What Happens at the Ranch...

by Christy Jeffries

  “So I’m a distraction?”

  Grayson stepped toward her, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his thumb to linger against her cheek. “The very best kind. But to do my job well, I have to be thinking clearly at all times. You and your family deserve me at my best. No matter how much I want to strip off every single article of clothing you’re wearing and see the real woman underneath, the fact remains that I’m on assignment right now.”

  A shiver of delight raced along Tessa’s spine and she smiled at him, a challenge forming on her lips. “That implies that there will come a time when you aren’t on duty. A time when this assignment is over.”

  “When that time comes, Miss King, there won’t be a couple of layers of denim in between us. I’ll lie back and let you call all the shots.” Grayson’s promise caused a fluttering sensation deep within her belly. He picked up his coat and dug the keys out of his pocket. “But in the meantime, I’m in the driver’s seat.”

  * * *

  TWIN KINGS RANCH: A homecoming to remember...

  Dear Reader,

  Coming from a large (and blended) family myself, I’ve always wanted to write a multigenerational series about a lovably dysfunctional family. After all, who wants to read about characters with perfect parents and perfect siblings who never disagree? That would be so unrelatable since even the most well-meaning and likable families don’t always get along.

  Whether they’re the people you were born with or the people you choose, families can often be messy and complicated and supportive and familiar and frustrating all at the same time. One minute you love them like crazy and the next minute they’re driving you up a wall. In fact, I often explain my relationship with a certain family member—who hopefully isn’t reading this!—in these terms: If they needed a kidney, I would happily give them one of my own. But only if our hospital rooms were on two separate floors.

  I’m just kidding! Mostly.

  In What Happens at the Ranch..., the first book in my new Twin Kings series, I introduce the unpredictable and unique King family, who reunite at the funeral of their larger-than-life patriarch. Mistakes are made, boundaries are crossed and old wounds come back to haunt them as they forge their new paths. And for those of you who are fans of my Sugar Falls, Idaho series, you’ll recognize one of my favorite characters ever—the colorful and opinionated Freckles—dispensing her sage advice along the way.

  For more information on my other Special Edition books, visit my website at christyjeffries.com or chat with me on Twitter at @christyjeffries. You can also find me on Facebook and Instagram. I’d love to hear from you.

  Enjoy,

  Christy Jeffries

  www.Facebook.com/AuthorChristyJeffries

  www.Twitter.com/ChristyJeffries (@ChristyJeffries)

  www.Instagram.com/Christy_Jeffries/

  What Happens at the Ranch...

  Christy Jeffries

  Christy Jeffries graduated from the University of California, Irvine, with a degree in criminology and received her Juris Doctor from California Western School of Law. But drafting court documents and working in law enforcement was merely an apprenticeship for her current career in the dynamic field of mommyhood and romance writing. She lives in Southern California with her patient husband, two energetic sons and one sassy grandmother. Follow her online at christyjeffries.com.

  Books by Christy Jeffries

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Sugar Falls, Idaho

  A Marine for His Mom

  Waking Up Wed

  From Dare to Due Date

  The Matchmaking Twins

  The Makeover Prescription

  A Proposal for the Officer

  A Family Under the Stars

  Furever Yours

  It Started with a Pregnancy

  Montana Mavericks

  The Maverick’s Bridal Bargain

  Montana Mavericks: The Lonelyhearts Ranch

  The Maverick’s Christmas to Remember

  Montana Mavericks: What Happened to Beatrix

  His Christmas Cinderella

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  To specialist Jeremy Colwell, my first baby brother, who arrived to a house already filled with the bossiest and most attention-demanding siblings ever, yet still found a way to become the glue that holds us all together. I love your morning calls, your listening skills and your steel-trap memory that rivals a herd of elephants’. No matter how many nieces or nephews or in-laws get added to the mix, you always remember everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries and accomplishments. And you always have the best family stories. I can’t wait until you write a book of your own.

  Contents

  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

  Excerpt from The Child Who Changed Them by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Chapter One

  Tessa King never shied away from an army of television cameras pointed in her direction. But she’d never had to face those familiar lenses from the opposite side of her father’s flag-draped casket.

  Until today.

  Tessa took a deep breath and inhaled the competing scents of flower arrangements and breath mints as she eyed the cheap boxes of tissue the First Congregation of Teton Ridge placed in each pew for the thousands of mourners who’d come to pay their final respects.

  Of course, not everyone could fit inside the community church built long before nearby Jackson Hole, Wyoming, had become a popular resort destination. Vice President Roper King could have had a much grander, more formal in-state funeral at the rotunda of the United States Capitol. However, Tessa’s father was well-known for bucking trends and doing things his own way. That was probably why he hadn’t told anyone but his wife about the pancreatic cancer diagnosis. Instead, he’d let his children and his staff think he was returning to the family ranch for a much needed vacation away from the constant demands of Washington, DC.

  While small, this church was the most fitting place to hold the patriarch’s final send-off. It was where all of the biggest moments in Roper’s life had occurred. His baptism. His first, third and fourth marriages (the family never discussed wife number two). The christenings of all six of his children, whom he referred to as his late-in-life blessings. And the announcements of his campaigns to run for state senate and, later, governor of Wyoming.

  Despite rising through the political ranks and becoming the vice president of the United States of America, Roper King had always remained humble. Especially when he told people that he’d taken his first breath on the Twin Kings Ranch and that’s where he’d take his last.

  It would’ve been nice if you’d told us ahead of time that you already knew the final one was coming sooner than we expected, Daddy, Tessa thought as she stared across the aisle at the rest of her family. She was supposed to be sitting in the front row with her mother and five siblings. However, the last time they’d all been to this church together was when they were young children and everyone could still fit on one of the small wooden pews. Nobody had anticipated the fact that while they’d all grown up, everything else in this town had remained the same. Plus, her network producers had thought it more st
rategic for her to sit on this side of the church, in the same camera shot as some of the most powerful leaders in the world, so she’d volunteered to relocate.

  She should’ve told the network bigwigs to go screw themselves, but she was currently in negotiations for a syndicated weekly series and these kinds of opportunities didn’t come around too often.

  So instead of being able to lean against her mother, or even her favorite brother, Duke, for physical and emotional support, Tessa was squished next to the current president of the United States. Normally a distinguished woman, the president’s teeth kept making a loud clicking sound every time she shifted her cough drop from one side of her mouth to the other. The president’s husband, who sat beside his wife, kept adding her discarded wrappers to the ball-shaped wad of cellophane he was crinkling in his palm. Tessa would have been annoyed at their distracting sounds if she hadn’t already caught the First Gentleman consoling the president with a tender hug while they’d waited in the shadows of the church’s alcove before the service started. He’d been whispering to his wife that the cool menthol would help limit her sniffling and soothe her throat for the eulogy she had to deliver.

  Everyone was mourning the loss of her father, not just Tessa.

  Still. She had never felt so alone. She’d been nauseous since the first speaker had started his twenty-minute eulogy and there’d been several speakers since. Even though she’d had absolutely no appetite this past week, she’d gone against her better judgment and forced herself to drink one of her mom’s plant-based protein smoothies this morning. Another queasy wave rolled deep in her belly.

  Clearly, that smoothie had been a mistake.

  There was no air movement in this old church and Tessa could feel her cheeks growing warmer with each labored breath. The wooden pews had been drenched with furniture polish in anticipation of the biggest media event Ridgecrest County had ever seen, and the silky fabric of her couture black dress caused her to slink lower and lower in her seat.

  Keep it together, she commanded her aching head as she strategically propped the toe of her black pump against the hymnal shelf in an effort to angle the rest of her body into a more upright position.

  Unfortunately, the speakers kept speaking, the president kept sucking on a cough drop to keep from sniffling, Tessa kept sliding lower and the cameras kept rolling.

  She needed to get out of there.

  Finally, a large white screen rolled down from the ceiling and a video montage began. Photos of her father flashed behind the casket as somber orchestra music played through the speakers overhead. Daddy hated orchestra music and he hated drawn-out affairs like this. Whoever was in charge of this production would’ve been fired from Tessa’s set if they’d put together such a formulaic and frivolous piece.

  But then the image on the screen changed to a picture of her father standing next to the diving board at the Twin Kings’ pool. Roper King had his hands cupped around his mouth as he called out last-minute instructions to ten-year-old Tessa, who was poised on the springboard a few feet above the deep end. Even though she’d gone on to win numerous medals in diving competitions during her teen years, she still remembered the exact words he’d been saying to her in that picture.

  “Don’t worry about all those twists and flips, Tess. Just jump high and dive deep.”

  But it was the twists and the flips that had won her medals. It was also one of those particularly bad twist-and-flip combinations that had cost her a spot at the Junior National Championships. And her diving career. And so much more.

  Tessa’s fingertips instinctively traced the smooth scar the surgeon had thoughtfully hidden along her hairline.

  Her head began to pound as the video screen went fuzzy. She gulped, but her mouth was too dry to swallow. The walls of the church felt as if they were closing in on her and the flowers surrounding the casket seemed to be doubling in size. This time when she slid lower in the slippery pew, she hoped the ground would swallow her up.

  Tessa’s throat tightened. There was no way this could be happening now. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack since that day she’d climbed back onto a springboard after her head surgery. Her rehab therapist at the time had explained that traumatic brain injury could cause anxiety, especially when faced with memories of the past event.

  Her brain tried to tell her rising heart rate that she was older now. And nowhere near a diving board, let alone a swimming pool. Yet, no matter how many times Tessa’s normally logical mind tried to remind her of this fact, her lungs wouldn’t cooperate and she couldn’t suck in enough oxygen. Just like back then, she needed to get away from the pressure of failure.

  Ignoring the queasiness in her stomach and the shakiness in her knees, she rose from her seat too quickly and tripped over an extension cable as she ran down the center aisle toward the exit. If there were any murmurs from the crowd or any cameras turned in her direction, she didn’t know. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her head and all she could focus on were the giant double doors ahead of her. Outside, the crisp January breeze smacked her in the face, but she didn’t slow her pace. Tessa made it down the first set of steps before crashing into a man wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses.

  * * *

  “Be advised, one of the mares has left the corral. Appears to be Precision.”

  Special Agent Grayson Wyatt heard the radioed communication in his earpiece right before the church doors flung open. The Secret Service agency’s Protective Intelligence Division had come up with the code names for the members of the King family, and Grayson immediately recognized this particular “mare” as the former vice president’s oldest daughter—the one whose face was on TV every night appearing cool as a cucumber as she argued with her adversaries.

  Tessa King’s code name was Precision, a fact that immediately put Grayson on high alert because the young woman stumbling toward him appeared to be anything but precise.

  When she slammed into his chest, Grayson’s hands latched onto her upper arms to steady them both.

  “What happened?” he barked, scanning the area behind her for any sign of chaos or a mass exodus of people that would indicate a much bigger crisis was currently underway. Yet the only person who had followed her outside was one of the agents assigned to vestibule detail.

  “I can’t stay here.” Her words were rushed and her heavily made-up eyes blinked back her panic. “I’m gonna...” Tessa King attempted a ragged breath but couldn’t seem to draw in any air. Instead, there was a low gagging sound in her throat and she heaved the contents of her stomach directly onto the concrete step to the right of his polished wingtips.

  He moved to the left before a second heave, which was thankfully less productive, yet kept one hand on her trembling shoulder, trying to block the public’s view from a rather indelicate situation. When it seemed as if the vomiting had subsided, he patted his empty pockets in vain, wishing he hadn’t foregone the decorative handkerchief when he’d purchased his last batch of suits and ties for this assignment.

  Grayson stepped in closer. “Ma’am, do you need me to help you to the restroom?”

  Her pupils were dilated and glazed over, her entire body now shaking. She was either high as a kite or in the middle of a medical crisis. Possibly both.

  “Ma’am. Can you hear me?”

  “So dizzy,” she slurred, grabbing onto the lapels of Grayson’s suit jacket right as her legs gave way.

  There was no time to form any sort of plan. He’d been trained to react to emergency situations—even when he wasn’t sure what the emergency exactly was—and his instincts kicked into gear. Grayson easily swung the woman up into his arms. Her eyes were a bit glassy, but her lids were still open, which meant she wasn’t unconscious. Yet.

  “Wyatt has intercepted Precision,” the team leader said over the radio, which transmitted into Grayson’s earpiece. While it wasn’t the same thing as hearin
g the words Code 4 or All Clear, it was basically his team’s way of communicating that he could handle the situation so that everyone else could maintain their assigned tasks.

  “Hate...that...stupid...code name,” the woman in his arms gasped between short breaths. Then her head fell against his shoulder as she went completely limp. Getting her medical assistance became his top priority. Unfortunately, the Emergency Response Team was on the rear side of the church building, stationed away from all the people and news crews.

  A blinding flash of cameras exploded behind the temporary barricades where several officers from the uniformed division were trying to hold back a small crowd. Quickly adjusting his priorities to include both medical aid and now protective cover, Grayson rushed her to the closest car where she would be out of the line of sight.

  “Take us around to the rear of the church,” Grayson told the surprised driver in the front as he laid the woman on the narrow strip of carpet in the open area in the back of the car.

  As the vehicle pulled forward, Grayson spoke into the microphone attached to the clear wire running behind his ear. “Be advised Precision has fainted. We are en route to the ERT staging area so the medics on scene can examine her without compromising the security of the main entrance or impeding the primary evacuation route with additional personnel.”

  “Roger that,” the supervising agent in charge replied over the radio. “Ambulance is on standby.”

  There was the unmistakable sound of screeching tires as a white news van swerved in front of them, causing their tense driver to jerk the steering wheel to the right. Grayson’s head thumped against the roof and one of the black silk curtains came loose from its holder over the side window. He hoped the guy driving them to safety had been trained in evasion maneuvers.

  Tessa’s eyes fluttered open and Grayson scanned the parking lot behind them for any additional threats while simultaneously placing his fingers on Tessa King’s neck to check her pulse. The skin at the base of her collarbone was warm and softer than anything he’d touched in quite a long time.