Prairie Heat (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #1)

by Tessa Layne

  “Take a breather and go into town. Nothin’ you can do about the weather.”

  His brother, Ben, joined him on the porch. Blake clenched his jaw, nodding once.

  “Yeah. Piss or get off the pot. Are we going into town or not?” His youngest brother hopped up the steps and gently cuffed him. Blake shook him off.

  “Shut up, Brodie. We’ll go.”

  Sometimes. No. Most times, Brodie was a pain in the ass. Ben got him. Knew when to give him space. Right now, he needed space. Brodie was a damned bull in a china shop who didn’t know when to shut up. One day, it was going to get him into a mess of trouble.

  “I heard Warren Hansen’s pretty sick.”

  He swore Ben had inherited their great-great and so on grandmother’s sixth sense. He always knew what to say, and when.

  “Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” And why hadn’t Maddie mentioned her father was sick? The answer floated right in front of him.

  Why would she tell a Sinclaire?

  She wouldn’t. He clenched his jaw, beating back his frustration.

  “Didn’t have to hear it. Saw it at Dottie’s.” Ben pinned him with a stare.

  Blake raised his eyebrows in question. Dottie had her finger on the pulse of everything that took place in Prairie. If Dottie knew it, everyone knew it. But if it happened at Dottie’s, the news traveled faster than a prairie fire in a stiff wind.

  “Cut to it, Ben,” he snapped. “I don’t have time to be led to the light. What happened?”

  Ben rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer. Clearly enjoying taking his time with his response.

  Blake clenched his beer, tamping down the anger that threatened to bubble over. He needed to burn this off, and since sex wasn’t an option, that only left sweat.

  Or booze.

  But he wasn’t about to lose control that way. Maybe he should stay home and shovel out the stalls. He was shitty company right now.

  “Warren had an episode this morning. Turned grey and nearly passed out. Martha had to come pick him up and take him back to the Stables. Said something about his heart giving him trouble. But my guess is that kind of help doesn’t sit too well with him. Best strike while the iron is hot.”

  “Don’t be a fucking poet, Ben. What in the hell do you mean?”

  “Go talk to him. I bet you could persuade him to give us our land back. For a price, of course.”

  “For a price,” he stated flatly. “He fucking stole it, Ben. I’m not giving Warren Hansen a Goddamned cent.” His brothers didn’t know what Maddie already knew – that he’d tried repeatedly.

  The sting of humiliation had been too great.

  Was still too great.

  Anger, hot and raw, spilled over. Goddamn Warren Hansen. The man had known Blake’s father had a gambling problem, and instead of sending him home that night twelve years ago, he’d played a few rounds of Texas Hold’em and sent Jake Sinclaire home five hundred acres lighter. Five hundred acres of prime river bottom, and now the Hansens held both sides of Steele Creek, including the Sinclaire family homestead.

  Maddie’s voice tut-tutted in his ear. Those emotions will get the best of you every time…

  Ben eyed him curiously. “All I’m saying is that you should go talk to him. If you wait too long, his nephews will buy him out, or his daughter will sell it.”

  “How do you know?” Warren Hansen was the last man on earth he wanted to talk to. Especially right now.

  “Oh, you mean Britannica?” Brodie laughed scornfully. “Yeah, she’ll sell in a heartbeat.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Blake gritted out, glaring at his brother.

  “What?” Brodie cocked his head back, eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “Why don’t you stop being an ass for once and grow up?”

  “Whoa. Where’s your head, Blake? Why do you care?”

  “Shut up, Brodie.”

  Ben put up a hand, waving off their younger brother. “Think about it, Blake. You know it’s good pastureland. It’s also good hunting and good water. Gunnar and Axel would be stupid not to buy out their uncle. Problem is, if he dies, it rightfully goes to his daughter, what’s her name?”

  “Maddie,” he supplied.

  “Right. And she’ll sell to the highest bidder. Do you want that to be you or her cousins? Or worse?”

  Ben was right. Hell, he was right most of the time. This wasn’t the first time Ben had talked him down and into a place of reason. It was Ben that had suggested they make the switch to bison five years ago. They were still building the herd, but it had been a profitable move. One that kept the ranch in the black. But not by much.

  If he could get his family’s property back from Warren, he’d break ground and build a state of the art hunting lodge. Seasonal hunting would not only be good for the land, it would be very lucrative for the Sinclaire coffers. He’d been reading about fancy eco lodges that had gourmet chefs and comfortable beds. Just the kind of thing that would appeal to the same high end chefs and clients he sold his bison to all over the country.

  Question was, could he swallow his pride enough to convince Warren to sell? And if not sell, lease?

  Aww, hell. For the millionth time in the last three weeks, he wished he could ask Maddie to elaborate on her advice about Warren.

  Stupidest thing he’d ever done was not ask how he could contact her.

  No.

  Stupidest thing he’d ever done was kiss her.

  And then he’d let her push his buttons and before he’d realized what was happening, he’d gone and behaved like an ass. That was sure to ingratiate him to her father.

  “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “You want us to come with you?”

  He shook his head. “No. You two go on to The Trading Post, I’ll ride over and speak to Warren.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Blake swallowed hard and double-checked the roll of plans he carried as he stepped across worn slats comprising the front porch. He’d ridden over across Steele Creek instead of driving. It was faster, and somehow felt friendlier. Family feuding had taken precedent over neighborliness, and maybe it was time that stopped.

  He rapped twice on the front door and waited. Looking out across the porch, he was surprised to see the edge of the Sinclaire homestead through the trees, just on the other side of the river. After all the generations of misunderstandings, his heart twisted a little at how close the families must have been at the beginning.

  He rapped again, this time hearing a muffled voice and accompanying footsteps. The door opened and a gaunt figure with vivid blue eyes stared out suspiciously. For a moment his breath caught. God, it was like staring straight into Maddie’s eyes. Her father had aged even in the short time since Blake had seen him last, though. Ben was right. Warren was ill.

  When Blake didn’t speak, Warren cleared his throat.

  “Cat got your tongue, son?”

  “Sir? Warren?”

  The man nodded once, his face not giving anything away. God, he looked worse than whatever the cat drug in. “You’re back. Did Maddie Jane put you up to this?”

  He may look like crap but his tongue still had the sting of a viper.

  Warren scowled. “Well she didn’t waste any time, did she? Circling like sharks. I’m not dead yet for chrissakes.”

  “Sir?”

  “Well don’t just stand there like a ninny. May as well have a cup of coffee.” Warren turned and left Blake standing.

  He guessed he was making progress. Last time Warren had kicked him off the front porch and told him that he’d shoot him if he ever stepped foot on the property again.

  He followed Warren into the house. Except for several pictures of Maddie at various ages, nothing adorned the walls and the furniture had seen better days. Clearly the home had missed a woman’s touch for many years. His heart twisted. Surely this wasn’t where Maddie had spent her childhood?

  Warren grabbed a metal pot of coffee off the stove and poured. But his hand shook when it hovered ove
r Blake’s mug. Ben wasn’t kidding about Warren’s condition. Blake had never seen the man look so frail.

  “Sit.” Warren motioned to the Formica table in the corner with his head. “You think showing me your plans is going to convince me? The only thing those plans are good for is kindling.”

  Shit. He’d gone about this all wrong. Maddie had told him not to meet Warren head-on. And what had he done?

  He’d come over here with the idea of treating Warren like a potential investor bringing the plans for the hunting lodge he’d had drawn up. He should have known better. He did know better, but he hadn’t listened. Instead, he’d rushed over, letting his emotions rule his head.

  He nodded, pushing down the flames of shame that licked up at him. He would not let this man shame him. Hell, Warren had stolen the property from his father. Shame sparked to anger, and he forced himself to let it dissipate by taking a long sip of his coffee. He hid a grimace. It wasn’t as good as his. Not by a longshot.

  He slowly set the mug down and looked Warren square in the eye. Sweat beaded across his upper lip. Was that a tell? Was Warren nervous? The kitchen didn’t feel very hot.

  “With all due respect, sir. We’re talking about property you stole from my father.”

  “Jake tell you that?” he growled. “Jake owed me a lot more than that property, son. I accepted it as payment fair and square.”

  “You knew he had a problem.”

  “Everyone knew he had a problem. The only person who refused to see it was Jake.”

  Anger blazed in Blake’s gut, and pressed his hands into the cool Formica in an effort to remain calm. Warren raised his hand and cut him off before he could speak.

  “Why are you here?”

  Blake swallowed. Hell, he might as well cut to the chase. This conversation was going to the shitter like the previous ones.

  “I heard you haven’t been well.” He paused, studying Warren’s face for any type of reaction. There was none, but those blue eyes pierced him. Longing for Maddie stabbed through him. He pushed his feelings aside, willing himself back to the conversation. “Rumor has it you might be…” He stopped suddenly, unsure of how to continue. Warren looked like shit, and having this discussion felt predatory.

  “Spit it out, son.” Warren’s voice fell heavy between them.

  “Aw, hell.” He scraped his fingers over his day old stubble. “We heard you might be selling… I wanted to make an offer.”

  Warren’s mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes flashed. Anger, resignation, something else. Pain? Something about this whole encounter felt off.

  “Why in tarnation would I sell to you? You’re a Sinclaire.”

  Blake refused to take the bait. “You know that land was ours before you stole–”

  “Won it.”

  “Fine.” Blake straightened in his chair. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Why should I?” Warren glared. “Nothing worth fighting for is easy, son. Especially matters of the heart.”

  “You think that’s what this is? A matter of the heart?”

  “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t care two hoots.”

  Well damn if he didn’t have a point. This land had been in his family since the 1850s. At some point along the way, the Hansens and the Sinclaires had a falling out. Repeatedly, as the wounds got passed down the generations. But he’d be damned if he’d let a developer come in and take what was rightfully theirs. As much as it galled him, he’d rather the Hansens have the land than a stranger. At least they had an understanding.

  Speculation flashed across Warren’s eyes. Instantly, his guard came up. Years of negotiating experience indicated Warren was ready to pounce.

  “Tell me about yourself, son.”

  Why was he abruptly changing the subject? Shit. He should have listened to Maddie instead of riding over here, plans in hand, like this would be a done deal. He’d been foolish and headstrong. Fine. He could play this game too. Answer the question with a question.

  “You have an MBA, sir?”

  Warren sat back and laughed. “Ha. Don’t need no business degree, when I’ve got the smarts up here.” He tapped his temple.

  Blake nodded. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  Warren’s eyes narrowed. “Who says you aren’t?”

  He was going to be a tough nut to crack.

  Blake took another sip of his coffee, his mind racing. What was Warren after?

  “I see you’re not married.”

  “Haven’t met the right person.” Not that it would matter if he had. He wasn’t marriage material. Not with his burdens.

  “You should be.”

  “Huh?” He cocked his head, not following.

  “Married. You should be married. You’re hell bent on getting back Sinclaire property but who you gonna give it to?” Warren pinned him with eyes that he seriously needed to stop looking at. This was not the time to be thinking about Maddie.

  He shrugged. “My brothers’ children. They’ll get married someday.”

  “How old are you, son?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Just how much longer are you gonna wait until someday?”

  Warren’s uncanny ability to push his buttons reminded him too strongly of another Hansen. The urge to fidget in his chair rushed through him. But Warren was a Texas Hold ’em player. If he so much as twitched, he’d give something away. Just like she told you.

  “What exactly does this have to do with the property, sir?”

  “You’re the first born, aren’t you?”

  Blake nodded curtly, tired of the questions.

  Warren chuckled to himself, then caught his breath, wincing. “Know how I know? You’re jus’ like your father.”

  He stiffened, fisting his hand. Like hell he was like his father. Jacob Sinclaire was an SOB who’d drunk himself to death and had given away five hundred acres of family history and God knew what else to hide it.

  He opened his mouth to object, but Warren raised his hand. “Jake knew when he’d been beat. He might not like it, but when you’re a gambler, you learn when to take your winnings away from the table.” He leaned forward, a wild, hungry light in his eyes. “You want the property, don’t you? You can taste it.” He paused, a bead of sweat glistening above his lip. “You’ve wanted it back your whole life. And you’re not so proud you refuse to come in person and ask. Repeatedly. I like that about you.”

  Blake’s mouth went dry. His senses were on high alert zinging danger signals at him left and right.

  “You even came here with a plan.” Warren’s eyes glittered shrewdly. “Now, if I was a betting man, and sometimes I am, I’d bet you put the cart before the horse and have plans to build because you’re convinced someday you’ll wear me down and you’ll get your land back.

  Jesus. How in the hell had Warren Hansen just gotten inside his head?

  “I’d also bet you’d site it down by your old homestead. That’s where I’d build something.” Warren’s hard stare sliced right through him. “See, you’re too much of a gentleman to build on this side of the creek. You’d stay on the old family dividing line in case I changed my mind, because there’s no way in hell you’d let a house fall into Hansen hands.”

  The guy was half-cracked. Whatever meds they were pumping into him had knocked a screw loose. Blake could feel a noose tightening around his neck and he was powerless to stop it. All of his negotiation training had gone out the window. It was like he was seventeen again, arguing with his father. He stood.

  When losing a deal, change the dynamic in the room. Warren stood too, and grabbed the pot from the stove, refilling Blake’s mug without asking. And even though his hand shook like an old woman, he reasserted his control of the conversation. Damn, Warren was good. Although clearly not well. Whatever ill feelings he harbored toward the man, Blake couldn’t deny he was tough as nails.

  “Love costs, son.”

  “Sir?”

  Warren leaned his hip b
ack on the counter, looking grayer by the second, sizing Blake up.

  “Build your house.” Warren waved at the roll of plans still sitting on the table. “We can work out the payment details another day, but before you break ground, before I sign anything…”

  The silence stretched between them.

  Warren smiled slyly. Like a cat about to wolf down its prey.

  Damn.

  He’d done it. Whatever his tell was, Warren had figured it out and used it against him. He was going to go to the devil. He’d been set up and played for a fool. The trap door opened and the noose snapped around his neck.

  “Marry my daughter.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. My daughter is in need of a husband.”

  He stared at the old man, slack jawed. Was Warren treating his daughter, his precious daughter, if the number of pictures were any indication, like a piece of livestock?

  A lightbulb went off in his head. Find his pinch point and use it.

  Well hell and damnation. Was Warren’s pinch point Maddie? That was a fine turn of events. He’d always said he’d do whatever it took to reclaim his property. But would he make a deal with the Devil to get his property back?

  He had to get his land back, no matter what the cost. For the future Sinclaires. Ben and Brodie were bound to settle down soon. He’d give the land to the first one of them to marry and have a family. Then it would stay Sinclaire land forever.

  Maddie Hansen was the hottest thing he’d ever met. No doubt about it. She drove him crazy with need. But what would she have to say about this? He couldn’t see any possible scenario where she’d believe marrying him was a good idea. In fact, if their previous encounter had been any indicator, she’d kick his ass into next week if she learned about this conversation.