To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  And no charges were mentioned, concerning Neve’s small revenge. She’d heard Tim had kept all his toes.

  Cherish shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “I’m glad we’re all able to come together like this. I think it’s best we clear the air once and for all.”

  Krandall raised his hand like they were in a classroom, his lips twisted sardonically to one side. “Can’t I just sign whatever I need to sign and be done with it?” He relaxed, but his hands went up in a helpless gesture. “Look, I don’t want any of this. And you, Mama, what’re you gonna do with some ranch you ain’t got no mind to run? I don’t care what some old man’s piece of paper says. It’s Hux Ranch, and I don’t want it. Neither do you.”

  She blinked worriedly, sadness in the slope of her shoulders and the way her gaze traveled between her hands and the floor. “I don’t know, Kran. I feel like your daddy’s life would’ve been so different had Florrie lived. Or if Ben had taken him in. The ranch represents what could’ve been. Where the timeline split off. We could put it to rights.”

  Miles coughed politely and smiled awkwardly when Cherish and Krandall looked at him expectantly. His booted feet shuffled. “It ain’t got to be so cut and dried as all that. I mean, I could teach you to run the ranch. I guess what I’m trying to say is you own Lady Killer Ranch.” He indicated Ben’s papers piled high on the table with the sweep of one hand. “Whether you want it or not. But it’s been my home my whole life. I love it. I understand if you ain’t interested, what with our family’s history, but I can run it for you and teach you how it’s done as I go along. If you were amenable to keeping us on, at any rate. ’Course, I mean Owen and Laurel, too. They had no inkling of what Tim was up to, and they’re dedicated.”

  The hope on Cherish’s wrinkled face lit Neve up on the inside. Could it really be so easy?

  Krandall chewed his lip and studied his mama’s hopeful expression.

  “What about the cabin?” Duke cut into the moment unapologetically.

  What happened with Lady Killer had no bearing on them personally, but the cabin’s ownership was something of a conundrum.

  Miles rubbed his cheek, eyebrows raised in question. “I don’t really know. My dad sold this land, whether he actually had the right or not. After all, while everyone knew Ben had deeded it to Florrie, no actual paperwork existed to prove it.”

  Until now, of course. The deed with Florrie Beels’s name printed neatly had been in the locked chest.

  So, which had legal weight? The original deed, which meant Krandall owned the cabin along with the rest of Lady Killer Ranch, or the falsified documents Tim’s father had created in order to sell land he didn’t own, which had later on been rightfully bought and paid for by Gavin?

  Krandall scoffed and reached for Ben’s stack of papers, taking one in particular. “Look here.” He showed them the cabin’s deed. Then ripped it straight down the middle.

  Cherish’s high-pitched gasp filled the spacious cabin, and everyone else stared wide-eyed and silent.

  He patted his mama’s shoulder. “There, there. History and all that, I know. But look here, we’re making our own. I know the past is important to you, but it’s all such high drama. They were young and stupid. And heartless! And I can’t bring myself to care too much for what none of them wanted.” He turned his attention to Miles. “I suppose we all need to talk about Lady Killer Ranch, then. I’ll tell you what, though, first thing’s first, we’re changing that awful name.”

  * * * *

  Neve kicked a pebble and locked her hands behind her back. Should she go first?

  Gavin smiled. “I’m glad the cabin’s mine.”

  Oh, goodie. He’d be diplomatically polite and make her impending apology easy to stomach. “Me too. After all, it was designed for you.”

  “It really was. And fantastically so. Really, it bowls me over. Don’t tell Duke I said this, but while he’s a master of refurbishing, I can’t think he holds a candle to you stylistically.”

  She fanned herself playfully. “Oh, stop. You’ll make blush, and my face will explode. I haven’t blushed since I lost my virginity.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance. “You know, I actually believe that. You’re not exactly the bashful type.” His lips thinned.

  It took little to figure out where his mind had hobbled off to, because hers followed. She inhaled deeply and mustered her infamous inner nut-sack. “Gavin, I owe you an apology.” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “No, come on. Let’s be straight. I was a jerk. I won’t pretend I wasn’t offended, nor will I pretend that’s anything more than a handy excuse. I caught on to your…” Had it been attraction? Love? “…feelings for Duke. I suspected, anyway. This before I knew he was straight. So I said nothing, because maybe you two were, I don’t know, like, gonna figure it out or something. But when I found out the truth, I should’ve been a lot, uh, neater with my delivery.”

  He matched her body language, hands clasped behind his back, and didn’t meet her gaze. He nibbled his lip and let the silence between them linger a fraction too long.

  “Seriously, I’m sorry.” She rushed the words. She had no idea how to make him believe her or know the depth of her sincerity. “Truly. I told myself I’d done you guys some big favor, spewing out Duke’s secret like projectile vomit, but I should’ve taken you aside and explained.”

  He nodded and finally looked at her with a wry smile. “It would’ve saved me a little face, if nothing else.”

  She closed her eyes. God, I’m such an asshole. “Or even allowed Duke to tell you on his own terms.”

  He grimaced. “Talk about awkward.” A small laugh escaped him. “Look, Neve, I’m a fair proponent of honesty, so I won’t insult you by saying it wasn’t a little on the harsh side. Or by pretending I didn’t run away with my tail tucked between my legs, wanting to die of mortification. However, I won’t fault you for being who you are. We all have those things we struggle with. Me, I’m too upbeat. I grate on people. Duke, he’s a people-pleaser. Even what he did with you, pretending to be unobtainable, was in the interest of avoiding hurt feelings and discomfort later on. He just wants everyone to have what they need and be happy. We need people like you to balance us out. It’s why you and Duke are going to make such a fabulous couple. Him and all his peacemaking, you with your snarky aversion to bullshit. And what is peacemaking but spewing bullshit to appease everyone at the same time? You’re total opposites. Also, I think it’s fair I be the best man, don’t you?”

  Neve’s jaw had come unhinged about two-thirds of the way through his monologue. She’d stopped walking and gaped at Gavin. “Wow. You’re remarkably observant.”

  “Eh.” He shrugged. “I’m a people person.”

  “Okay, well, except you missed the mark on the whole marriage thing. Duke and I have discussed…stuff. Like, feelings. But this calls for baby steps.” She laughed softly. “Gah, marriage? If we last long enough for that to be an issue, I’ll be shocked. We’re talking years before that’s even a thing.”

  “Well, the cabin will still stand, I’m sure, even if it takes the two of you a decade of beating around the bush.”

  “Hmm.” She squinted at Gavin’s perfectly round baby blues. “And that’s supposed to mean…”

  He smiled his big, dimpled smile. “That I’m giving it to you. A wedding gift. Early, belated, whatever.” He sighed, and a wistful expression took over his face. “I had this little fantasy, you might call it. The moment I met Duke, he seemed so cool and confident but not aloof. God, men think that’s such a great affectation. But it sucks. People want someone who cares. And Dukes so obviously cares. It’s just who he is, and I think I picked up on that from him instantly and decided he must be the one. Why else would I notice him so completely, and his most perfect, glaring quality be one I desperately looked for in a companion?”

  Oh, my, this sounds oddly familiar…

  “Anyway, the cabin, the reno. It’s stupid, but I
only wanted him to work for me so I’d have an excuse to get to know him personally. Spend some off-the-clock time with him. Of course, had I known he flew straight, I’d have never entertained such nonsense. You can’t convert a straight man, no matter what the media says.” A totally fabulous eye roll accompanied the statement.

  The depth of her empathy astounded her. She could quite accurately say she knew exactly how he’d felt.

  Maybe I’m not a sociopath, after all. I just have super-stingy sympathy.

  Neve slipped an arm around his shoulders, cementing what she now felt was the beginning of an undeniable bond. “Oh, Gavin, I think we understand each other better than you know.” Not that she’d be sharing how she’d felt about him at one point. Some secrets needed to stay secrets. Or simply be forgotten altogether, lost to the alums of time. “As for the cabin, your offer is most gracious. I’ll ask Duke what he thinks before I promise anything, though.”

  * * * *

  Duke never got tired of the way Neve tucked her body against his just so and subtly kept the remote from his reach with one hand while making tidy work of yogurt-covered pretzels with the other. At least he could put it on the car channel now. Not often since Neve hadn’t lost her penchant for crappy television, but maybe, in time, she’d grow careless and leave the remote where he could snatch it up before she had to a chance to stop him.

  His heart warmed when the weight of Hannah’s huge head settled onto his thigh on his other side. And on Neve’s opposite side, Darcy curled into a half-moon mound under Neve’s elbow like a damn cat.

  Neve wriggled against him. “So, what’d you tell Gavin? It’s such a nice place.”

  “You’re right. Those antique furnishing are something else.”

  “Yep. And did you notice how the appliances fit within the color scheme?”

  “Sure did. How about that hot tub, huh?”

  “I know. Plus those lovely vaulted ceilings.”

  He sighed, content, and prepared to have the same argument a third time. “I told him hell no, just like last time he tried to pawn that awful cabin off on us.”

  Neve groaned. “How can you describe any place I designed as awful?”

  “Easy. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I have to hike a quarter mile to reach the front door. Plus, we have some history with the neighbors.”

  “Oh, shut up. Cherish and Miles are our friends.”

  “I still don’t want the cabin.”

  She tilted her head back to blink at him with her molten lava eyes. “Not even for our honeymoon?”

  He kissed her forehead and grinned. “Especially not for our honeymoon.”

  “Were you at least nice this time?”

  “Of course I was.” He squirmed. Kinda nice. Not that Gavin had taken offense. He was extremely motivated to sell, and no one in the area seemed interested.

  “Goddamn it, Duke.” She struggled into an upright position and swiveled her upper body to face him. It turned her small breasts out at an angle a man could appreciate. “When are you going to learn to stop lying? Gavin called me. You yelled.”

  Duke held up a contrary finger. “I raised my voice. A little. But I did not yell. But seriously, I’m over it at this point. I don’t want the stupid cabin.”

  “Well, lucky for you, he called to inform me he found a buyer. And no, it’s not going back to High Mountain Ranch. Kay and Finn decided they want it for a summer retreat. I think they felt sorry for Gavin.”

  “Huh.” The new name they’d settled on for the ranch didn’t have the same cadence as its old moniker, but it certainly made for a better first impression. “Good for them. Heck, we shouldn’t have to hear from any of them again until the wedding, right?”

  Neve laughed and settled back into the crook of his arm. “I understand how you feel, Duke, but would it kill you to have a little tact?”

  THE END

  Rumor has it, she can’t resist…

  MEN LIKE THIS

  A Long Shot Romance

  Roxanne Smith

  Can she trust a man who pretends for a living?

  Horror author Quinn Buzzly knows all about the dark side, but when she meets actor Jack Decker, she’s moved to explore something completely different—at least on paper. With his sexy good looks, intriguing manner, and charming Irish-tinged English accent, Jack is the perfect model for her next hero. Quinn decides to spend one year in London writing a historical romance inspired by him. Until real life butts in…

  Jack’s jealous ex-fiancée sparks a media storm when she accuses him and Quinn of having an affair. But Jack knows how to play this game. At his insistence, Quinn agrees to go along with the faux romance until the chatter subsides. Then they’ll stage a quiet breakup and go their separate ways. Yet Jack is a shameless—and irresistibly convincing—flirt, and Quinn has to remind herself it’s an act. Or is it? If Jack means business, he’ll have to find the words to convince a wordsmith that their love is the real thing…

  Chapter 1

  Quinn gaped at Richard as if he’d grown an extra appendage in front of her eyes. He might as well have. He was alien to her, despite having known him for many years. “I’m giving you about three seconds to explain.”

  He had the nerve to smile. It showed off the large glaringly white teeth inside his too-perfect mouth on his too-perfect face. “You don’t like it?” His dark gaze wandered, his approval apparent. “I really thought you would.”

  They were at a nightclub called Sabini’s in Hollywood—Quinn deplored Hollywood. A small treasure of a private bar hid deep in the bowels of the rowdy club: quiet, classy, and far from the maddening wump-wump-wump of the dance floor down the hall. Yes, she liked it.

  No, she wasn’t going to admit it.

  She crossed her bare arms, partly from the chill but mostly to show Richard she meant business. “Our relationship demands trust. Why would you lie to me, Richard?”

  He spared a quick glance at her defensive posture. “Cold?” When she didn’t respond, he waved off her concern. “All I’ve done is taken you out. Is that so bad?”

  A jolt of agitation shot through her. Had he lost his mind? Had one too many cocktails earlier? “Yes, I’d say it was! You dragged me across a nasty dance floor wearing a silk ball gown and diamond brooch worth more than your house. You said my sister planned this. I want an explanation, and I want it now.”

  Richard continued to scan the bar, unruffled by her outburst. “I brought you through the front because I left my key to the private entrance at home. I apologize.” He sat on one of the backless cowhide bar stools and lifted a hand for the bartender. “Bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

  The busty young woman who could’ve still been driving on a learner’s permit smiled. Her gaze roamed freely over Richard before she dashed off to fulfill his glamorous request.

  Quinn fought the urge to stick her finger down her throat. Champagne? Who was he kidding?

  He turned back to her and patted the seat beside him as if beckoning her to join him like she were some wayward, spoiled child. “Your feet must hurt.” His eyes were kind, and his smile knowing. “Angie has excellent fashion sense, but you shouldn’t have let her talk you into those heels.”

  He spoke the truth.

  Quinn’s feet throbbed from the towering stilettos she had no business wearing. She planned to set fire to the outrageous instruments of torture the very day they lifted the burn ban in L.A. and fight harder for the ballet flats next time.

  She scowled at Richard for being right but sat anyway. The blood rushing back into her feet made her woozy with relief. With some effort, she refocused on Richard. “Quit stalling and tell me what we’re doing here, or I’m walking out. If I have to call a cab to get home, I swear, I’m taking my next project to someone else.”

  Richard’s dark and impeccably shaped eyebrows shot up. His mouth fell open. Finally, a dent in his smooth surface. “You wouldn’t.”

  He didn’t so
und so certain.

  Quinn smiled at having the upper hand. “I damn sure would. Like I said, this is a trust thing. It was odd when you told me Emily wanted to get together in Hollywood, but I told myself you wouldn’t do anything weird. Then you go and order champagne. It keeps getting weirder, and you refuse to tell me what’s really going on. You don’t own a white windowless van, do you? Or have duct tape in your suit pocket?”

  He didn’t appear amused. In fact, he managed to appear unaffected, his impenetrable feathers were back in place. Her show of humor must’ve left him with the incorrect impression she’d be easily managed.

  “You’re over thinking this. We had a successful night at the fund-raiser. You’re gorgeous. I wanted to have an after-party drink with my favorite client. There’s nothing weird about wanting to prolong a nice evening with a friend.”

  He couldn’t have mocked her any clearer.

  She couldn’t have cared any less. “Except for your conniving, I’d agree. Why didn’t you simply ask?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled his horse-toothed smile. It ruined everything he had going for his face. “Surprise.”

  The champagne arrived. He handed her a dainty flute. “Drink this.” The sweet condescension in his voice nearly undid the frail threads holding Quinn’s temper in check, but she kept her grip on the reins—until she glanced at her glass.

  It practically brimmed over with the sparkly wine. A sudden burst of insight hit her. “You’re trying to get me drunk.”