by Lori Wilde
“A woman after my own heart,” he said, as he scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the minivan, where they christened it Sir Rocks-a-Lock as Christmas Eve drew to a close on the happiest night of their lives.
Excerpt from Million Dollar Cowboy
Here’s a sneak peek at New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde’s newest Cupid, Texas novel
MILLION DOLLAR COWBOY
Available April 2017
Chapter 1
For the first time in a decade Ridge Lockhart was coming home.
He circled his Evektor Harmony over Silver Feather Ranch—the hundred thousand acre spread sprawling across Jeff Davis and Presidio counties—that had been in his family for six generations.
A cheery sun peeped over the horizon, greeting him jovially. Hey buddy! Good morning. Welcome back to the fifth circle of hell.
His jaw clenched and his stomach churned and the old dark anger he thought he’d stamped out years ago by working hard and making his mark on the world came roaring back, leonine as March winds.
He was in town for one reason and one reason only. Do the best man thing for his childhood buddy, Archer Alzate, and then get the mothertrucker out of Cupid, Texas.
ASAP.
Ridge took his time coming in, buzzing the plane lower than he should have. Taking stock. Sizing things up. No matter how you sliced it, this was where he’d been hatched and reared. He could not escape his past.
Miles of desert stretched below his plane, land so dry a man got parched just looking at it. Land filled with cactus and chaparral flats; land teaming with rattlesnakes, horned toads, lizards, stinging insects, and roadrunners. Land that claimed lives and crops, hopes and dreams, in equal measure.
This land was a far cry from the cool, green country where he lived in Calgary. But damn his hide if he hadn’t missed it. The Chihuahuan Desert. The Trans Pecos. Cupid. Silver Feather Ranch.
Home.
And that was his personal curse. To hate the very place that called to his soul, the place where he did not belong, but secretly yearned for.
Throat tight, tongue powdery, he reached for the gonzo size energy drink resting in the cup holder, and guzzled it down.
Ah. Much better. Thirst quenched. Caffeine buzzed. Cobwebs chased.
His chest knotted up like extra string on a wind-whipped kite. Ignoring the taut sensation, he cued up his MP3 player, drummed his fingers against the yoke in time to the rocking beat of “Homecoming” by Hey Monday.
The song wasn’t a favorite. In fact, he didn’t even much like it. An old girlfriend had introduced him to the tune. But the conflicted notes perfectly captured his complicated feelings, so he’d stuck it on his travel playlist. As the final note of electric guitar twanged out, the landing strip came in sight.
Ready or not, here I come.
He dipped the plane lower, coming in, coming down.
Their paternal grandfather, Cyril, had left all four Lockhart grandsons two-acre parcels of land on each four quadrants of the ranch, with the stipulation that none of them could sell their places without approval from the entire family. Which was the only reason Ridge had held on to his house.
To the North, he spied Ranger’s place. Although he’d only seen it in pictures, his brother had built an eco-friendly, solar home out of reclaimed wood and recycled everything. Out of the four Lockhart brothers, he and Ranger were closest in age. Ranger was thirty-one to Ridge’s thirty-two, but they were as different in temperament as wind and earth. Maybe it was because they had different mothers. Or maybe it was because Ranger was a legitimate Lockhart, whereas Ridge was the bastard.
Ranger was a brainy astrobiologist who worked at the MacDonald Observatory and thought everything through with cautious deliberation. Ridge was an act-first-ask-questions-later entrepreneur who’d built his own drilling company from the ground up, and he’d recently patented a new drilling method that promised to revolutionize silver mining and make him crazy rich in the process. China was clamoring for his business and after the wedding, he’d be headed to Beijing for six months to train silver mine employees in his patented drilling technique.
His two other younger brothers, Remington and Rhett, had the same mother. Lucy Hurd had been his father’s second wife and the closest thing to a real mother Ridge had ever had. He’d been devastated by kind-hearted Lucy’s death from ovarian cancer when he was in junior high school, leaving him to comfort his younger siblings as best he could.
Army Captain Remington was twenty-eight and currently deployed in the Middle East. He had stuck a travel trailer on his parcel of land on the west side of the ranch for a place to stay when he was home on leave, but hadn’t bothered to commit to construction. And the youngest, Rhett, was a PBR bull-riding rodeo star. He had built a rustic log cabin on the south end of the ranch in Presidio County.
Ridge carefully avoided flying to the east side of the ranch where his own house stood. The house he’d built, but had never lived in. The house he hadn’t seen in ten years. Who knew what kind of shape it was in?
Dead center in the middle of the ranch, situated around the landing strip put in for crop dusting planes, were stables, bunkhouses, the foreman’s farmhouse Archer lived in, three barns, numerous sheds, and the extravagant mansion where Ridge had grown up. The mansion his father lived with his third wife, Vivi.
Yep. Gossip of the decade. Vivi Courtland. Ridge’s one time girlfriend was now his old man’s spouse.
His stomach churned and deep-rooted resentment dusted over him, thick as the hard pack soil. Back. All the useless feelings he thought he’d conquered were back, as layered and nuanced as ever.
Anger. Shame. Fear. Guilt. Disgust.
“Damn it,” he muttered, settled a straw Stetson on his head, and climbed from the cockpit, an unwanted lump in his throat and the morning sun in his eyes.
He forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Smooth and steady. Nothing disturbed him. He was the boss. In control. In charge. Tough.
Ridge pocketed the plane’s key remote control, turned to the cargo hold to get his gear, and . . .
. . . that’s when he spied her.
Lumbering up in a battered, blue Toyota Tundra extended-cab pickup truck and parking catawampus beside the tallest barn on the ranch.
Interest piqued, he cocked his head. Who was she?
The woman hopped from the tall truck with the fluid grace of a playful water sprite more at home underneath a cascading waterfall than smack in the middle of the Chihuahuan desert.
She wore faded blue skinny jeans that fit like spray paint, cupping rounded hips and a firm lush fanny. A neon-pink, V-neck T-shirt showed off a hint of sweet cleavage. Her flat-heeled cowboy boots were scuffed and dusty. From this distance, it appeared as if she didn’t have on a lick of makeup, and her thick dark hair was pulled into twin braids. A gust of hot, lazy June air blew across the sand, and her nimble fingers reached up to tuck a tendril of loosened hair behind one ear.
Ridge had a sudden and startling vision of easing the elastic bands from her hair, undoing the braids, and watching that tumble of hair fall over his hand soft and smooth as liquid silk.
What the hell? Why the instant lust? Normally, he went for tall willowy blondes like Vivi. Not petite, shapely brunettes.
Why?
That was easy enough to answer. A) The brunette was smoking hot. B) There was something familiar about her, something warm and cozy and inviting. C) He hadn’t had sex in so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
Hope cut into him, gutted him open, leaving him raw and achy. Hey, who knew? There was a wedding this weekend—alcohol, food, music, slow dancing. Maybe they’d hook up.
Easy Lockhart, getting ahead of yourself.
He didn’t even know her name, or if she was involved with someone, or if she’d even been invited to the wedding.
No, but that didn’t stop steamy sexual fantasies from unspooling inside his head. Nor could he shake an odd feeling that he’d gone fishing fo
r shad and managed to hook a mermaid instead.
The woman opened the extended cab’s passenger side door, and bent over, butt wiggling as she ducked her head inside to retrieve something from the backseat. That round wriggly rump stole the air right out of his lungs, and highjacked his brain as effectively as a gun-toting bandit.
As the owner and CEO of Lock Ridge Drilling, he made snap decisions on a daily basis and he’d honed the skill of sizing up people at a glance.
From the click-quick snapshot trapped in that breathless time of his mind, Ridge knew she was the spunky girl-next-door type. Able to climb trees, make chicken soup for a sick neighbor, organize a charity drive, spike a witty barb at smart-ass-know-it-alls, passionately root for her favorite sports team complete with face paint and logo jerseys, park her butt in the church pew every Sunday morning, and cheerfully answer three a.m. phones call from friends in need.
She was, in fact, everything Ridge was not—perky, happy-go-lucky, laidback, a rule-following, people-pleasing team player.
Not his type. Not in the least.
Which probably explained the pounding lust. He had a knack for picking women who were all wrong for him.
At this distance, with the width of the landing strip between them, he hadn’t gotten a clear view of her face, but his initial impression was that she was more pretty than beautiful, while her body language exuded a come-sit-by-me friendliness that drew him. She was curvy enough to let him know that she enjoyed a good splurge meal now and again, but she was also healthy, and fit. Her skin was tan and supple, her eyes soft and bright, her teeth straight and white. She took good care of herself.
But it was the way she carried herself that totally wrecked him. Confidence mixed with humility. She had an authentic stride full of wholehearted openness. The last person he’d known who knew who’d possessed that special combo was Archer Alzate’s kid sister, Kaia.
He hadn’t seen Kaia face-to-face since she was sixteen and when she had attended his and Archer’s graduation from the University of Texas. But two years ago, Archer called him to tell him that while working on her doctorate in veterinarian medicine at Texas A&M, Kaia had been in a terrible car accident and fractured her pelvis. Ridge had flown straight to College Station to see her only to discover she was in a medically induced coma.
The waiting room had been packed with her family and friends, and no one noticed him standing in the doorway. After so much time away he’d felt awkward and misplaced, an outsider. Not wanting to turn Kaia’s accident into a stage for his return, he’d slipped quietly away without speaking to the family. But later he texted Archer to meet him in the parking lot to get an update on Kaia’s condition. Archer gave him the rundown, including the fact Kaia had such a high medical deductible, he didn’t know how she was ever going to afford to finish her degree.
Once Ridge knew she was stable and going to pull through, he went to the business office, anonymously paid the fifteen thousand dollar deductible toward her medical bills, and swore Archer to secrecy.
Later, when she was out of the coma, he sent flowers and a card and he’d gotten back a kind thank you note, and their correspondence had ended there. Archer kept his word and Kaia never knew Ridge had come to see her or that he was the one who paid her deductible.
Ridge slipped off his sunglasses for a clearer look at the provocative woman. From the back seat of the Tundra, she extracted an oversized present wrapped in gold foil. The package was so big, and the backseat so small, Ridge wondered how she’d managed to cram it in there.
She tossed her head, a triumphant smile on her face, and turned in his direction. Their gazes met across and empty desert.
For a split-second, his heart stopped.
Her obsidian eyes arrested him, a mysterious color that suggested hot summer nights and low, deep-throated whispers. Ripples of recognition jolted his nervous system, both shocking and delightful. He knew her.
Kaia Alzate.
Freakadilly circus, he’d been lusting after little Kaia Alzate.
Hot for the girl he’d once dubbed the Braterminator.
Ridge coolly slipped his sunglasses back down over his eyes. She’d pestered the hell out of him and Archer when they were kids. Tagging along everywhere they went, tattling if they stepped out of line, and generally being a run-of-the-mill pain-in-the-ass.
He might have hidden his eyes from her, but he couldn’t hide the goose bumps spreading over his skin, pushing an insistent heat into his blood stream as he watched her from behind the safety of the polarized lenses of his aviator Ray Bans.
Her snapping black eyes sparkled with glee, as an enthusiastic grin split her mouth wide. She had recognized him too, and she looked more than happy to see him.
His gut dove the way it did whenever he’d practiced a stall in pilot training, spinning, whirling, and hurtling headlong toward the earth.
Thank God her hands were full because he had the distinct impression that if she’d been empty handed, she would have come flying across the tarmac to hug the stuffing out of him.
He didn’t mean to do it, told himself he wasn’t going to do it, but damn if he couldn’t help sliding his gaze over her body. After all, she had no idea what his eyes were doing behind the sunglasses.
Thank you, Ray Bans.
She moved toward him, arms strapped around the oversized present. Stopped. Cast a glance over her shoulder at the main house. Swung her gaze back to him. She wanted to come over, but didn’t seem to know what to do with the package.
He kept his face unreadable, but gave her a respectful nod. I see you, but no need to rush or gush or make a fuss.
Deliberately, he turned away, telling himself it was to chalk the plane’s tires, and it had nothing to do with the fact his chest was tight and his head fuzzy. And a smile he could not stop was pushing across his face.
He was happy to see her too. So happy it freaked him out.
Once the chalks were in place, and he reined in his galloping pulse, Ridge raised his head, ready to dish up a slick greeting.
But she was gone.
Yay. Great. Perfect. He’d avoid her exuberant hug. Good work.
Why then, did he feel so bummed?
Holy tidal wave!
It was Ridge Lockhart, and he was more devastatingly gorgeous than ever.
Of course, Kaia had known he was coming home for Archer’s wedding. She expected to see him. Thought she was braced for it.
Fat chance!
What she hadn’t expected was that he’d be so damned sexy.
Her initial impulse had been to run to him and fling herself into his arms and tell him how thrilled she was that he’d come home. But she wasn’t eight years old anymore, and he was no longer that lanky boy who’d yanked her braids and called her irritating names.
Her heart jackhammered, and she clutched the oversized wedding present tighter and hurried up the stone walkway to the mansion where the wedding party was assembling before the rehearsal. Instead of the traditional rehearsal dinner, Casey Hollis, the bride-to-be, had decided on a rehearsal brunch. As soon as everyone arrived, they would all head out to the cowboy chapel to rehearse.
Ridge included.
Kaia’s pulse gave another sharp hop.
The gift was a crate for the German Shepherd puppy that Archer and Casey were adopting from the shelter when they returned from their honeymoon. But ugh. She hadn’t fully thought it through. Per usual, excitement had swept her away.
Then again, she’d used the gift as a shield against Ridge’s steely gaze. It provided a great excuse not to talk to him until she was prepped.
Seriously? She was not a silly teen with a monster crush on her big brother’s best friend. Why did she need to prep to speak to the man?
Why?
Because just seeing him standing there in the sunlight sent her blood swirling the way it always had.
Darn it. Shouldn’t she be over puppy love by now?
There ought to be a law. No one man had a right to
look so handsomely heartbreaking.
The past decade had been kind to him. More than kind. He’d grown from the lean, skinny kid into full-blown manhood. Big-framed. Rugged. Untamed as ever.
He moved with the predatory grace of a mountain lion on the hunt. Intent, alert eyes and muscles, but with loose limbs and fluid joints. He looked like he should be on a high mountaintop staking in a pennant flag, claiming his territory.
Dressed in jeans, Stetson, suit jacket, tie, aviator sunglasses, and lizard-skin boots, he was part businessman, part pilot, part cowboy, and one hundred percent alpha male. Muscular fingers and scared knuckles hinted at his roughneck past.
He was both raw-boned and polished. Cheeks and jawline sharp, primal. Nose perfectly straight. Eyebrows orderly. It was a dizzying combination of refined poise and rough-edged virility.
Everything about him caused her insides to quiver and her heart to flush. She couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d unearthed pirate treasure in the desert.
Oh no. Oh damn. She was in trouble. Felt the truth of it overtake her. Nothing had changed. She still pined for him. How could she not even know it until now?
Stop it. Just stop it.
She was letting her imagination run away with her. All she had to do was steer clear of him until he went back to where he’d come from, and that would be that.
Turmoil over. Crisis avoided.
Except that she had to be around him for the wedding. He was her older brother’s best friend and the best man and she was a bridesmaid. There was no way she couldn’t avoid him completely.
Chill axe. No need to flip out. He would only be in town for three days. She could keep her hormones in check. All she had to do was make sure she was never alone with him. Considering all the people who’d been invited to the wedding that should be a piece of cake.
Armed with a plan, Kaia chuffed out a relieved breath, kicked on the front door with the tip of her boot in lieu of knocking and called out, “Open up. It’s me, Kaia, I come bearing gifts.”