Sweet and Wild (Winchester Wild Book 1)

by Carmen Jenner

  Sweet and Wild

  Winchester Wild Book One

  Carmen Jenner

  Copyright © 2020 Carmen Jenner

  Sweet and Wild

  Copyright © 2020 Carmen Jenner All rights reserved.

  carmenjenner.com

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. Thank you for respecting the author’s work and not pirating this book. Pirates suck!

  Sweet and Wild, Winchester Wild #1 published by Carmen Jenner August 1st, 2020

  carmen@carmenjenner.com

  Cover design © Tall Story

  Image Credit © Lindee Robinson Photography

  Editing by Creating Ink

  Dedicated to cowboys, dusty boots, and first loves which last a lifetime.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lemon

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Winchester.” The art dealer shakes my hand, and I can barely keep the smile from my face.

  “You too. Thank you so much again.”

  He nods and straightens his tie as he walks toward the door in his sharp Gucci suit.

  “Bye now.” I wave and cringe at the extra southerness in my voice. I’ve been in New York for twelve years, and no matter how I try, I still can’t drop this Texan accent. It’s ingrained in me, just like wild in the Winchester blood.

  Mr. Garcia leaves, and I run over and close the gallery doors, squealing like a slapped pig.

  “Honey, are you okay? Couldn’t help but notice you screaming like the South had risen again,” Ambrose—my employee of two years—calls from my office. I may pay his salary, but we have more of a casual working relationship based on the fact that we both love fine art, champagne, and everything fabulous.

  “Oh my God! Ambrose, get your butt out here.”

  He hurries down the staircase in that casual, I-give-zero-fucks attitude that all New Yorkers have mastered—well, all New Yorkers except me. I run to him and grab his hands, jumping up and down. He humors me, bouncing on the balls of his feet as excitedly as I am, though he has no idea why yet. “What are we so happy about, my little southern belle?”

  “That man who just left?”

  “Yeah. He’s a dealer, right? Garcia someone? He charges a huge commission on behalf of his clients. What the hell was he doing here?”

  “He just bought every single one of my paintings.”

  Ambrose’s jaw drops, which—come to think of it—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do. “Get the fuck out!”

  “No, I’m serious. He did.”

  “Who’s the buyer?”

  “I have no idea. They wished to remain anonymous.”

  “Holy shit. We need to go out and celebrate.”

  “Actually, I was hoping maybe you could close up for me and I could go celebrate with my very handsome and very busy fiancé?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fine. But you owe me. Drinks tomorrow night, on you.”

  “It’s a done deal.”

  He smooshes my cheeks. “I just love it when your inner Betty-Lou Sue comes out.”

  “Oh, hush.” I bat him away and put on my sternest boss face. I’ve been running this gallery for two years. It was a long, hard road to get here through art school and waiting tables, and then when I met Stavros, my life finally felt like it was coming together. I opened the gallery, he proposed, and I’ve never looked back since. “Are you sure you don’t mind closing up for me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re an angel.” I kiss his cheek.

  “I’m an angel who loves McQueen, just FYI.”

  I laugh and gather my purse and keys, making a mental note to pick up something special for him. Then I head outside and climb into my Ferrari 812 GTS that Stavros bought me for my thirtieth birthday.

  Stopping by a liquor store on my way to our Manhattan apartment, I pick up a bottle of Dom Pérignon. When I enter the building and wave to our doorman, he gives me an odd look. I’ve never quite won him over, sadly, which just gets my goat because I win everyone over, eventually.

  I hit the button for my floor and bounce on the balls of my feet as the elevator climbs all the way to the penthouse. When I open the front door of our apartment, the scent of Chinese food and freesias fills my nostrils. My best friend, Brooklyn, must be here.

  “Stavros? Brook?” I walk through the lounge, and sure enough my best friend is here—facedown on my couch with my piece-of-shit fiancé pile-driving her naked ass. The bottle of expensive champagne falls from my hands and shatters, spilling all over the Grecian tiles.

  Their stunned faces turn toward me, and Stavros jerks away from my best friend as if he’s actually surprised to find me here. Brook’s face is beet red as she covers herself with one of my throw cushions.

  “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “Lemon,” Stavros says, pulling on his pants. “This isn’t how it looks.”

  “Really? Because it looks like the two people I love the most are fucking one another on the couch I picked out.”

  Brooklyn finds her voice, and I really wish she hadn’t. “Lem, it’s … I’m really sorry. You know Stavros and I have history.”

  Being lifelong family friends and ex-lovers, they have history alright. I guess I’m just the only one who thought it was ancient.

  “Oh, I know all about history, because we are it.”

  “It was a mistake.” Brooklyn slips on her dress and heels. God only knows where her bra and panties got to. “I … thought I’d come keep Stav company because I know you’re always working so late, and then one thing led to another.”

  “Well bless your heart, Brooklyn. You did this for me? Get the fuck out of my apartment.” I turn to Stavros with a sneer. “And you?”

  “Baby—”

  “Don’t you dare baby me. This engagement is off.”

  “Lemon, don’t be like that.” Stav’s expression is contrite and one hundred percent bullshit. His lies stink worse than the cow pats my brothers used to push me into as a kid.

  I head into our bedroom and start opening drawers. I can’t be in the same room as him, and I’m suddenly regretting that bottle of expensive champagne. Stavros comes from money—big oil money handed down through generations of the Anagnos family. These past three years, I’ve been living a dream—expensive cars, designer clothes, and fancy restaurants this Texas farm girl had no right to be setting foot in—but my whole world just came to a crashing halt because not only is my fiancé cheating on me with my best friend, but I’m now homeless too. I can’t afford a shoebox in New York, with everything I earn going back into the gallery. I start pulling out drawers and tossing clothing, shoes, and jewelry on the bed.

  “Baby, let’s talk about this.”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

  “You know when you’re mad, that cute southern accent comes out. It makes me so fucking hard.” He leans down and kisses me on the neck. I cringe, because Lord only knows where that mouth has been. I turn in his arms, look him dead in the eye, and knee him in the balls. Stavros bends double and falls to the plush Persian carpet, rolling into a fetal position as he gasps for breath. “Jesus.”

  “If you ever touch me again, I will castrate you. And I grew up on the finest ranch in all of Texas, so trust me when I say, I know exactly how.” A pang of longing bolts right to my heart when I think of home, when I think of him. And how my bro
thers would kill Stavros if they too had witnessed the horrors in that living room.

  I grab the duffle bag containing my clothing and essentials. I don’t bother with my purses or heels, but I do head to the bathroom and grab my makeup and skincare, because wrinkles are real, y’all.

  My phone rings as I leave the apartment. I glance at Wyatt’s face on my screen. My baby brother doesn’t call me all that often, but when he does, it’s important. I close my eyes and contemplate not answering. But I can’t do that—not if Wyatt needs me—so I take a deep breath and hit the button to take his call.

  “Lemon?” My little brother’s voice breaks and I freeze.

  “Wyatt? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Daddy, Lemon. Daddy’s dead.” My bag slips off my shoulder and I lean against my apartment door as the ringing starts in my ears. My throat turns bone-dry, my stomach twists in knots, and my heart feels like it’s just been ripped right from my chest.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lemon

  Thirty coffees, Johnny Cash’s greatest hits on repeat, and three shitty motel stays after I got off the phone to Wyatt, I follow that white line and pull into a diner lot to visit the restroom. I’m in Marshfield, Missouri, or Springfield, or somewhere else I’ve never cared to visit. I should have just caught a flight to Memphis, Texas, and had one of my brothers come pick me up, but no way was I leaving my car with Stavros. It’s the only possession aside from the gallery that’s in my name. The clothes, heels, and expensive Persian rugs, I could take or leave. I never needed any of that stuff to be happy, but my car is my baby, and I refuse to leave it behind. I may need it yet to live in when I go back to New York.

  I splash my face with water in the restroom and grimace as the huge diamond on my finger twinkles in the overhead lights. Stavros’s words when he gave me this ring come floating back to me. “You’re special.” “Unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” No good, cheating liar. I wish I really had castrated him. There ain’t nothing special about Lemon Winchester. If there was, he wouldn’t have slept with my best friend.

  I know running away with my tail between my legs is not how my mama and daddy raised me, but I won’t stay in a relationship with a cheater. I’m worth more than that.

  I don’t know what the hell I’ll do when I come back to the city. Ambrose agreed to take care of the gallery for the next few weeks, but heading home to Red River Canyon wasn’t in my five-year plan. Yet, here I am, driving a Ferrari across the country to the ranch I grew up on.

  I leave the diner restroom, grab a couple of snacks from the vending machine outside, and head back to my car. I blast Dolly from the speakers, because like my mama always said, there’s nothing a Dolly song, some elbow grease, and a little hair spray can’t fix.

  The sun is melting into the horizon and the day’s dust is settling as I drive up the dirt road and through the gate at Winchester Wild Ranch. I park in front of the house and just sit in my car, unable to believe I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. The engine ticks as it cools, the last rays of sunlight glance off the dash, and I let out a deep breath.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I whisper, fighting back tears as I remember him sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch, whiskey in hand, condensation trickling down the glass as the heat of the day bled away into a balmy night. Now, I’ll never get the chance to see him again.

  A man with a cowboy hat pulled low on his head, tight Wranglers, and worn dusty boots comes flying out of the house. “You can’t park here, ma’am. This is private property. The bed-and-breakfast is three miles down the road.”

  I open my door, climb out of the car, and for the first time in twelve years, I come face-to-face with my first love. Colton Hayes. I don’t have a single childhood memory without that boy in it. “Hi, Colt.”

  He tips his hat, those eyes narrowing under heavy brows as he looks me over from head to toe. The hurt on his face is evident as he whispers my name like a curse. “Lemonade?”

  “The one and only.”

  “What are you doing here?” he barks.

  I shrug one shoulder. “I could ask you the same thing. The gate has my last name on it, after all.”

  “Right.” Colt’s eyes narrow. “Well, you’ll forgive me for not knowing what you’re changing your name to these days. It seems you’ve had a few options.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where’s your husband, Lemonade?”

  “It’s just Lemon now,” I bite out. I have no intention of divulging the humiliating whereabouts of my ex-fiancé.

  His brow furrows but he quickly schools those perfect, chiseled features and folds his huge arms across his chest. “Well then, Lemon now, welcome home. Are you staying long?”

  “I don’t know, Colt. My daddy just died of a massive heart attack, and my whole world was blown apart, so I figured I’d come home for a little while to lick my wounds. Is that okay with you?” I shake my head. I should have known this was the wrong thing to do. I should have stayed far, far away, so I never had to see that face, or those gray eyes again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …” I brush past his wide shoulders. “I need to see my family.”

  “Right, I forgot I was never a part of that.”

  I spin around and stalk closer, keeping my voice low, “You know what? I’ve been driving for several damn days straight. I just got here and already you’re startin’ in, so what is it you want from me, Colton?”

  “Well excuse the hell outta me.” He laughs. “I guess you really can’t take the country out of the girl.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Oh, and to answer your question”—he leans into my personal space, and for half a second I think he’s going to try to kiss me, but he opens his mouth and all of the butterflies in my stomach crumble to ash— “I don’t want nothin’ from you, least of all that.”

  I pull away to see his face, and that smirk that I had always loved so much spears me right through the chest. Colt backs away, and then climbs into a truck that I remember all too well. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice it when I pulled in.

  He kicks over the engine and careens out of the drive at breakneck speed, and all I can do is stand there with tears in my eyes and my mouth hanging open. If I thought Colton was rock-my-world kind of handsome when we were teens, he’s so much better now. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a toned muscled body, and tighter jeans than he has a right to be wearing, but it isn’t any of those things that drives the knife through my chest. It’s the way those steely eyes assessed me as if I were the enemy that really broke my heart, especially after he’d spent so long looking at me like I hung the moon and stars.

  “There’s no place like home,” I mutter under my breath as the screen door opens and I turn to see who else has come to give me a piece of their mind. Mama, Wyatt, Wade, and West all stand on the front porch. Mama had a thing for W’s. Except when it came to me—I was special. That’s what she always told me. I silently curse her for filling my head with lies. If I’m so damn special, why did my fiancé cheat and my ex-boyfriend run outta here like the devil was chasing him the second I returned home?

  My family’s faces are a mixture of relief, somber delight, and total and utter boredom from West and Wade.

  “Hi.” I wave.

  “Lemonade,” Mama says on a sob as she rushes toward me and engulfs me in her arms. She’s always been fit from working the land alongside my daddy, but right now, she’s skin and bone. I’m afraid to hold her too tightly for fear she might snap.

  “Hi, Mama,” I say, as the floodgates open. She squeezes me tightly.

  “I’ve missed my baby so much. It’s been too long since you been home, girl.”

  “I know.” I sniff and pull away.

  “You doing okay?”

  I shake my head and swipe my tears with the heels of my hands. At least Colt wasn’t here to see me fall apart. I bet he’d just love another opportunity to rub it in.

  “Alright, Mama,” Wyatt says. “Quit hoggin’ my little sister’s hugs.
”

  “Little sister? I’m older than you.”

  Wyatt wraps his arms around me in a hug and squeezes so tight he lifts me off the ground, managing to crack every one of my vertebrae. “Yeah, but no one really remembers that.”

  “Oh my God. You actually grew into your gangly limbs.” I glance at West and Wade, still standing by the doors with arms folded across their chests—the mirror image of one another save for a little gray in West’s hair. “What have you been feedin’ them, Mama? Y’all grew like weeds.”

  “That’s what happens when you leave and don’t come back for twelve years. People tend to change,” West says.

  “Hiya to you too, West.”

  “Come on now,” Mama says. “We don’t need no fightin’. Daddy wouldn’t want this reunion spoiled by harsh words.”

  “Daddy wouldn’t have wanted his only daughter to disown her family either,” Wade says, sounding just like he took the spit out of West’s mouth.

  “You bite your tongue, Wade Winchester,” Mama warns.

  Wade bows his head and has the good grace to look ashamed.

  “You must be starvin’ and exhausted from your trip. Dinner’s about ready. You go on and get cleaned up. West, Wade, you bring your sister’s bags.”

  “Mama,” Wade whines. “Why us? Why isn’t Wyatt helpin’?”

  “Because Wyatt wasn’t an asshole to his sister just now.”

  “It’s okay. I can take my own bags inside.”

  “You afraid we’re gonna go through your shit and you’ll wake up tomorrow with your lacey underthings decorating the cow pats in the field?” Wade smirks, and I roll my eyes.

  Wyatt grins. “You’d have to be unafraid to touch her lacey underthings first.”

  “Wait.” Wade punches our little brother in the arm. “That’s your worst fear, isn’t it?”

  “Only when it comes to the parts that are in them lacey underthings,” Wyatt says coolly.