by Erica Penrod
The Horse Trainer, the Buyer, & the Bride
Country Brides & Cowboy Boots
Erica Penrod
Copyright © 2017 by Erica Penrod
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Introduction
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Also by Erica Penrod
About the Author
Sneak Peek at the Upcoming Country Brides & Cowboy Boots book “Horses, Hayrides & Husbands” by Bestselling Author Jeanette Lewis
Introduction
Welcome to Country Brides & Cowboy Boots, a series full of everything country, from horses and rodeo to small towns and business owners. There a little something for every reader in this series and we can’t wait for you to jump right in and get reading.
One thing you’ll notice, is that the books stand alone. You can read them in any order (except for the Fair Catch Ranch Family Saga—but those books are labeled so you can easily find your way.) You’ll also find that they are all in the same universe—meaning what happens in one book, can be found in another. You’re going to love finding all the eggs we’ve stashed and once the whole series is out, you’ll want to read them again and again to connect the dots.
Without further delay, please enjoy Country Brides & Cowboy Boots.
Happy reading,
Gelato
Foreword
I met Erica in a quaint restaurant last spring where a group of authors gathered for breakfast before a writers conference. Throughout the meal, I discovered she was just finishing up an adorably clever series that I immediately put on my to-read list.
I was excited to learn we were both writing for Gelato’s Country Brides and Cowboy Boots series, and thrilled when I was later given an advance copy of her story, The Horse Trainer, the Buyer, and the Bride. Score!
I settled into an outdoor hammock with my e-reader and sunk into this wonderful, western romance. Penrod has a charming knack for country that put a smile on my face within the first few lines. She had me as soon as the dust settled around his boots, and kept my interest until the greatly anticipated happily ever after. In this fast-paced romance you’ll find suspense, love, and twists you didn’t see coming.
So saddle up and get ready to swoon; with Penrod’s newest tale, you’re in for one sweet ride.
Kimberly Krey,
Author of the Montana Bride Series
Chapter 1
The last thing Vivien McIntyre needed was another man in her life. She crushed the piece of hay between her teeth, then rubbed at her temples as she watched the truck and trailer come up the drive. Her head reeled at her father’s audacity to hire another horse trainer instead of her. She’d devoted her life to learning the art of horsemanship—turned down college scholarships and spent all her twenty-three years on the ranch. This was her university, and she thought her father understood that. Eli McIntyre’s decision felt like a jab to the heart by the sharp end of a shovel, and no matter how she tried to get over it, the insult gnawed through her gut.
The dogs barked and circled the vehicle. Maybe they’ll mark their territory on the tires. She smiled for half a second, until reality and thoughts of the new employee pulled her face into a scowl. Wiping the moisture from her forehead, Viv squinted to get a glimpse of the man as he opened the door—the man about to push her out of the saddle she worked so hard to climb into. Gripping the rail, she cussed as a sliver from the rough wood cut into her skin.
Viv hopped down and shook her wounded hand as the breeze picked up and whipped through her hair, struggling to capture her defiant auburn curls. Her throat tightened with each step Boone Jameson took toward her.
Dust swirled around his feet, and she couldn’t tell if he brought the wind or if he stirred things up wherever he went. She’d have to stand on her toes to look him in the eye, and the way he walked, like a horse to grain, made her think he knew what he wanted and how to get it. His black button-down shirt stretched across broad shoulders, his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his strong biceps flexed as he lowered the duffel bag from his shoulder, bent down, and scratched the dogs behind the ears. He looked up at her with deep-set blue eyes beneath a straw hat and grinned. His reputation as a prestigious cutting horse trainer followed him like a spotlight, but the way he looked at her had her seeing stars.
Viv bit her lip and swore for the second time in two minutes. Ticked at herself for getting caught up in his good looks like some half-brained rodeo groupie, she untangled herself and focused on her nemesis. After what she heard about Boone Jameson, she expected him to crawl in on eight legs, not prance in like a prized stallion. He was supposed to be one of the best cutting horse trainers in the world, as good as Dallas Ruggles was with a rope horse, but a scandal between him and a wealthy cutter’s wife drove him out of Texas and into Utah. Desperation must’ve been the only reason Boone wanted to work on this ranch. If he was looking for money, he was in the wrong place.
The man stood up and offered his hand to her. “I’m Boone Jameson.” His voice was deep and rough, matching the stubble on his face.
“I know who you are,” she said, regretting her words when a smug look spread across his face. “I mean by reputation, and my father said you were coming.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets and glanced down at the toe of her dirt-covered boot, hoping the tone of her voice conveyed which rumored reputation she referred to. When she looked up and he was still smiling, she gritted her teeth in frustration. Either he didn’t interpret her insult, or he was so egotistical he didn’t care.
Boone withdrew his hand and stepped back. Clearing his throat, he looked down at her. “Where’s your father?” he asked, his tone dismissing her as anything but the owner’s daughter.
Viv pulled a pair of torn leather gloves from her back pocket. “He had to run into town for some supplies.” She slipped her fingers into place. “We weren’t expecting you until this evening.”
“Well, I’m here now,” he said, without looking at her.
She tried to imagine what he thought as he surveyed the yard and house. Years of western sunsets faded the once-yellow siding on the house into the color of weathered wheat, while a wood paneled door, with a hole the size of her father’s boot in the right corner, sat front and center. Windows blotched with hard water were once framed by brown shutters, but only shattered remains of wooden slats lay in the flower bed of weeds.
“I’d like to look around,” Boone said, pulling her thoughts to the present. When he walked towards the stalls, she understood he wasn’t asking for permission.
What she didn’t understand was how her father planned to pay Jameson. Dad refused to talk money with her, so she didn’t know how bad things were until he sold everything that wasn’t nailed down to buy the cutting bred colt. As far as she knew, they didn’t have
anything left to pay the trainer.
“I can give you a tour,” she said, and hustled to catch up to the long-legged cowboy.
“There’s no need,” he said without slowing his pace. “I don’t think I can get lost.”
Viv heard the sarcasm in his voice and dug her heels into the dirt. Just who did he think he was? His starched jeans and expensive boots weren’t going to impress anyone around here. As far as she was concerned, he was just a hired hand, and he’d be better off to remember that.
The dogs paused, turned up their ears, and looked at her before they trotted off with the jerk. Traitors.
She went over to the arena, picked up the pitchfork, and looked over to see Jameson studying the horses in the field. There was more than a pile of manure she’d like to toss out, but she’d learned a long time ago that once her father made up his mind, there was no sense arguing. That was like squatting with your spurs on: ill-advised and painful. Her father wanted Boone Jameson to turn his colt into a futurity champion, and he wasn’t about to listen to anything his daughter had to say about it. But there was more than one way to corral a bull. Viv knew she just needed time to make her dad think he’d been headed to the barn all along.
On the other side of the arena, a row of dirty stalls called for her attention—or better yet, the persistent aroma reminded her she had work to finish before her shift started at the diner. She swung the pitchfork over her shoulder and headed towards the pens.
The sound of her father’s truck made her pause. He was back earlier than she expected, but he wasn’t alone. Viv stared until the blurred image became clear, and her brain refused to believe what she saw. A woman sat beside Dad. Not on the passenger side, but in the middle, right next to her father.
Transfixed by the idea that there was a woman interested in her burly father, Viv didn’t notice the black sports car following her dad’s rusted pickup truck down the dirt lane until they parked. The sports car was a puzzle, until she saw the unmistakable driver inside. What in the heck was Lucas Royal doing here?
The door squeaked in protest as it swung open, and her father got out. He straightened his hat before he reached in and helped the woman down. Amanda Royal?
In the small town of Lewiston, Utah, there were two kinds of people: the Royals, robed in wealth, and everyone else.
“Viv,” her father called, and motioned to her. “Come here.”
She stabbed the pitchfork into the ground and walked with trepidation toward her father. There was something strange about him, besides the fact that he stood there holding hands with the richest woman in town. The look in his eyes reminded Viv of the few times he had too much to drink. Was he drunk now?
Lucas got out of his car and leaned against the door with his arms folded across his chest. He wore aviator sunglasses and paid no attention to the spectacle their parents were making. Viv bit her lip, the pain reassuring her she was wide awake as she stopped in front of them.
“This is Amanda Royal,” her father said.
“Yes, I know,” Viv said. “We’ve met.” She recalled the few times the wealthy and widowed Mrs. Royal came to the diner. Viv watched them watch each other and waited for someone to give her the punch line.
“Amanda McIntyre, if you please,” Mrs. Royal said, and wrapped her arm around Viv’s father.
Her father grinned like a stranger. “Viv, meet your new stepmother.”
Viv’s heart stopped and her head spun. She fell back a step and felt strong arms catch her. Looking up, she saw Boone looking down at her with a huge grin across his face.
Wrapped up in her sworn enemy’s arms, Viv was warm and protected. A feeling that would have been thoroughly enjoyable if she didn’t hate the guy so much. Boone winked at the alluring Amanda and smiled. “You always did like to make an entrance, Big Sis.”
Chapter 2
Viv stared at Amanda and then back to Boone. Sister? The world spun in the wrong direction, and once again she relied on Boone to steady her, even though she’d rather grab a bull by the horns.
“What?” she asked, looking around for hidden cameras. Was this some sort of prank television show? She looked for the host with his microphone.
“Amanda’s your new stepmother,” her father said again.
Had her father agreed to this for money? That sounded more plausible than him marrying Amanda Royal.
“Isn’t it wonderful news?” Lucas said in a flat, even voice as he walked over and came to a stop next to his mother.
Some people never grow up, Viv thought as she glared at Lucas. He wore the same brand name he did all those years ago in high school. Conceited.
“Lucas, be nice,” Amanda said, reaching out and touching his shoulder.
He shrugged. “I am,” he said as he took off his glasses and looked down at Viv. “I can hardly believe that Vivien McIntyre and I get to be stepbrother and -sister.”
Vivien rolled her eyes. “Well, let me tell what I think about you … you … you stuck-up—”
“Everyone calm down.” Dad raised his palms as if approaching a skittish foal.
“Calm down?” Viv said as she twisted away from Boone, immediately noticing the absence of his steady arms. “Would someone care to explain to me just what is going on here? Have you all lost your minds? Dad, first you hire some trainer known more for his ability with women than horses, and then you go for supplies and come back with a wife? And don’t even get me started on Lucas Royal, the most arrogant jerk I’ve ever met and—”
“That’s enough,” her father said between gritted teeth, and Viv knew she’d pushed him as far as she dared. Suddenly she realized how her father got money to hire Jameson.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, the bitter taste of last to know on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked down at the toe of her boot, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“Why don’t we go in the house and we’ll talk about it?” Amanda said. Her voice was smooth, but full of emotion Viv couldn’t translate.
Viv took a deep breath as she studied Amanda. Her anger subsided into confusion. Amanda Royal reminded her of a mannequin she’d seen in a clothing store: always put together and frozen in time. The highlights in her shoulder-length blonde hair were practically hand-painted by the sun, and her bright eyes matched her blue jeans. Her white shirt was tucked in, and a rhinestone belt wrapped around her waist. Amanda was one of the most beautiful women Viv had ever seen, and her father … well … he was her father. Too mean and too ornery to be considered anything else. So what could Amanda Royal possibly have to gain by marrying him?
“I’ve got to get work,” Viv said. Her body and mind were weak. Talking was the last thing she wanted to do. “I forgot Joye asked me to come in a little early today.”
“We owe you an explanation,” Amanda said, reaching out to Viv like she had to Lucas. Her touch was light, but oozed with mother’s concern. Something Vivien had never known.
Viv yanked her arm out of reach and backed away, distance the only weapon in her arsenal. Vivien wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a clear conscience. Not that she expected her father to care, but it was obvious Amanda wanted to clear things up. And it was obvious by the way her father held on to his new wife’s hand he wanted to please her, even if that meant pretending Vivien’s feelings mattered.
She flipped around and broke into a trot.
“Vivien,” her father called.
“Maybe another time,” she said over her shoulder, then glanced at Boone and then over to Lucas. Both men seemed amused by the situation.
Well, she wasn’t amused.
She kept going. Her back felt like a dartboard, and with every step she felt the sting of their stares thrown her way. Biting her lip, she kept a steady pace to her truck, even though the voice in her head was screaming to run.
* * *
The bell chimed as Vivien pushed open the heavy door at the diner. The red vinyl letters on the glass pane spe
lling out Joye’s peeled at the corners. After every shift, as Viv wiped down the door, she pressed them back into place, but minutes later they’d lift and start to curl at the edges again. Like so many other things in her life, they refused to stick, to do the job intended for them. Wasn’t a father supposed to cherish his daughter?
She shook her head as she stepped through the door; she didn’t want to think about that now. Her tangled curls tripped over her shoulders, reminding her she needed to tie up her hair. She drove the fifteen minutes into town with the windows down, hoping to clear her mind, or at the very least, let the wind blow away some of her frustration.
Taking the hair band from her wrist, she twisted her hair into a messy knot on the top of her head.
“Hi there, honey,” she heard as she walked behind the counter. Joye was wiping down a table at the far end of the restaurant. “You’re early today.”
“I know,” Viv said as she tucked her wallet and keys in the milk crate underneath the counter, then reached for her apron. Tying it behind her back, she headed over to the sink and washed her hands.
“How are you doing?” Joye asked.
Vivien turned around and faced the only true friend she’d ever had.
“What’s the matter?” Joye asked before Viv had a chance to answer her first question.
Vivien pressed her lips together and forced them into a small smile. “It’s nothing.” She pulled her notepad and pen from her pocket, attempting to avoid Joye’s face. “Has table five been helped yet?” Vivien asked in a last attempt to change the subject.