn how to handle these things. And get his father to trust that he could manage the business.

  Solomon normally didn’t mind that. He liked the challenge of his father’s world. All the negotiating and envisioning the future. Investing and mergers. Risk and reward. But what he hated was doing things just for the sake of his father’s ego, and his investment in the megachurch had been just that.

  Because before the disaster, it had been one of Dad’s old-time rivals that had been the patron of the church, reaping in all the goodwill and tax write-offs like a champ. Solomon was under no illusion that that was exactly why his father had gotten involved. And—while he didn’t really care—he wasn’t exactly thrilled that he was the one who had to go and speak at the dinner to celebrate its refurbishment.

  It was times like this that he missed his younger years, when things had been simpler and more about the ranch. Sure, while they had never been as backwater or as manual as his cousins up in the Midwest, there used to be a lot more to do with the animals and the day-to-day function. Nowadays, Solomon felt like he was in a suit more often than he was on a horse.

  He would have to remedy that soon. Maybe once spring hit and things started to bloom again. He knew Mom wanted to expand her greenhouse’s capabilities on the ranch. Maybe he could drive her the short distance from their estate and see what kind of hard work he could get into.

  He let out a bit of a snort at that. His father would probably have a cow at the thought that his second-oldest son and heir to his empire was debasing himself with manual labor. Especially since he was so testy about Samuel deciding to stay with their Miller cousins up north. Not that Solomon blamed the eldest brother. Sammy had pretty much been criticized since he was old enough to shake a stick, never being quite what Dad wanted, and Solomon was glad that he had gotten away from it.

  However, he wasn’t so hot on the fact that he and all of his remaining brothers were experiencing Dad’s surliness over what he considered an outright betrayal.

  Ugh, that man and his ego. If it wasn’t for his billion-dollar empire, Solomon was pretty sure that Dad wouldn’t have any friends or followers. As it were, he doubted that McLintoc Miller had any real friends. Only yes-men and sycophants.

  When Solomon eventually took over the family business, he liked to think that he would change a few things. Maybe withdraw from the social aspect and the politics of being one of Texas’ most elite industrial ranches and just focus purely on the business aspect. After all, there were some lands that he had been eyeing that could be pretty heavy with resources, and he was interested in expanding into the energy trade.

  …but all of that would have to wait for Dad to croak first. Not that Solomon minded his father being here. He wasn’t looking forward to the strict man’s death, but he wouldn’t exactly be devastated when it happened either.

  Mom was the heart of the McLintoc Miller empire, really, and Solomon knew she would support any changes he made.

  “Remember, you cannot screw this up. This is your first big appearance with these people. You’ve done great on the business front, and I know you’ve set up quite the network for us, but this is different. These people hold power, real power. Something that might come in handy around election time.”

  Solomon withheld a sigh. There was his father talking about the elections again. He was dead set on getting some friend of his into a local seat, and Solomon couldn’t care less. Dad called him a friend but didn’t really have friends. He had business partners and interests, and that was about it.

  “We already discussed this before I left. And yesterday. I assure you, I will behave myself.”

  “You always do, Solomon. That’s why I chose you, you know. You’re not the eldest, but I know you’re the one I can count on to lead us in the right direction.”

  Solomon made an affirmative noise, never really sure of how to respond to a compliment from his father. Mostly because agreeing felt like bragging, and he hated bragging. It was a point of contention he often had with his second-youngest brother, who built his whole persona on top of being on
e of the filthy rich Millers of Texas.

  Granted, Solomon didn’t feel like he had anything outside of the family, but that was just because so much work went into being the next generation leader of their father’s empire. There were business mergers and investments, and the automation of the massive ranch Dad had built from the ground up.

  Of course he never would have been able to even get started if it weren’t for the wealth from Grandpappy, a man Solomon had only met once. The Millers had been rich for generations, really, wealth building on wealth. But sometime in his twenties, Dad had decided that he was tired of all the waste and lack of profit that went into running a family-owned ranch with almost zero automation. He had set off on his own.

  Solomon got why. Dad didn’t like being second fiddle to anyone, and when he realized he wasn’t going to become the head of the business, it probably grated him in all the wrong ways. Solomon also didn’t think it was a coincidence that Dad’s business was basically the polar opposite of Grandpappy and Uncle Douglas’ ranches.

  Uncle Douglas Miller and Dad still had a lot of contention about that particular matter. Dad thought Uncle Douglas was an idiot of a hippie, and Uncle Douglas made it clear he was concerned about how Dad treated his animals. It was an age-old debate that, honestly, Solomon was tired of.

  Lately he felt so tired of everything.

  “I’m going to concentrate on my drive the rest of the way. You know how traffic gets going into the city.”

  “Yeah, right. Keep your eyes on the road. Do us proud.”

  The line clicked off and Solomon sagged in his seat. Ugh, hopefully the church would be less taxing than more business conversations with his own father.

  … it wasn’t.

  From almost the first moment he was out of his truck, people were fawning all over him. He vaguely recognized them, offering calm and professional greetings while they shook his hand and generally invaded his personal space. They said thank you and rattled off what was great about their megachurch, and Solomon couldn’t help but find it all so shallow.

  Strange, he’d been a Christian for as long as he could remember, going to Sunday School way before he even knew how to read the Bible that they were teaching. When he was younger it had been comforting. Giving him some reasons for things that didn’t make sense. And spending time with his brothers, Mom, and friends at the local church had been fun, heartwarming even. It had given him a sense of belonging. But nowadays… nowadays it just felt so transactional to him. His family rebuilt their church after a bad storm had damaged things; the church would then throw their support behind any politics that his family supported. It was all A plus B equals C.

  But maybe that was just him. As he took on more responsibilities with the ranch, he had less and less time and emotions for everything else. He couldn’t even remember the last time that he had ridden his horse or done any sort of physical labor around the premises.

  Somehow, he managed to keep his expression both pleasant and enthused over the entire tour—and it was a lengthy one. The church was oversized, ostentatious, and beautiful, all things that his father loved. Solomon had no doubt that they would be visiting the church around one Sunday a month on one of the rare weeks their father managed to wrangle them all together.

  Or for any important press events.

  Too bad he wasn’t going to get a break anytime soon. Because after the tour, came the celebratory dinner.

  And of course, it wouldn’t be a dinner without a speaker, and he was the one who was supposed to give the speech. One about community, when he and his family lived at least an hour away from the city limits. About humility, when the church around him made literally millions of dollars that went into furnishing it and decorating it.

  But he did just that, because that was business. He was representing the best that they hoped the church could be, not dwelling on the emptiness of it all. Not commenting on how it was all so businesslike that Jesus might have come in and flipped tables.

  Because that wasn’t Solomon’s role. He was his father’s son, after all, and his job was to make sure the business thrived. To honor his father and all the blood, sweat, and tears that had gone into building a billion-dollar ranch. That was his purpose.

  So, he was going to be darn good at it.

  2

  Solomon

  It was a relief to finally leave the church, and he practically peeled out to get back onto the road. Perhaps he broke a few speed limits, but he was sure that he could pay whatever ticket he got if he got one. It wasn’t like there was a plethora of cops out on the long, lone stretch of highway leading to their estate.

  But he was just under halfway there when his truck dash rang, notifying him that someone was calling. He was all set to ignore it, but then he recognized the name on the display as his contact at the megachurch.

  “Hello?” he asked, dreading what they could possibly want on the other end.

  “Hey, we hate to be a bother, but while we were cleaning, we found something we think is yours. It’s a lovely watch with your family name engraved on it.”

  Holy crap, his heirloom watch! He usually only wore it for dressy occasions, but it was incredibly valuable to him. A quick glance to his wrist confirmed that it wasn’t there, and he chided himself for being careless.

  “We think the clasp broke, judging by the looks of it. If you’re willing to wait until tomorrow, we can drive it out to you. But if you want to get it tonight, we’ll stay as long as you need.”

  He knew that the parishioners would most likely get it to him safe and sound the next day, but he didn’t want to be that long without it. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed its absence in the first place.

  Stepping on the gas, he floored it, going even faster headed back to the church than he had when leaving. He actually made it back in good time, but he was so busy slowing down to the proper city speed limit that he didn’t notice his GPS telling him to turn until it was too late.

  Oh well, not the hugest deal. He quickly turned onto the next street, going around in a wide circle so that he came up into the back parking lot of the church instead of the front.

  It wouldn’t be a big deal, he was sure. He would just call them and tell them that he was in the back, so they could bring his watch back there. Five minutes, maybe, then he would be back on the road again and really on his way home.

  He was just getting out of his truck when he noticed a dark shape standing on top of a garbage can that had been hauled next to one of the massive walls. The person’s movements were liquid, strange, but they still struck him as nothing that could be good.

  He took another step closer, leaving his truck door open, and his mind deciphered more things. The form was spray painting something on the wall. Something that looked a lot like a thin, ragged child who was standing in front of a fat priest absolutely encrusted in jewels and gold. He held a gilded platter that was overflowing with food, all of it looking delectable despite the fact that it had obviously been hastily spray-painted in the forty minutes or so that he had been gone.

  He wasn’t going to just stand there and watch someone spray-paint graffiti all over the church walls.

  “Hey! You!” he called, putting all the authority he could into his voice.

  The figure reacted instantly, falling to the ground and kicking over the garbage can in their haste. It would have been satisfying to watch if the hooligan didn’t immediately roll forward as soon as their body touched the dirt and spring onto their feet to run away.

  “Stop! You need to clean this up!”

  Before Solomon even thought about it, he took off after the figure, his adrenaline kicking into high gear at the thought of a chase. They were clearly in the lead, but he was most certainly faster, and he quickly began to close in on their baggy form.

  Or at least he was until they suddenly jumped to the side, rolling over the hedges that lined the church property and streaking right across the street.

  “Hey!” he cal
led again, but the figure didn’t falter.

  He knew he didn’t need to give chase. That he should either call the cops or let him go—after all, all it would take was a nice pressure washer to erase whatever they painted—but something in him wouldn’t let his feet slow to a stop.

  When was the last time he had gotten to do something so physical? When had he had such a challenge that made his lungs burn and his blood surge inside of him? He felt alive, in a really bizarre way, and perhaps he should examine why.

  …another time. He was busy.

  Once more he was gaining on the figure, but they darted down an alley, turning on their heel almost like a dancer. He managed to skid and turn as well, although his arm and shoulder crashed into the wall of one of the buildings.

  Whoever it was, it was clear he knew where he was going. He darted, ducked, and used shortcuts that Solomon had no idea existed. He was a city denizen, that was for sure, and he was clearly headed somewhere specific.

  But still he ran, and finally they hit a straightaway, the figure booking it toward something or somewhere, but Solomon couldn’t make anything out in the dark beyond the streetlights. It was his chance to cut the final bit of distance between them.