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Chapter One
“Wait a second. My spur’s come undone,” Emma said.
Sammie pulled up and stopped next to Emma at the base of the metal stairs leading to the raised platform above the practice chute. Emma flipped her chaps aside and knelt on one knee to buckle her spur and pull it tight over her dusty, well-worn cowboy boot.
“This strap is about shot,” Emma groused.
Stating the obvious, Sammie said, “You need new spurs.”
Emma kept her focus on the spur strap, clearly trying to force the buckle to fasten on the hole in the leather that wasn’t cracked nearly all the way through. “We all need a lot of things, but if I screw up today, we’ll have to learn to do without.”
“You won’t screw up. You’re good at this.”
As Emma switched legs to re-buckle her other spur, Sammie pulled in a calming lungful of the crisp May morning air and shifted her gaze to the seemingly endless view beyond the slight knoll that the A Bar H Ranch structures had been built on. Ancient live oaks and black hickory trees gave way to grasslands speckled with exposed granite. The land here was beautiful.
The Texas Hill Country was perfect. The A Bar H Ranch was perfect. Ripe for success. A perfect place for the birth of the Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company. Among other things.
Sammie’s gaze drifted past the chute and out over the corral to the groups of men—potential investors, but still just men—talking to each other outside the high, metal corral fence. They were dressed in varying degrees of cowboy casual, ranging from western-style shirts, jeans, and boots to lightweight suits, bolo ties, and boots. The cowboy hats were a necessity beneath the already hot July Texas sun. Ten deep pockets and their representatives had accepted the invitation extended by the former Buckin’ Babes.
Maybe just out of curiosity. Sammie shouldn’t care why they’d traveled to the high-end ranch she and her friends were lucky enough to call theirs just outside of Last Stand, Texas. The women had been able to lease the huge property for a fraction of its value, thanks to Peyton.
Peyton’s oldest brother, Asher Halliday, had bought the ranch, changing the name to A Bar H, as an investment and updated it to an oil billionaire’s standards. But for whatever reason, Asher had lost interest in the place and had been willing to lease it to his sister’s friends for a song. Most of the rough stock—bucking bulls, broncs, and steers—that hadn’t already been here at the A Bar H were coming to them courtesy of Peyton’s new fiancé, Drew Neisson, in two weeks’ time. More specifically, they were coming from Drew’s grandfather, Thomas Wright, of the renowned Wright Ranch. A legend in the rodeo roughstock game.
Though why the Wright Ranch would want to supply a future competitor with bulls and broncs, even clear down here in the Texas circuit, was beyond Sammie. Especially when Peyton had opted to stay in Oregon to help Drew with his sports medicine practice. Did Thomas Wright doubt that Grit and Grace would succeed? Did he believe a bunch of women, former reality TV stars—using the term loosely—had no chance competing against very successful men?
A very real possibility if they couldn’t get their potential investors to stop talking to each other long enough to watch Emma ride.
Then Sammie would have let these women get close for nothing. Just to be a part of something. The slow burn that had taken up residency behind Sammie’s breastbone flared.
Before her mind could travel farther down that path, Emma popped up and began climbing the stairs to the platform above the bucking chute added to the metal pole corral-turned training arena. Sammie followed. Laura and Meira were already up there, readying the bronc they’d chosen for the demonstration while Beth waited in the arena to pull the gate.
The ranch manager, Justin Chadwick, who had been hired by Peyton’s brother and had come with the A Bar H, was acting as their pickup man—the cowboy tasked with helping the rider off the bronc after the buzzer sounded or running down the bronc if the rider was bucked off—and waited on the far side of the corral atop his big black gelding.
Emma turned to look back at Sammie. “Are you sure you don’t want to be the one to ride Willie Bite?”
“Positive.” Sammie made a show of putting her hand to the small of her back as she climbed the stairs. “I must have tweaked my back hoisting a bale of hay earlier.”
Emma stopped in her tracks, concern radiating from her pale-blue eyes. “How bad?”
Guilt swamped Sammie. But there was nothing to be done about the need for subterfuge. At least not yet. Not until she’d come to grips with her new reality.
She mustered a reassuring smile for Emma, strengthened by the very real love she felt for her friends. “Not bad at all. Really. I promise.”
Emma searched her face for a heart-stopping moment, lasting long enough to make Sammie want to tug down the brim of her cowboy hat.
Then Emma shrugged. “If you’re sure. Promise you’ll lay off buckin’ bales for a few days.”
“I promise.”
“Good. And I’ll try to remember to do that hair flick thing you always do if Willie decides to be lazy today. It’s crazy how flipping your hair around makes a ride more impressive.”
Sammie released the breath she’d been holding at having escaped Emma’s scrutiny with a laugh. “That big chonk of a bronc won’t let us down today. He’s born to buck,” Sammie said with a confidence in the bronc she didn’t feel. Peyton’s seed money had gone a long way toward setting up the Grit and Grace operation, but they needed investors if they were to survive for the long haul. Investors and rodeo contracts.
When Emma and Sammie reached the chute, Meira straightened from where she’d been checking Willie’s flank strap. She gestured toward the men. “Look at them. Clumped together like a bunch of hens. And they call women gossipy.”
Laura snorted. “One of them is even texting.”
“Or probably googling us,” Meira groused.
“With another one looking on,” Emma added.
“They might not even be thinking about us.” Sammie dropped her voice several octaves to imitate the man leaning to see the other man’s phone. “Hey Carl, add this to your contacts. For a good time call 1-800-RIDE-MY-BULL.”
The women erupted in a burst of laughter.
Sammie quickly shushed them. “Don’t giggle. Do. Not. Giggle. We don’t want to risk them saying that this”—she pointed at the G & G embroidered on the breast pocket of the white, button-down, long-sleeve shirt they all wore—“stands for Giggling Girls.”
Nodding, Laura said, “We need them to take us seriously.”
Meira planted her hands on her hips as she glared at the men from beneath her brown, wide-brimmed hat. “We need them to at least watch.”
Emma climbed into the chute and said, “I’ll make them watch.”
She lowered herself onto the big roan saddle bronc, who snorted in protest. Or more likely, in warning. Willie Bite was Grit and Grace’s newest and best bucker.
As quickly as she could, Emma slid her boots into the stirrups, took the thick, braided bronc rein from Meira, and firmly gripped the saddle horn with her free hand. Not wasting any time, she pushed her feet forward to settle her blunted spur rowels against Willie’s shoulders, leaned as far back in the saddle as she could, and nodded.
Beth, standing in the corral, pulled the chute gate open and Willie Bite erupted outward. As usual, he leapt straight upward, propelling his huge, draft horse body ridiculously high.
At the peak of his jump, Emma let out the loudest “Woo-hoo” Sammie had ever heard.
Sure enough, the men all turned to watch. When Willie landed hard on four stiff legs only to instantly launch himself into a series of twisting and violent bucks, the men’s attention was assured.
Well before eight seconds had passed, Emma made a big show out of being bucked off, complete with an extravagant flip of her long, platinum-blonde hair. She kicked free of the stirrups and allowed herself to be flung away from the bronc, landing hard in the deep, loose dirt. Today was about the animals’ prowess, not the women’s abilities in the arena.
Justin quickly maneuvered his horse between the bronc’s flying hooves and Emma. Beth opened the exit chute gate and gave a whistle. Willie kicked impressively a few more times, then trotted out of the corral. The gelding was such a showoff.
Emma popped up, uninjured, but Sammie and the other women only had eyes for the men on the other side of the corral fence. There was an agonizing moment of silence, then they started to clap. Slowly at first, then raucously.
The warmth of triumph pushed aside the icy fear and uncertainty that had become a constant for Sammie from the moment Buckin’ TV had cut them loose.
Since a single night had upended her plans for the future. She finally relaxed.
Right up until she noticed the tall cowboy dressed in pressed dark-washed jeans, a crisp, white button-down shirt and clapping and whistling the loudest. She froze in recognition.
Alec Neisson, the man who’d changed her life, was here.
Samantha Abel, the only woman to have ever ghosted Alec, had finally noticed him. He knew the second she’d spotted him by the way her tall, lithe body had stiffened and stilled. How, beneath her tan, wide-brimmed hat, her long, silky, dark-blonde hair, meticulously shaped into loose curls, blew unhindered across her beautiful face.
Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to track her down. Not that he had. Not at all. He was simply taking a much-needed break and checking out the competition for his grandfather. Just seeing with his own eyes the environment the Wright Ranch rough stock his older brother Drew had asked for, would be living in.
True or not, that’s what he would tell her. So what if he’d been more than a little surprised to wake up alone in the fifth wheel he used even when riding in his hometown rodeo? So what if she hadn’t answered his calls or texts? So what if he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her? Though they’d flirted for days, they’d only spent the one night together. A hell of a night, but still . . .
When his grandfather had told him that the former Buckin’ Babes, now owners of Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company, had put out an open invitation for potential investors to come check out their operations and that he wanted someone from the Wright Ranch to go, Alec had volunteered. No way could he pass up the chance to see Sammie again. Plus, the injury to his shoulder was a potent reminder that it was time to start planning for his future, and the future Alec wanted required proving himself to his grandfather.
The A Bar H Ranch itself, with its large, renovated main house, constructed entirely from amber, tan, and rusty-brown stone and heavy, dark timber and impeccable barns and outbuildings, rivaled his own family’s ranch in Central Oregon. The A Bar H was larger than the Wright Ranch in terms of acreage. But everything was bigger in Texas, right? The former Buckin’ Babes had scored a win when they leased this place.
Tuning out the typical sexist remarks being made by the regional-rodeo-big-money-good-old-boys, Alec settled his forearms on a corral rail and patiently watched from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat the woman he couldn’t get out of his head.
The other women, beautiful and fit, with long hair in nearly every shade that would appear in the average male’s fantasies, made their way toward the potential investors. Sammie hung back, her gaze shifting nervously between him and the others. Had he inadvertently done something so bad that she didn’t want to be near him, let alone talk to him?
No. No way could he have misread the situation that badly. Misread her so completely. He had never laughed so hard, or loved so hard, with a woman. They had clicked in all the right ways. In all the right places.
The mere thought of the way their places clicked together had him reaching for the collar of his shirt as his temperature rose in a way that had nothing to do with the growing heat of the Texas sun. The way she’d thrown her head back and laughed unabashedly, how her bluebell-colored eyes had flared with passion, the way her satiny blonde hair had slipped between his fingers—More than enough fuel to get him hot under the collar.
It took one of the other women, a sun-kissed brunette—Laura, maybe, who’d asked so many questions about financial outlay when he’d given the Buckin’ Babes a tour of the Wright Ranch when they’d been in Pineville—looking back toward Sammie and gesturing for her to join the group for Sammie to start moving. She visibly gathered herself, squaring her shoulders before striding forward. She was nothing if not brave.
So why in the hell was she avoiding him?
Never one to back down from something, even if it was guaranteed to hurt, Alec pushed away from the metal corral railing and joined the party.
Sammie made her way to the front and spread her hands to gain the men’s attention. “Welcome, gentlemen, to the Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company. My name is Sammie Abel. I’m in charge of marketing and procuring contracts for Grit and Grace. You just had the pleasure of watching Emma Barrett attempt to ride Willie Bite.” Sammie gestured to Emma, who touched a finger to the brim of her cowboy hat and executed a cheeky curtsy.
The men clapped in appreciation.
Sammie continued, “We are lucky enough to have acquired Willie Bite’s half-sibling, Betty Won’t, who was also born to buck. As are the other broncs we have so far. Any investment you make with us here at Grit and Grace will gain you partial ownership of these magnificent animals. Invest enough and we will grant named ownership. Shared with us, of course.”
Of course, Alec thought. He wondered what sort of deal his grandfather had agreed to when his brother Drew had asked him to help Drew’s new fiancée’s friends start their own rodeo roughstock company in Texas. Alec personally didn’t care, but Thomas Wright didn’t do anything without a reason. And if that reason gave Alec an excuse to be here long enough to find out what was going on with Sammie, then he was okay with it.
“If you’ll follow us, we’ll give you a tour of our bronc barn,” Sammie said.
“What about bulls?” a short, stout man in a tan suit and white cowboy hat asked. “Do you have any bulls?”
Sammie answered, “We do. This ranch is home to some quality longhorn-and-Brahman mixed bloodlines that Meira Ware, our very own geneticist, believes have tremendous potential.”
The mahogany-haired beauty—obviously Meira—nodded in agreement.
There were a few murmurs at the mention of a geneticist being amongst the sparkly jean-wearing hotties. These guys had no clue.
“But are any of you girls feisty enough to ride one of your bulls for us?” another man Alec recognized asked.
Alec could tell from the way the women stiffened that they didn’t appreciate having their strength and bravery reduced to being “feisty.” Let alone being called girls. He didn’t appreciate it much, either.
Stepping forward, Alec said, “Now Mr. Meyer, you know as well as I do that only dumbasses like me are silly enough to climb aboard a longhorn-Brahman mix.”
“Alec Neisson! That is you.” Mr. Meyer extended his hand for Alec to shake. “What brings you here?”
“Much the same as you.” That got their attention.
“Your grandfather is investing?”
Alec shrugged. “Thomas Wright is a smart man.”
More murmuring and pointed looks between the men.
Grining, Alec met Sammie’s gaze.
She was not smiling. Just the opposite.
He sobered. Clearly, he was stepping on her marketing toes.
The first guy to ask about bulls said, “Alec, are you willing to ride one of the bulls here? Just because a bull is a longhorn-and-Brahman mix doesn’t automatically make him rank. I personally own one who is the biggest and laziest S.O.B. you’ll ever see.”
Alec didn’t glance back at Sammie, but he could feel her stare, pointed and intense, as well as that of the other women. He might be a dumbass, but he was smart enough not to steal their thunder.
“Sorry, gentlemen.” Alec made a show of rotating his right shoulder with an exaggerated grimace. “But I have to give this dislocated shoulder at least a couple more days’ rest. It’s why I was free to come on down here and spend some time on this amazing spread with these amazing ladies.” Now he did look directly at Sammie again.
Her blue gaze was stormy.
He needed to get to the bottom of whatever was eating at her.
Mr. Meyer huffed. “So, no bull riding exhibition?”
Alec gave the older man his best aw shucks smile. “I’m awfully sorry, sir. Not today.”
Sammie extended a hand toward the barns. “But what we do have available today is a tour of our facilities and an up-close look at the rough stock currently at Grit and Grace. If you’ll follow Beth—”
Mr. Meyer interrupted. “Have you secured any contracts yet?”
The other women gave telling glances at each other, but Sammie’s gaze remained steady. “As a matter of fact, I will be meeting with the Last Stand Rodeo committee soon.” Then she smiled the smile Alec had come to think of as her show smile. “Now, how about that tour?”
The men finally started forward, with the women subtly herding them toward the barns as if they were distracted sheep.
Alec quickly skirted around them until he reached Sammie, touching a hand to her hip to get her attention. She glanced toward him, then stopped abruptly.
She frowned. “What are you doing here—”
Alec cut her off with a slight squeeze of his hand and a meaningful glance at the others moving past them, their curiosity clear.
At a pointed look from the platinum blonde named Emma, Sammie said, “I’ll be right there,” and shooed her away with her pasted-on smile.
Sammie waited until the group was well past them before turning to him. “Alec! Seriously, what are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls or texts?”
“Stalker much?”
“Come on, Sammie. You didn’t even say goodbye. Did I do something?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean, we did something.”
The very clear memory of all the things they’d done together that night raised his temperature faster than the Texas summer sun on pavement. “Damn straight we did something. We did a lot of something.”
She shifted away from him, looking everywhere but at him. “That’s not what I mean. But it is why I didn’t say goodbye. I never expected spending a night with you to be so . . . so . . .”
“Good?”
She met his gaze. “Yes.”
Alec softened his tone. “So you freaked out and ghosted me.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I freaked out a little and just left. But now . . . I have been meaning to call you. Really.”
“Because?”
The blue of her eyes swam beneath the sheen of tears. “Because I’m pregnant, Alec.”
End of Excerpt
