Desert Heart
Page 1
Desert Heart
The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch
by
Anna Lowe
Book 4
Desert Heart
Copyright © 2015 by Anna Lowe
author@annalowebooks.com
Editing by Lisa A. Hollett
Cover art by Fiona Jayde Media
www.FionaJaydeMedia.com
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
Other books in this series
The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch
Desert Hunt (the Prequel)
Desert Moon (Book 1)
Desert Wolf: Complete Collection (Four short stories)
Desert Blood (Book 2)
Desert Fate (Book 3)
Desert Heart (Book 4)
Desert Yule (a short story)
Desert Rose (Book 5)
Desert Roots (Book 6)
Sasquatch Surprise (a Twin Moon spin-off story)
visit www.annalowebooks.com
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Desert Wolf: Friend or Foe (Book 1.1 in the Twin Moon Ranch series)
Off the Charts (the prequel to the Serendipity Adventure series)
Perfection (the prequel to the Blue Moon Saloon series)
Contents
Other books in this series
Desert Heart
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Desert Rose
Sneak Peak II
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Desert Heart
As oldest daughter of the retired alpha, Tina Hawthorne lives to serve her pack. She’s never been tempted to throw caution to the wind for a man — until Rick Rivera returns. The sweet boy from the adjoining ranch is all grown up, but that doesn’t make the irresistible human any more suitable as a mate. Especially with a dangerous new foe haunting the night and with Rick harboring a few secrets — and enemies — of his own.
There’s more than meets the eye on Twin Moon Ranch, home to a pack of shapeshifting wolves willing to battle for life and love.
Chapter One
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* * *
Tina pulled in a long, steadying breath, wishing she could tell her brother to do the same. He drove the pickup down the rutted dirt road, muttering and glaring at every bush. Another five minutes of that and it wouldn’t surprise her if one of them burst into flames. His left hand was clenched white on the wheel; his right scratched at his ear.
“Damn ranch.”
He didn’t mean Twin Moon Ranch—their home, their legacy. A place their father had toiled over for more than a century. Under the leadership of her brothers, Twin Moon pack was prospering. Their finances were solid, the future promising.
No, Ty wasn’t cursing over things at home. He was cursing the neighboring property. Seymour Ranch.
So many memories there. So much heartache.
Tina wound a length of her hair around her finger and tried sending out calm vibes. She sure could use some—and her brother could, too. Ty was just like their father: he hated change, especially when it came to their corner of Arizona. Every stranger, every new face was a cause for suspicion. And in some ways, he was right. Even when things on the ranch ran smoothly, the outside world didn’t cease to pose a threat. There was always one danger or another lurking out there. They’d had to fight off rogue shifters twice in recent years, not to mention a vampire intrusion. Tension with rival packs was a constant, too.
She watched prickly pear blur past, waving their thorns in warning. Trouble was always afoot. The only question was where it would come from next.
“Damn that old bat and her will,” Ty continued.
“Ty!” That, she wouldn’t stand for. “Mrs. Seymour was a sweet woman. Don’t you ever forget how nice she was to us!”
Ty clenched his jaw and wobbled it right, then left—the closest he ever came to retracting his own words. His gaze, though, went softer. He had to remember the home-baked cookies, the Thanksgiving feasts. Or at least, the couple of feasts their father had let them attend before he decided to slam the door shut. Mrs. Seymour had given them a little taste of normalcy, especially after their mother had taken off. She’d always had a gentle smile and soft words for the Hawthorne kids. For everyone, actually.
“Damn her will, then,” Ty muttered.
That, she had to give him. Although Lucy Seymour had passed away several years ago, there were still surprises popping out of her will—or rather, her wills. Because an addendum to the original had recently surfaced. The lawyers had gone over it with a fine-tooth comb and declared it legit. Unusual, but legit.
“Secret heir?” Ty scowled. “What was she thinking?”
“She must have had her reasons.” Although for the life of her, Tina couldn’t think why Lucy Seymour would leave everything to a secret heir. The rumor mill was rife with speculation on who that might be, since the Seymours had been childless. An illegitimate son, maybe? An old friend? A former lover?
Whoever it was, he or she was keeping a low profile, letting lawyers and the new manager—a person also specified in the will—handle things for now.
“Damn thing, bringing in a new manager out of nowhere,” Ty grunted.
“It is odd.” Dale Gordon had been foreman of Seymour Ranch for decades. He’d run things capably enough in the period of limbo that followed Lucy Seymour’s death. Why rock the boat now? “I bet Dale is delighted.”
Ty snorted. “I bet.”
She sighed. “Look, we’ll be there in another mile. And, who knows? Maybe we’ll find out the new manager isn’t such a bad guy.”
“Right.”
Dale Gordon was no saint, but he was a known entity, while the new manager was not. And in Ty’s mind, a man was guilty until proven innocent.
He did, however, stop scratching his ear long enough to snag one of the cookies Tina held on a plate in her lap.
“Hey!” She slapped at her brother’s hand. “Those are for the new manager. Our new neighbor.”
“Perfectly good cookies…”
“We’re showing that we’re friendly.”
Ty’s scowl etched deep lines on his weathered face.
“You look just like Dad when you do that,” she murmured.
He scowled deeper then went through a series of facial contortions to adopt a look of ferocious displeasure that was uniquely his own. Tina held back a chuckle. Her olde
r brother had spent his entire childhood wanting to be a big, bad alpha just like their father, only to realize he wanted to be nothing like the old man at all. He’d softened up a little, Ty had, letting out a little more human and less wolf. Mating had been good for him. Parenthood, too. Tina sent out a silent thanks to whatever fate had paired her brother with a woman like Lana.
Ty waved the cookie in the direction of Seymour Ranch, then shoved it in his mouth. “You planning on buttering the guy up?”
If the front bench of the truck hadn’t been so wide, she’d have jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Definitely not. And it could be a woman for all we know.”
Five years ago, Ty might have laughed that comment away, but now he knew better. Another thing he’d learned from his more-than-capable mate.
They drove on in silence. Ty took the last two turns and slowed to coast under the double S brand hanging from the Seymour Ranch gate, then pulled to a halt in front of the homestead. A tall figure separated itself from the shadows of the porch and stepped into the sunlight to greet them.
Tina blinked and bit back a gasp.
The new manager was no woman.
The new manager was no stranger.
The new manager was… Christ, not him.
Chapter Two
Tina brought her hands to her eyes, then peeked out, but even that couldn’t shake reality away. It really was him, in the flesh and raging-hot blood. That easy smile, that athletic frame were unmistakable.
She told herself to straighten her shoulders and pretend there was nothing to notice, nothing to remember. But who was she kidding? Rick was back and her body and soul were already singing for his touch.
“Coming?” Ty grumbled, shoving his door open.
She slid out slowly, holding the plate of cookies before her like a shield. Knowing damn well she’d never find any form of defense against the appeal of this particular man.
The Seymour Ranch manager strode over with the easy, fluid movement of an athlete in his prime. Flannel stretched wide over shoulders rounded with muscle. The checkered pattern across his broad chest led to a waistline that promised rippled abs. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet, at ease yet ready for anything.
Her brother offered him a stiff hand and a glare. “Ty Hawthorne.”
Rick didn’t blink, nor did he wince at the squeeze Ty must have been hiding in that handshake. His eyes might have been more guarded than she remembered, but the easy, honest smile was the same.
“I remember,” he said, nodding. “I’m Rick. Rick Rivera.”
Of course he would remember Ty. He’d remember her, too. The question was, how would he see her now? As a passing fancy from foolish days as a youth, or as something more?
Tina stopped breathing when he turned her way. Part of her mind jumped to the memory of the kiss to end all kisses, the night to end all nights. Had that been just another brush of the lips, another ordinary night to a man like him? She could still taste the rich flavor of him. Still feel the sparks shooting through her body. And Christ, that was over a decade ago. That shared night under the stars when they’d lain skin-to-skin, two giddy teenagers flushed with a high of their bodies’ own making? Did he remember that as more than just his first time?
Because men moved on from their conquests and didn’t look back, right? Especially men who went on to pro baseball careers with million-dollar contracts, as Rick had done. Tina knew; she’d been following his career all along. A little too closely for her own good. The earnest kid from humble beginnings—son of the cook at the ranch next door—had made it to the big leagues.
And now he was back and looking at her with an expression that gave nothing away.
Fast-track careers like his came with a thousand drooling groupies, she knew. And though most of the pictures she’d seen over the years showed Rick swinging in one home run after another, a few photos captured him with eye candy clinging to his arm—women with plunging necklines, silky dresses, and bulging cleavage. How could the memory of a couple sweet nights with a country girl like her compete with that?
Rick’s eyes met hers, and her memories rushed into an overwhelming blur, like a landscape seen from a carnival ride. The kind that terrified you, even if you never wanted to get off.
“Tina,” he said quietly. The warmth of his hand on hers sent a ripple through her body. “It’s been a long time.”
Seven years since their last, rushed encounter, and another five back to the time when they’d spent breathless nights together, all summer long. That made twelve long years. Tina knew. She’d counted every day, every night.
Too long, her body sang.
Not long enough, huffed the tiny section of her brain that still worked. Because for all the smoothness in Rick’s voice, she could feel a tiny, hopeful tremor in his hand.
He remembered, all right.
The realization rocketed through every nerve in her body, which wasn’t a good thing. If he felt the buzz that she’d never forgotten, it would be harder than ever to stay away. Hard to stay away from those earnest, golden-brown eyes that shone with some secret wish she’d never been able to figure out. Hard to keep her fingers from raking through that thick brown hair the way she still did in her dreams.
It would be impossible to say no to this man one more time.
“Hello, Rick,” she managed.
In some ways, he hadn’t changed a bit: same dimple on the left cheek, same perfect teeth. Time had been good to him. He’d gone from cute rookie to smoking hot pro. His face had an extra line or two, just enough to hint at the depth of character inside. He was only a couple of inches taller than her but easily twice her weight, with most of his bulk in his shoulders and chest—the chest slowly rising and falling, just inches away. She caught her hand sneaking up toward that broad expanse, ready to rest over his heart to feel the beat.
Which, of course, she couldn’t do. Not with her brother a foot away. Not with Dale Gordon, the Seymour Ranch foreman, stamping up from behind. Not with her inner wolf wagging its tail like a bitch in heat.
Dale nodded his greeting; Ty grunted back. The cowboys of Arizona had their own brand of charm, and social graces weren’t high on their list. Rick was somewhere in between, as he’d always been: a country boy who’d acquired just enough polish without forgetting his roots. The man was one in a million. But she’d known that from the very start.
“You’re the new manager,” Ty barked.
So much for starting with cookies and a cup of tea.
Tina dragged her eyes from Rick just in time to catch Dale’s scowl. Wasn’t hard to miss, nor was the slight tightening of Rick’s shoulders in response. But Rick’s easy expression remained unfazed.
“That’s me.”
The two men stood eye to eye like a couple of wary steer.
“And what about the owner?” Ty barreled on. “When can I talk to him?”
Most men, Tina figured, would have puffed out their chests and put their own importance on parade. Rick just gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, no can do.”
He said it with quiet confidence—the kind that came from a man who could admit his mistakes and move on. The eagerness to please had faded, replaced by a firm, take-it-or-leave-it sureness of a man who’d proven himself a thousand times over.
Except when those eyes flicked to hers, there was a gleam that said he had one last thing to prove. Not to Ty or Dale or anyone else. Not to any other woman. Only to her.
Christ, she was a goner. It had taken all she had to turn him down in the past. Twice. There’d been their time together as teens, and that one visit he’d made home in between, when the two of them couldn’t resist the temptation to jump into each another’s arms yet again. He’d even asked her to go with him when he left.
“Come with me, Tina. Marry me. Be mine.”
“I can’t.” The hoarse whisper she’d barely managed then was on the tip of her tongue now.
Somehow, she’d forced herself to do the right thing back then and
say no. She didn’t have it in her to do it again.
But now Rick was back and playing to win.
Tina pulled in a long, slow breath. It would be so much easier if she could just tell him. Rick, you’re human, and I’m a shifter. We can’t be together. It would never work. The pack needs me, and they’ll never accept you.
Wolves were highly territorial, and Rick, though no shifter, was all alpha male. The leading triad of her pack—her father and her two brothers—would treat Rick like any other intruder if he got too close.
As in, kill him on sight.
Even this little bit of contact with Rick got Ty’s wolf riled up. And if she tried bringing Rick home? Forget it.
She shouldn’t—couldn’t—love Rick. It just couldn’t be.
But the mind and the heart were two different things, and hers was long lost to the boy next door.
By the time she worked up the nerve to meet his eyes again, Rick’s gaze was back on Ty. “The new owner is a very private man,” he said. “I’ve only ever dealt with the lawyer myself.”
“What kind of man doesn’t want to run his own ranch?” Ty grumbled, kicking the sand.
Behind Rick, Tina saw Dale spit a wad of tobacco and scowl at Rick. Definitely bad blood there.
Rick shook his head, a small but firm gesture. “I don’t know who he is, but I’m sure he wants to maintain good relations with the neighbors.”
Ty snorted. “He can start by meeting the neighbors.”
Rick gave a tiny shrug, and Tina couldn’t help but marvel. Not even her brother could shake him. Of course, standing down one-hundred-mile-an-hour pitches in front of fifty thousand screaming fans probably made for good practice when it came to facing enemy fire.
“And what about the aquifer?” Ty went on, unrelenting.