Knockin' Boots

by Desiree Holt

  God, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

  He looked at Dan who had come to stand beside him. “You really own this place?”

  “We do.” Dan grinned. “Surprised?”

  “As hell. What’s with the cabin, then?”

  “That’s where we go to play,” Kylie told him. “You’re the first person we ever brought to the ranch. We never felt right with anyone else. Never wanted to share.”

  “The cabin was the original building here,” Dan explained. “We modernized it for our needs.” He chuckled. ”It’s seen some really good times. But lately, Kylie and I have talked more and more about finding a permanent situation. Someone we can trust.”

  “We think that’s you, Clint,” she added. “This is a great place to heal, and we can help you do it.”

  “It’s got to remind you of Wyoming,” Dan said. “Right?”

  “Right. Damn right.”

  “You said you were looking for a family. We want you to be part of ours. We want to be your family. Can you get on board with that?”

  Clint wondered if he should pinch himself to make sure this was all true. That he wasn’t going to wake up in a moment and find himself in a cheap-ass motel, wondering where the hell to go next.

  “Well?” Kylie linked her fingers with his. “What do you think? Are you willing to give it a chance? I know you felt the same things we did last night. I believe it.”

  He looked from one to the other. He’d known the moment he rode into Whistling Creek his life was about to change. He just hadn’t realized how much it was going to improve.

  For the first time in a long time, his mouth curved in a natural grin.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Dan quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah? You mean it? You’ll have to work your ass off here, same as us.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “Yes!” Kylie screamed and leaped onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  Clint noticed a couple of the hands in the yard look over at them then shrug and go about their business. For a brief moment, he wondered how this would all appear to the people who worked here. Then he pushed the thought away. If Dan and Kylie were comfortable with it, he would be, too.

  “Let’s have some breakfast,” Dan said. “Then I’ll take you to get your bike and stuff.”

  “And boots.” Kylie gave him an impish grin. “Can’t do anything without your boots.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, feeling as if a weight had suddenly lifted from his chest.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He lingered on the porch, watching the sun rise and brighten the day. People who believed in fairy tales were right. They really did come true.

  ~A Letter from Desiree Holt~

  Dear Readers,

  Taking a fairy that has been with us for so long and turning it into a hot, erotic modern day story was a wonderful challenge. I wanted to keep the theme of the story it was based on—Boots of Buffalo Leather—but give it it’s own distinct personality. And of course, it needed the angst that always come with a relationship. I loved creating my hero, Clint Gorman, who was trying to outrun his nightmares on his big Ducati motorcycle. And I love Kylie and Dan Franklin, who had their own challenges and saw the perfect solution in Clint. Bringing them together gave me a lot of satisfaction as I hope it will to you as you read the story.

  I hope you will also check out my other Decadent Publishing stories like my rock star series-Joy Ride and Aftershock-as well as my Christmas stories-He Came Upon a Midnight Clear and Soul Dreams. And of course, all my 1Night Stand stories that I just loved writing.

  I think the thing I like the best about creating my stories is that I start with the characters who always have flaws and challenges and in the story work to find a happy solution.

  And, as always, I write them for you. I’d love to hear from you after you read Knockin’ Boots, or any of my other stories, at desireeholt@desireeholt.com.

  And thanks for buying this book.

  Warmly,

  Desiree Holt

  Beyond Fairytales

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Chasing Gold by Alexa Bourne

  Chapter One

  Once upon a time in a land far, far away, Simon Andrews no longer had to listen to his brothers’ bullshit. With a roll of his eyes, he mimicked the exact words of Paul. “If you don’t pay attention, you’ll never be ready to go into the field.”

  “If you don’t think of yourself as a professional, no one else will either,” Danny added.

  “Plus with your attention span, you have to put 200 percent into all your work,” Paul finished.

  Simon leaned back in his office chair. “If you two don’t let me go in the field with you, I’ll never learn the best way to hunt for treasures, will I?” He should’ve known better than to ask to join them on their upcoming expedition. They would say no. Again.

  “Isn’t he cute?” Danny mussed Simon’s hair. “Simple Simon wants to go with us.”

  He smacked his brother’s arm away. “We’re not kids anymore. How about calling me by my real name?”

  “Simon Simpleton,” Paul said. “Got it.”

  He locked his jaw and shook his head.

  While laughing, his brothers strolled toward the conference room.

  “Simpleton, you want some coffee?” Paul glanced over his shoulder.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes then stared through the office window. He would need something to keep him focused on this crappy paperwork. Though the three of them equally owned their company, Andrews on the Hunt, Simon was nothing more than a glorified secretary. Sure, he enjoyed parts of his job, but he longed for more.

  Leaning forward in his office chair, he concentrated on the bills that needed paying. No sense in wallowing.

  Outside, a black car pulled up to the curb. The sunlight bounced off the windshield, blinding him for a moment. Chatter about last night’s football game floated from the room behind him.

  He focused on the computer screen until the front door made its obnoxious sucking noise then glanced up.

  The door to the office swung open. In shuffled a little old man. Tufts of white hair covered his head. “Hello, laddie,” he greeted before the door closed. “I’m Thomas Gray.” The old man pointed over his shoulder as a tall, beefy guy in a dark suit followed him through the door. “He’s Nigel, my driver.”

  The guy at the door sent a quick, menacing glare toward the old man.

  “Hi.” Simon jumped out of his chair, itching to do something to help Gray. “What can we do for you?” He walked over, offering his forearm to help steady the man, who held a cane, but it didn’t seem to do much good. Nigel, in his secret agent outfit, stepped to one side and crossed his arms. He perused the room.

  Simon stared at the guy. Should he wave his hand in front of the man’s face just to see if he’d move?

  The old man plopped onto the couch lining the lobby wall. “You’re a fortune hunter, are ye?”

  He hesitated—a moment too long.

  “We’re the hunters,” Paul announced. He and Danny exited the conference room, each with a cup of coffee—as usual, they’d neglected to bring him one, despite the offer. He wasn’t sure why he even said yes when they asked. “He’s our advisor.”

  Danny mumbled something, shifted around Paul, and slid into his office.

  “What’s this about, sir?” Simon asked.

  Paul stood next to him. “He’s trying to find a family heirloom that might or might not exist.” He shifted his attention to the client. “Sir, we’ve told you twice we can’t help you.”

  “Aye, but aren’t there three of you? Perhaps the third boy will listen.” He pointed toward Simon. “I suppose you’re the lad I’ve come to see.”

  “Will you excuse us for a moment?” Paul grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled him toward Danny’s office before either he or the old man could object.

  “Aye. When you’re done, I’ll be ou
t here waiting.” The guest pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his nose.

  Inside the office crowded with sports paraphernalia, Paul closed the door then pointed at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Danny looked up from the pile of papers in front of him. “About what?”

  “Little brother’s feeling sorry for the guy.”

  “You can’t know how I feel.” He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

  Paul waved off the comment. “Oh, please. We can read you like a Sunday newspaper.”

  Danny tossed his pen onto the pile. “Didn’t the guy get the message the last time? Or the time he spoke to you?”

  “What are you two talking about?”

  Paul sipped his coffee. “The guy’s been in here before. Each time, he spoke with one of us. He’s searching for some golden treasure, and he wants to find it before he dies.”

  “He’s convinced someone can find it even after he’s spent his entire life searching.” Danny interlocked his fingers and dropped them to his stomach. “He came in last week when we sent you to secretary school.”

  Simon bit his tongue to keep from arguing. No amount would do any good. His brothers would never change their opinion of him.

  “But I told him we couldn’t do it,” Danny continued. “Then he came in over the weekend to discuss it with Paul.”

  “The more the guy talked, the more he made me think about Nana’s wackiness before she died. Remember when she got out of the house, wandered down to the shopping mall, then tried to sell her shoes?” Paul shrugged. “Not to be insensitive, but we don’t have time to chase rainbows for a potential pot of gold at the end.”

  Right. Because possibilities never guarantee fame and fortune. Like so many lawyers or bank loan representatives, the brothers claimed to work for everyone. However, a bunch of stipulations were listed in the fine print.

  “What’s he doing here now?” Danny tapped his thumbs together.

  “From his comments, it sounds like he’s going to try convincing Simpleton here to work for him.”

  “Don’t fall for it.” Danny rose to walk to the chair in front of his desk and began packing folders into a backpack. “I’m convinced he’s crazy.”

  “What’s he searching for?” Simon shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.

  “Some prize stolen from his Scottish clan years or centuries ago.” Paul waved his hand. “He thinks it’s somewhere between Edinburgh and Inverness.”

  “No, they were weirder names. Ones I’ve never heard of.”

  “Anyway, he couldn’t even remember enough to describe the prize they might or might not have lost.” Paul nudged Simon away from the football picture next to him as though he’d damage it with a shoulder bump. “I felt sorry for him when he first came to me, so I did a little digging. The history books cover all sorts of crimes those clans committed against each other. There’s not much information anywhere on his family or the theft.”

  Simon shrugged. “Maybe it’s one very few people knew about. Or maybe it didn’t mean enough to make the history books.”

  After a few seconds of staring, Paul pointed to him. “Oh, no. I see the thoughts crawling around in there.”

  “What?” Danny, too, stared at him.

  “Simpleton’s considering a discussion with the guy.” Paul crushed his coffee cup then tossed it in the trash behind him. “Well, don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not worth it. The man has nothing to offer but a load of insanity.”

  “Besides, fortune hunting isn’t your job.” Danny tossed his backpack over his shoulder, smacked Simon’s shoulder, then headed for the office door.

  “Am I a part of this business or not?” He clenched his fist. Dammit, he knew better than to let his brothers’ attitude get to him, but…damn.

  “Of course you are.” Paul draped his arm over Simon’s shoulder. “But we’ve told you to leave the hard work to the big boys.”

  Danny held the doorknob, but didn’t open the door. “If you want to listen to the old man’s gibberish, go ahead. Shuffle him into the conference room, give him a cup of coffee, and pretend you’re listening. Then you can send him on his way to find someone foolish enough to take on his quest.” After pulling the door open, he walked out.

  Simon stared at Paul. “You’re leaving him with me?”

  “He did say he wanted to speak to the third boy. Besides, we’ve got a tip for another case to follow up on across town. You’ll be all right. Just do what Danny suggested. You’re good at talking to the clients. It’ll be no problem.” He grabbed his backpack from his office then joined Paul in the conference room. After a few minutes, they both emerged.

  “Okay, little brother.” Paul glanced at his watch. “We should be back by noon.”

  “Starla Jane is due in this morning. Do you want me to write down the information you need to give her?” Danny offered.

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on, guys. I’m not an idiot.”

  They both chuckled. “If you say so,” Danny said before they both disappeared out the back door.

  Simon was stuck in the office on his own…as usual. With a huff, he returned to the lobby.

  The old man planted his palm on his thigh. “Well, laddie? Are you willing to give me the time of day?”

  “Sure, come into the conference room so we can discuss your situation.” When the secret agent guy—Nigel—had settled his employer at the table, Simon said, “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea first?”

  “Aye, tea, if you have it. Thanks.”

  While he made the tea and a coffee for himself, he considered his options. What harm could it do to hear the old guy out?

  Simon set the drinks on the table then sat across from the old man. Mr. Gray coughed, and his employee exited the room. Simon held his cup between his palms. “How can I help you, sir?”

  “My family lost something very valuable a long time ago. I would like to hire you to find it for us.”

  “What did you lose?”

  “A box of treasure items from the early 1700s.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “My niece and I have narrowed it down to a few sites in the Scottish Highlands.” He sipped his drink, his gaze focused on the mug.

  “I’d like to help you, but I’ll need more information.”

  The old man’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “You want to help? Already?”

  “Why? Is that so unusual?”

  “Your brothers requested a bit more detail before they’d even consider it. Then, when I tried to provide it, they wouldn’t listen at all.”

  Leaning forward, he clasped his hands in front of his cup. “Mr. Gray, I’m neither of my brothers.” No, he had a heart, morals. He longed to search for lost items and uncover the stories behind them. His brothers worked for the money. “Go ahead with your whole story. I’m listening.”

  “In case you cannit tell, I’m not from around here. The south of Scotland is my homeland. From my days as a young lad, I heard tales of the great Gray treasure torn straight from the hands of the clan’s dying laird. Many men sought the thief, but none caught him with the treasure, so the legend says….” Mr. Gray sipped his drink while he shared more of the story. Someone had wronged his family, no one had cared enough in his generation to right the wrong, but he wanted to correct it before he died. Just like Paul had said. “My niece, Grace, is there already. She’ll assist you any way she can.” He called over his shoulder toward the door. “Nigel!”

  Seconds later, the guy filled the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you bring me my briefcase so I can show Mr. Andrews the work already done?”

  The man nodded and slipped outside. Mr. Gray gripped his arm. “Listen, laddie. I know everyone thinks I’m an old fool, but I know what I’m talking about. Grace has done much of the work already, but I’d like someone out there with her for the rest of the search, someone to take care of her. If you help her find the treasure, you’ll be
well rewarded.”

  He had to admit the paycheck would be nice, but he’d receive other rewards, too—like maybe proving to his brothers that he was capable of being a full partner. If the Scotsman’s information turned out to be legitimate, he’d go.

  An hour later, Simon stood in the center of the lobby while Mr. Gray shuffled out the front door with a more solid step, his head held high and his human boulder right behind. He’d just agreed to go to Scotland to search for a treasure no one could verify existed. Waves of fear rolled through his stomach. His brothers wouldn’t understand, would call him a fool. But Simon wasn’t so simple. He was a grown man with a mind of his own.

  He moved to the desk, the assistant’s desk he’d occupied for years as though he didn’t matter in the family business. For several hours, he contacted UK newspapers, libraries, and tour companies to verify Mr. Gray’s information. After inputting data on an air travel website, he reserved his seat on a flight to Edinburgh.

  ***

  The wind whistled an eerie tune once Simon stepped out of the rented car and picked up his luggage. Pebbles shifted under his feet. The cool air sent a slight shiver down his back.

  Before him stood a huge bed and breakfast, yellow with white trim and enough room for lots of guests. Turrets lined the top of the building like they guarded the stronghold. Two versions of Scottish flags waved. The overcast sky couldn’t put a damper on the lush green mountains surrounding the business. He’d thought the country’s capital nice, but the Highlands held their own beauty.

  “Welcome!” A woman a bit older than he was, her belly bulging, waddled toward him. “I’m Jennie Maxwell. We’re so happy to have you join us.”