Fearless in Texas
Page 1
Also by Kari Lynn Dell
TEXAS RODEO
Reckless in Texas
Tangled in Texas
Tougher in Texas
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Copyright © 2018 by Kari Lynn Dell
Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Craig White
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
A Sneak Peek of Mistletoe in Texas
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Rodeo 101
Would You Like to Know More?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To my husband, who’s still cheering me on even though this writing gig takes longer to turn a profit than the cattle business.
Chapter 1
The instant Wyatt’s fingers came to rest on Melanie’s bare skin, they both cursed—a mutual, almost silent hiss, too quiet for any of the crowd encircling the nearly empty dance floor to hear over the music. Their steps didn’t falter. They didn’t blink. But he didn’t pretend he couldn’t feel the jolt at the inevitable, unavoidable contact…and neither did Melanie.
He smiled—a generic, just making conversation smile that would fool anyone besides the woman looking him directly in the eye. “Well. This is inconvenient.”
“Extremely,” Melanie agreed.
He didn’t bother to move his hand. The cut of her emerald-green halter-top bridesmaid dress left him with no alternatives other than her exposed back or her satin-covered butt. Her long, straight chestnut hair had been pinned into a tousled updo with tendrils that trailed down her neck, begging a man to twirl them around his fingers.
Damn Violet for being the one woman on earth determined to make her maid of honor look as hot as sin.
As they circled the floor, eyebrows were raised and glances exchanged. He was aware of the picture they made—him blond and elegant, at ease in the tuxedo that made the other cowboys tug at neckties and fidget with cummerbunds; her following his lead as effortlessly as if they’d been dancing together for years. They were sleek and athletic, glowing with the pheromones that had been accumulating, molecule by molecule, over the enforced proximity created by two days of the standard pre-wedding hullabaloo.
Wyatt flicked a glance toward the bride and groom, so wrapped up in each other they wouldn’t have noticed if their attendants had broken into a tango. “Joe is the closest thing I have to a brother.”
Even though he did have a male sibling.
“Violet is my sister,” Melanie countered. “Her family is my family.”
Even though her own parents were sitting at a table only a few feet away, pointedly ignoring each other.
He studied the circle of faces that surrounded them, let his gaze settle for a beat on Joe and Violet, then focused on Melanie again, his voice hardening. “I’m not giving them up.”
“I was here first.”
Which was why his position was so much more precarious. He had only just found this weird and wonderful extended family that was more about loyalty than blood. Melanie’s ties to them were forever.
“So this”—his fingers flexed, creating a slight, dangerous increase in pressure—“would be incredibly stupid. Especially for us.”
She tilted her head in question.
“You don’t like me. You certainly don’t trust me,” he said.
“Depending on the circumstances. You are a good friend to them. If you hadn’t forced Joe to come to Texas in the first place, he’d still be in Oregon instead of over there trying not to fall face-first into Violet’s cleavage—which is pretty damn impressive in that dress.” Melanie smiled fondly at the two of them, then brought her gaze back to meet Wyatt’s. “I’ve seen you risk life and limb for him in the arena.”
He shrugged. “I’m a bullfighter. You do what it takes to make sure the cowboy and your partner walk away.”
He didn’t have to explain. She’d been on the rodeo trail long before she took her first steps, and her brother was also a bullfighter. But she shook her head. “You’d do the same for a complete stranger in a back alley. If I ever got caught in the middle of a convenience store robbery, you’d be the person I wanted standing at the Slurpee machine.”
“But not sitting across the breakfast table.”
She pursed glossy red lips as she considered the question. “It would be too crowded with you, me, and whatever agenda you’re currently working. I’d have a hard time deciding where I fit into the scheme of the day.”
“Says the woman who makes a living parting the unsuspecting public from their hard-earned dollars.”
“Ouch.” But the edge in her voice was
more amusement than offense. “I’ll have to tell Human Resources to add that to the job description.”
“And this conversation is a perfect example of why we would be a disaster. Despite this.” He traced a featherlight arc across her skin with his thumb.
She let her lashes flutter lower, to match her voice. “We could sneak off for a single night of depraved sex. Get it out of our systems.”
For a moment, the possibility hovered between them like a heat mirage. They both inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly.
“Been there, tried that, have the divorce papers to prove it.” And he would not let his dick lead him into that steel-jawed trap again. Not when he had so much more than a simple broken heart on the line. He flashed a smile, bright and lethal. “I have it on good authority that you can—and will—hold a grudge.”
“Every girl needs a superpower,” she said with an equally toothy grin.
“Yours could make future Thanksgiving dinners a little awkward, don’t you think?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think I am both reasonable and mature enough to handle myself.”
“History begs to differ.”
Color flared in her cheeks, a visible gauge of her rising temper. “Are you trying to irritate me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. Then laughed in disbelief. “You really think that’s going to help?”
“Can’t hurt. And it comes so naturally to both of us.” He twirled her, then pulled her close again, nearly eye to eye with her in heels. “We can’t be friends.”
The song was winding down. One more chorus, and he would have to step away to dutifully tap the father of the bride on the shoulder and cut in for the traditional dance with the bride’s mother.
“We also can’t avoid each other completely,” she said.
“Close enough. I live in Oregon; you live in Amarillo. I visit a few times a year, and even when I am here, you’re usually working. It’s been over a year since Joe and Violet got together, and we’ve barely crossed paths, except at holidays.”
“Then we should be safe. I’ve had plenty of practice behaving myself at Miz Iris’s house.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Also not what I’ve heard.”
“Hey, it was all at least half Violet’s fault.” Her soft laugh was laced with affection. Then her eyes narrowed again. “So we agree on one thing.” She dragged a fingernail lightly down his neck on the pretense of flicking off a speck of the infernal glitter Violet’s son had blasted them with upon arrival at the reception hall. “This—”
“—is not worth the risk.” Wyatt kept his voice cool, despite the hot pulse of his blood.
“And we swear never to speak of it to any of them.” Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Ever.”
He curled his lip. “Would you like to spit on our hands and shake to seal the deal?”
“Sunshine,” she drawled. “If I decide to swap spit with you, I guarantee it’ll get a lot messier than that.”
He gave a strangled laugh, dropped his hands, and took a step back as a passing waiter shoved plastic champagne flutes at them for the latest in an endless series of toasts.
Ignoring the drunken ramblings of some distant cousin, Melanie lifted her glass. “Here’s to no lovin’ between this man and this woman.”
“For as long as we both shall live,” he agreed mockingly.
They tapped their glasses together, and both tossed back the champagne.
She handed him her empty glass before sauntering over to join Joe and Violet. Wyatt rocked back on his heels, appreciating the view…as he was sure she had intended. He took two full steps in pursuit before he caught himself, turned, and walked in the opposite direction.
A decision he would live to regret for a very, very long time.
Chapter 2
Five years later
Just. Say. No.
Melanie had been practicing for days, knowing this moment would come, and still the damn word wouldn’t fall out of her mouth—just like every other time her boss had shoved work off his desk and into her lap.
Leachman smirked at her as he massaged his chest, two fat little fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt in a way that was downright obscene. “I’ll need that back from you first thing Monday morning.”
She paged through the proposal, fingers trembling with the urge to ball it up and toss it in his face. Only two of the sections he’d highlighted had any direct correlation to marketing. The rest were all technical or financial. In other words…not her job.
“It’s Wednesday afternoon,” she pointed out in a miraculously level voice. “I’m in the middle of putting together the monthly client newsletter, and I have to spend most of tomorrow with the graphic designer, working on packaging for the new line of probiotics.”
“Our last marketing director didn’t mind logging a few extra hours when we were in a pinch.” He let his gaze make a leisurely trip over her severely cut suit, past the pencil skirt to linger on her legs. “But then, I don’t imagine he had your, um, social life.”
What social life? This was the third week in a row her evenings and weekend would be consumed by a last-minute project the Leech had dumped on her desk, and for a month before that she’d been on the road, traveling across the country to trade shows and seminars. This was the first spring in her life that she hadn’t been able to get out to the ranch, saddle up a horse, and spend hours meandering through the Canadian River breaks, admiring the wildflowers and the flush of new grass. The yearning for wide, open spaces, the thud of hooves on red dirt, and the musky scent of horse and sweat-stained leather was a low, permanent ache lodged behind her breastbone. And just when she’d finally had a whole Sunday to break loose.
“If you can’t handle it…” Leachman half extended a hand in what they both knew was a token gesture. He wouldn’t take the application back unless she crammed it down his throat.
Hell. She could already hear Violet’s disgust when she called to say she wouldn’t make Sunday dinner after all. But dammit, the competition for this grant would be stiff, and the team down in research and development needed every penny.
And that’s where the bastard knew he had her. Their odds of acceptance were at least doubled if Melanie wrote the proposal. With the extra funding, Westwind could accelerate their research and development of the next generation of livestock supplements, greatly reducing the need for antibiotics and the related risk of triggering the emergence of drug-resistant bacteria. Melanie could rattle the whole spiel right off the top of her head. After all, she had written the press releases.
And once again, she would have to take one for the team.
She tucked the grant application under her arm, and her heart gave a single, painful squeeze as images of endless blue skies and this year’s crop of slick, rambunctious calves faded away. “I’d better get cracking if I’m going to—”
She turned sharply at the rap of knuckles on the doorframe. The man who stood there smiled apologetically from beneath the brim of a well-shaped white straw cowboy hat. “I don’t mean to interrupt. The receptionist said to come on back, and the door was open…”
“No, no, come on in!” Leachman lunged to his feet. “Good to see you.”
Melanie stepped aside to allow the newcomer to accept the proffered handshake.
“Glad I could make it.” He paused, angling a glance at Melanie from warm, hazel eyes. “Michael Miller, from Great Plains Feeders.”
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow morning.” Her smile was genuine as his hand closed around hers, firm and callused. “I’m Melanie Brookman. We spoke on the phone. I’m so glad you agreed to come down and take a closer look at what we have to offer.”
“Me too.”
Her face started to heat as she realized how her words could be misinterpreted, but Michael’s smile didn’t waver, and his ga
ze didn’t wander from her face. He was the prototype of cowboy, with his close-cropped brown hair and a body that did wonderful things for a sage-colored, pearl snap shirt and starched jeans. “It took a hell of a sales pitch to make my boss agree to even consider working with anyone besides our usual feed company.”
“Well, I was glad to make the trip to Pueblo so we could sit down and iron things out,” the Leech declared. “I’ve always believed business should be done in person.”
Michael made an apologetic face. “With all due respect, it was the data that won him over. Miz Brookman is a genius at translating all that science into what you can do for our bottom line.”
Melanie felt like the Grinch, her heart swelling three sizes at the unsolicited praise. Leachman stuck out his chin and ran a hand over sparse silver hair—classic signs of repressed anger. Even if Melanie hadn’t made a point of becoming an expert interpreter of body language, he would’ve been an easy read. A danger, danger signal dinged in her head. His ego had been pricked, and he certainly couldn’t take it out on the client. Melanie, on the other hand…
Then suddenly, he was the soul of benevolence. “Since the two of you are already on the same page, I’ll let Melanie give you the full tour of our facilities. She doesn’t have anything on her desk that can’t wait.”
She sucked in a breath so sharp that Michael flinched. Leachman beamed, pleased to draw a visible response.
“I can wait until tomorrow.” Michael gestured toward her skirt. “She’s not really dressed for slogging around a feed mill.”
Leachman waved him off. “She doesn’t mind getting a little dirty, do you, sweetheart?”
She forced her lips into a tight smile that eased slightly when she turned it on Michael. “Give me a couple of minutes to throw on jeans and boots, and I’ll meet you out front.”
* * *
When they returned from the mill two hours later, she was shocked to see Leachman’s car still in its assigned spot. She’d assumed he’d pawned Michael off on her so he wouldn’t have to break his weekly golf date with Jimmy Ray Towler, the head of Sagebrush Feeders and the second biggest slimeball in the Panhandle. Did either of the wives realize that their husbands’ traditional post-golf meal had less to do with the truck stop’s famous chicken-fried steak than with the services offered by women who prowled the parking lot in search of drivers who’d been alone on the road a little too long?