by Mandy Baxter
The sounds of a scuffle came from somewhere near the kitchen and Ryder brought the rifle up in his grip, ready for anything and scared to death of what he might find. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the muddled gray of dawn began to slowly melt away, casting enough daylight through the kitchen windows to see Lara struggling against an assailant who was dragging her bodily from the house. “Goddamn it, Tom, let me go!”
“Don’t fucking move.”
Lara looked about as surprised to see Ryder standing there as her attacker did. They both froze in place, her expression one of abject terror, while his was a barely restrained rage that Ryder knew all too well. He’d seen that same expression on his dad more times than he could count.
“I don’t want any trouble, buddy.” His confident tone made Ryder want to laugh in the bastard’s face. Pretty ballsy talk for a guy with a 270 leveled on him.
“Then let my friend go and we won’t have any,” Ryder replied.
“Look, I don’t know what she told you, but this is my lady. She gets out of line sometimes and I’m just here to get what’s mine. I ain’t stealin’ nothing, Lara and I are going home is all.”
Good lord almighty, how did someone as confident and intelligent as Lara wind up with a lowlife hick like that? Anger pooled in Ryder’s gut, the urge to tear into the asshole almost too strong to resist. “Doc, is that true? You wanna leave with this guy?”
“No.” The word was barely louder than a whisper, spoken with so much fear that Ryder had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from letting loose a string of expletives that would no doubt do nothing but agitate an already half-crazed man. And to be honest, at the moment Ryder wasn’t sure if the crazed son of a bitch was him or the guy holding Lara against her will.
“Doc?” Tom said in an angry, incredulous tone that caused Lara to shrink away from him. “Sounds like the two of you got pretty cozy, huh? Guess I shoulda figured she’d whore herself off to the first guy who could give her a leg up.”
“My rifle here is a little over eighty years old,” Ryder remarked as casually as if he was talking about the weather, “and it’s got a hair trigger. So let Lara go before I blow a hole in your head the size of a crater. You hear me?”
Their eyes met and Ryder knew he was being sized up. His gaze didn’t falter as he held the rifle steady. He wanted the fucker to know he wouldn’t hesitate to blow his head off if he got a clean shot.
“Doesn’t matter,” Tom scoffed as he loosened his grip on Lara’s waist. She squirmed and kicked, slapping at his arms. “She has to leave here sometime. And when she does, I’m takin’ her home.”
He let her go with a shove and Lara sprawled to the floor. Ryder looked down, briefly taking stock of her reddened and puffy left cheek. A haze of unsuppressed rage clouded Ryder’s thoughts, the likes of which he’d only known one other time in his life.
“Ryder, don’t.”
Lara’s pleading words fell on deaf ears. He set the rifle down on the counter and charged without a second thought to his actions. The asshole had the nerve to look surprised. Ryder rushed past Lara and grabbed Tom by the collar of his shirt, ramming him into the wall with all the force of a charging bull. “You think you’re ever going to lay your hands on her again?” Ryder’s voice sounded foreign in his own ears. “There’s over nine hundred acres of ranch out there, and I can bury your body where no one will ever find it.”
Mocking laughter answered the threat, adding fuel to an already raging fire. “Did you seriously threaten to kill me? You might have money, but it’s not enough to save you from assault charges. I bet the cops around here take death threats pretty seriously too.”
Assault? Oh, he hadn’t seen anything yet. Ryder slammed him against the wall, hard enough to rattle what little brain he had in his head. Tom coughed and gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and because Ryder didn’t want him getting too comfortable, he rammed his fist into the other man’s stomach for good measure.
Tom let out a whoof! of breath and doubled over, hands wrapped around his gut. Ryder took a step back and before he could defend himself, Tom came at him with an uppercut that sent him listing to one side. Well, that one’s gonna leave a mark. His tongue flicked out at his split and swelling lip and he tasted the coppery tang of blood.
Logical thought evaporated from Ryder’s mind, replaced by a violent urge to hurt this man who had given Lara a reason to feel so much fear. The passing moments were a blur, nothing but flying fists, flailing limbs, and more than a few solid connections. Pain didn’t register as Ryder took a fist to the ribs and he gave as good as he got. Better. Taller with more body mass than the smaller man, it wasn’t long before Ryder had the advantage and Tom dropped to his knees. It only confirmed what a coward he was that he could so easily hit a woman but tucked tail as soon as he was faced with an equal opponent.
“Ryder.”
He laid his fist into Tom’s face.
“Ryder.”
He felt something tugging at his arm and he fought against the restraint.
“Ryder!”
And then his vision was filled with Lara’s face, full of concern as she threw herself between him and Tom. Her brow was furrowed and tears streamed down her face. “Stop.” Her voice was a firm command, nothing pleading or afraid as she spoke. Every inch of him seemed to shake as he looked down on her, the unspent adrenaline looking for a way out. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “You’re too good for this, Ryder. Don’t let him tempt you into lowering yourself to his level. It’s not worth it.”
Lara’s voice vibrated through him like a soothing balm, a breeze that cleansed him of all irrational thought and brought him back into the present. He looked over her shoulder at Tom, slumped over on all fours and slowly scooting himself toward the far wall. As though she’d woken him from a nightmare, the clarity of the moment settled on Ryder like a heavy mantle and he released a shuddering breath as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Are you all right?” he said next to her ear. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” She gripped his shoulders, holding on so tight that he could feel the tremor that shook her slight form. “I’m okay.”
* * *
Lara watched from a distance as Tom was loaded into the patrol car by one sheriff’s deputy while the other finished up talking to Ryder. She’d already answered all of their questions and sat in the swing on Ryder’s front porch, wrapped up in a blanket to ward off the chill that still clung to her skin in the late December morning. She held an ice pack to her cheek and said a silent prayer of thanks that Tom hadn’t roughed her up too much. In addition to violating the restraining order, he could add breaking and entering and assault to his list of charges and the deputy assured Lara that he’d see some definite jail time. Though she wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would be much, it might deter him from seeking her out again. At least, she hoped.
“Hey.”
Lara looked up to find Ryder standing in front of her and she glanced past him to see the patrol car backing out of the driveway. “Hey.” She felt like the walking dead, way too exhausted both emotionally and physically for more than a mindless shuffle.
Ryder held out his hand and she accepted it gladly, pushing herself out of the swing as he led her back into the house. Her slow steps didn’t help her to keep up with his pace though, and Ryder paused halfway through the kitchen. “What?” Lara asked as he gazed down at her. “Is everything okay?”
He didn’t respond, simply scooped her up in his arms. “Ryder, put me down.” It was ridiculous for him to carry her through the house like she was a child. “I can walk. I told you, I’m fine.”
“Shush.” His response didn’t open the door for conversation. “I’m taking you to bed and you’re going to get some rest. And then I’m going to make you breakfast and take care of you for the rest of the day.”
Warm emotion bloomed in Lara’s chest. She’d let the town gossips paint a picture of Ryder in her min
d. One that portrayed him as nothing more than a cocky, selfish playboy. But there was so much more to him than anyone knew. He was gentle. Caring. Strong and compassionate. Her arms tightened around his neck as he negotiated the stairs, holding her body tightly to his. For years Lara had punished herself for mistakes that weren’t hers, carrying the guilt of her father’s actions around her neck like a heavy stone. Maybe that’s why she’d ended up with someone like Tom in the first place. Because she’d convinced herself she didn’t deserve any better. In the long run, though, being with Tom had led her home. Led her to gather the courage to shed her father’s betrayals and rebuild her life. And that led her to Ryder.
Once in his bedroom, he set her down on the bed as though she was the most precious and fragile thing in the world. He tucked the blankets around her and his light brown eyes warmed when he said, “Would it be totally inappropriate to tell you that you look fantastic wearing my shirt and underwear?”
Lara laughed, loving the way the tension melted out of her body with nothing more than a look and a few words from him. “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
“The only way you could possibly look any better is if you were wearing my boots too.” He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Maybe I can talk you into trying them on a little later?”
A smile curved her lips as she took his hand in hers and kissed each one of his bruised knuckles. “Absolutely.”
* * *
Ryder set four strips of bacon onto a plate, next to the scrambled eggs and toast before placing it on a serving tray. He poured a glass of orange juice and set a small carafe of coffee along with cream and sugar next to the carefully assembled breakfast presentation and balanced it all with careful precision as he made his way back up the stairs. His eyes wandered to the piece of paper he’d placed under the napkin and silverware and smiled.
When he’d lured Lara Montgomery to his ranch with the promise of winning back her horse it had been with single-minded purpose. He’d thought to get the lively brunette into his bed and out of his head once and for all, but over the course of twenty-four hours, she’d managed to anchor herself firmly in his heart.
“Look at you, showing off your cooking skills,” Lara remarked as he set the tray in front of her. A few hours’ sleep had done her good and her face no longer bore the shadows of exhaustion. He settled in beside her on the bed, snatching up a piece of bacon and popping it into his mouth.
“I can do more than cook.”
Lara smiled at the innuendo as she offered him another slice of bacon before taking one for herself. “Oh, don’t I know it,” she teased back. “You’re a true Renaissance man, Mr. Blackwell.”
He leaned back against his pillow, folding his arms behind his head. He hoped that today was the first of many more mornings spent in bed with Lara, and he was going to do everything in his power from here on out to make her his. “That I am.”
Lara reached for her napkin and Ryder leaned up to gauge her reaction. As she smoothed the linen over her lap, her eyes darted to the paper. Lara gave him a sidelong glance as she took the paper in her hand, skimming the words written there. His stomach did a pleasant flip at her reaction as she turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide and shining with emotion.
“This is the certification of bloodline for October,” she said with awe. “I’m named as her owner.”
“Wow, you catch on quick, doc,” Ryder said. “You might make a decent horse breeder yet.”
She studied him for a long moment as though trying to read his mind. “You couldn’t have transferred ownership this morning.”
“Nope.” Ryder leaned back on the pillow and let out a contented sigh. “She’s been yours since the auction. I had you listed as the owner when I bought her.”
“But the bet…?”
“Doc, you’re the worst cattle rancher I’ve ever seen, though you can stack hay better than both of my brothers combined. Do you really think I was such an asshole that I would have taken her from you? I knew how badly you wanted her, but since you kept turning me down for dinner, I had to get you out here somehow.”
The smile she gave him warmed Ryder from the inside out. She was by far the finest woman he’d ever known and he’d do it all again if he had to. “I don’t know what to say … I’ll pay you for her, of course.”
“No.” She gave him a puzzled look and he said, “Think of October as an early Christmas present. You’re going to take the money you saved up for her and put it into building your stables. I won’t let you pay me for her and if you try, I’ll buy you another horse, and another, and I won’t stop until you accept my gifts. Understand?”
Lara pushed the tray away and leaned in to Ryder until their lips almost touched. “Well, I’m not opposed to having a partner.” The low sensual tone in her voice stirred Ryder’s body and a low growl vibrated in his throat. Damn, she was sexy without even trying. “Whaddya say, Blackwell? You interested?”
Their lips met in a slow and sultry kiss. Ryder loved a challenge and Lara was presenting him with a new adventure, and with someone he yearned to share it with. “You know what, doc? That sounds damned perfect to me.”
She kissed him again and her tongue slid against the seam of his lips. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing. This might be the start of something, don’t you think?”
He pulled her onto his lap and Lara squealed with delight before he slipped his hands under her—well, his—shirt, greedy for her soft skin. “It sure is, doc. It sure as hell is.”
THE BILLION DOLLAR PLAYER
ONE
“How’s the groin, Jason? You gonna be one hundred percent for Sunday, son?”
Steve McNealy, the offensive coordinator, always talked to Jase like he was still in Pee-Wee football instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man with a college career and four years of pro ball under his belt. Though, in relation to the years with the NFL that Steve could claim, Jase guessed he was sort of a pup.
“I’m good to go, Coach. I’ll be tearin’ it up next week.”
Steve gave him a pat on the shoulder. “That’s good, son. Glad to hear it.”
It had been one bitch of a week: ice, physical therapy, and more ice. He was surprised his dick hadn’t sustained frostbite by now. And with the playoffs just around the corner, Jase couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness. Especially when Malcolm Willis, second-round draft pick and hotshot prospect out of Stanford was waiting in the wings to take his place on the field.
He had a hard enough time maintaining his position on the team without the added pressure, thank you very much.
Tonight’s party was a kickoff for the post-season. One of many get-togethers aimed at boosting morale and ensuring that they’d be an even more cohesive team in the playoffs. Truth be told, Jase didn’t see these functions as anything more than an excuse to get shitfaced and blow off some steam away from the prying eyes of the press. And from the looks of some of the women parading around, someone had dug deep to provide more than alcohol for tonight’s entertainment.
“Hey, man. ’Sup? You feelin’ all right?”
If one more person asked him how the fuck he was feeling, he was going to go off. “Yup. Right as rain.” Jase turned toward Carson Rader, the starting quarterback and gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “You’re not getting rid of me yet, dude.”
“Nah, man, you got it wrong. I’d throw a first-class bitch fit if McNealy put anyone else on my line. Especially that little shit, Willis. His ego’s still too big to be on my field.”
“That’s because there’s no room,” Jase said with a laugh. “Your ego’s already too big for the field.”
“Truth.” Carson flashed him the million-dollar grin that had earned him the title of Prince Charming and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray as the waitress walked by. “I’m not about sharing the spotlight.”
It was spoken in good humor, but as the highest-paid quarterback in the NFL, Carson Rader knew his worth an
d wasn’t afraid to own his ego. Thanks to him, the Cowboys might be getting a bid to the Super Bowl this year. Jase wanted that ring so damned badly he could practically taste the gold on the tip of his tongue and he’d ride the wave of Carson’s ego all the way to the playoffs. “You can have all the spotlight you want, buddy.”
Carson wasn’t the only guy in the league with a nickname. Being known as Billion Dollar Blackwell wasn’t exactly an honor and it sure as shit didn’t have anything to do with Jase’s paycheck or his talent. Rather, he’d earned the nickname after an ESPN anchor commented that the Cowboys had drafted him not because of his talent, but because he had the money to buy a spot on the team. It hadn’t helped that his brother Ryder owned one of the most expensive boxes in Cowboys Stadium.
Jase was firmly of the belief that money didn’t solve everything. In his case, his family’s money had done him more harm than good. His reputation, his value as a player had taken a hit and it meant that he had to work three times harder than the hardest-working player just to prove himself. Those were the breaks though, and if he’d let that sort of shit get under his skin, he would have quit his freshman year of college.
A companionable silence settled, each of them taking in the sights. Carson didn’t make eye contact, just sipped from his glass. “But really, Jase. How are you feeling?”
He never could get anything over on Carson. Jase stretched his neck from side to side in an effort to banish some of the tension pulling his shoulders tight. “I’m feeling like if I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to be riding the bench for the duration. I’m sore, my game is shit, and I’m stressed the hell out.” He gave a rueful laugh. “That about cover it for you?”
Carson didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. At least one of them was keeping a level head. Jase could feel his place on the field slipping through his fingers. He needed something—anything—to pull him out of the damned slump he’d been in for the past few months.