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Chapter One
Laura Senske slammed her cell phone down on the highly polished desktop in the A Bar H Ranch’s den with more force than intended. She couldn’t help her reaction to what had ultimately been a disheartening conversation with the loan manager at People’s Bank of Last Stand. Every muscle in her neck and shoulders was strung tight with frustration.
With one last curl of her lip at the discarded phone, she used the stacked heel of her cowboy boot to spin the oversized leather desk chair toward the large window behind her. She gazed unseeing at the gently rolling Texas Hill Country, where the leased ranch was located. Though faint, the sounds of the engagement party in full swing on the pool deck at the other end of the house reached her.
As happy as she was for Emma Barrett and Noah Halliday, Laura couldn’t join the festivities in good conscience until she had reconciled the decisions she’d had to make to avert a Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company’s looming financial crisis that only she knew about. Decisions she had also yet to share with her partners.
As chief financial officer of the company she and her former Buckin’ Babes reality TV show cast members had created to supply rodeos with bucking broncs, bulls, and steers nearly nine months ago, managing the money needed to keep the fledgling operation afloat fell firmly on her shoulders. Normally, the burden was welcomed. Wasn’t considered a burden at all. She loved her life here on the A Bar H and the role she played in making Grit and Grace possible.
All of which was a far cry from the sterile and cutthroat environment of the accounting business her parents had expected her to take over. An environment she’d happily exchanged for competing in a women’s ranch bronc riding circuit.
But now she had to find a replacement for the funds previously promised by one, or potentially more, of the investors they’d secured last July.
While Paul Meyer, one of the regional rodeo, big money good old boys, had initially been one of their most enthusiastic investors, he’d recently begun to waver for some reason. The other investors had expressed concern over their decision to back the new roughstock company as well. And Laura refused to allow the financial health of their fledgling company to rest in uncertain hands.
A bank loan would be a sure thing, though the price of securing one could potentially be much greater than a percentage of their profits. Because they were simply leasing the A Bar H ranch, the only collateral the bank would accept were two of Grit and Grace’s most valuable bucking bulls, Big Mike and Red Tide. A flutter of panic filled her chest.
She focused her gaze and searched the near pastures, speckled with the vibrant yellow of daffodils, for the bulls in question, before remembering they had been moved back to the barn after they’d had the chance to graze in a nearby section of the ranch. Being the end of February, the newly sprouted grass would make for strong, well-fed bulls, but they didn’t want them too well-fed. The animals needed to be ready for the training Grit and Grace’s head of marketing, Sammie Abel’s new husband, Alec Neisson, had planned for them. Offering up as collateral the animals that were profitable not only on the rodeo circuit but also as breeding stock was dangerous. If payments on the loan couldn’t be made, the bank had the right to confiscate her and her partners’ greatest assets.
She had no choice. Without ready operating cash, Grit and Grace would never have a chance to make money off the rodeos they were contracted with to provide bucking broncs, bulls, and steers.
It was a risk she had to take.
And hadn’t she walked away from her parents’ high-end accounting firm because taking risks was categorically forbidden? At least for her, regardless of her extensive education and practical experience at the firm. Here at the A Bar H, taking a risk wouldn’t be an act of rebellion, but rather a sign of her commitment to what they were building here. Not just a business, but a home for them all.
If a bank loan would keep Grit and Grace securely solvent, then it would be worth the terms.
“I thought I’d find you in here.”
Laura spun the big chair back around and found Meira Ware standing on the other side of the oversized mahogany desk, her hands firmly planted on her jeans-clad hips. As beautiful as she was smart, Meira had also escaped an office environment, like Laura had. Though Meira had walked away, for a reason she had yet to share, from a career as a genetic researcher. Far more exciting than Laura’s accounting slog, and an invaluable asset as they worked to build their rodeo roughstock offerings.
Laura gestured weakly at the discarded phone on the center of the tidy desktop. “I was just . . . working.”
Meira rolled her eyes and tossed a long, curled lock of dark-reddish-brown hair over her shoulder. “Of course you were. Despite the fact there happens to be an engagement party in full swing outside.”
Laura let out a sigh.
Meira stepped closer, all teasing gone from her expression. “Emma asked where you are.”
No more prodding was needed. Laura immediately stood and rounded the desk. The women of Grit and Grace—Emma, Meira, Sammie, Peyton, and Beth—were her family now. No way would she miss out on sharing in the celebration of Emma’s engagement. And to Noah Halliday, one of the billionaire Hallidays, no less.
Besides, she didn’t want to miss out on sharing in the celebration, just because Noah was the brother to their lease holder, Asher Halliday, who’d agreed to allow the women of Grit and Grace to set up their rodeo roughstock operation on the ranch he’d purchased and extensively remodeled, only to decide not to live on. Apparently, Asher would do anything for his baby sister, Peyton, their not-so-silent, but absent, partner. Peyton Halliday was busy helping her fiancé, Drew Neisson, with his sports medicine practice in Oregon.
Noting Meira’s silky cream top and black jeans, Laura tugged at her simple, long-sleeved, green T-shirt and said, “I just need to change into something nicer.”
“Pish,” Meira said dismissively. “What you’re wearing is fine. You look perfect.” Then she belied her words by reaching out to fluff Laura’s sun-streaked, long brown hair. A holdover from their Buckin’ Babes days that she hadn’t taken the time to have cut. “There. Come on. Let’s help Emma celebrate.”
Laura nodded, but shifted her gaze away from the too-perceptive Meira. They’d worked so closely in the last nine months, often seated at the Asher Halliday-sized desk at the same time, while Meira researched the best bulls and broncs to add to their stables and Laura did her best to find ways to pay for them. Despite the lecture she’d once given to Sammie about honesty amongst the partners, Laura would hide her worry about their waffling investors and the demanding bank for as long as she could.
At least until she had their financial future secured.
Meira led her out of the den and down the hall. The noise of the party increased exponentially as they went through the breakfast nook brightened by the afternoon sun, then the large gourmet kitchen outfitted with the finest appliances, and out through the mudroom, where the women and the men they seemed to be collecting stripped off their ranch-dirty clothes.
Laura’s steps faltered at the sight of the crowd standing in clusters around the oasis-style pool and hot tub, also completely remodeled and upgraded by the billionaire oil tycoon heir, who’d decided not to give up his corporate life for the longhorn ranching game just yet.
The same billionaire oil tycoon heir who was currently speaking with his younger brother, Noah, the man of the hour.
Laura pulled up abruptly. Meira continued toward where Emma was accepting congratulations from the Last Stand Rodeo officials who’d been invited, along with the friends and family of the engaged couple. While in the den, Laura had heard the Halliday Oil Corporation helicopter arrive, flying overhead to land on the informal pad located just beyond the main house’s circular drive, but she’d assumed only Noah’s parents had been aboard.
The Hallidays had already hosted an elaborate party for their friends and family at their hobby ranch outside of The Woodlands right after the new year. Noah had proposed to Emma on Christmas Day, complete with the gift of a ring-bearing reindeer, but they had wanted to delay any celebration until well after Sammie and Alec’s wedding in January and the arrival on February 8th of their baby girl. The adorable munchkin was currently being lovingly held by her father as he chatted with Justin Chadwick, the ranch manager and Beth’s beau.
Ever attuned to the needs of others, Beth approached her with two tall glasses filled with ice and a clear liquid. She extended one to Laura. “You look like you could use some ranch water.”
So much for hiding her worry. “Thank you, Beth.” Laura took the offered glass, because if a glass of blanco tequila, lime, and Topo Chico sparkling water couldn’t solve your problem, then you needed a second glass. As she took her first sip of the refreshing drink, she shifted her gaze to the crowd scattered around the stone decking of the free-form pool. “Looks like a good turnout.”
Beth nodded. “I think everyone we invited has shown up.”
Laura’s gaze snagged on Asher, the eldest Halliday sibling, wearing jeans, boots, and a brown, cotton button-down shirt that matched the darker tones of his auburn hair visible beneath his light-brown cowboy hat. Even casually dressed, he still managed to look like a man who could buy, extensively remodel, then choose not to live on a sprawling longhorn ranch in the sought-after Texas Hill Country.
While every member of the Halliday clan Laura had met had similarly striking good looks, Asher alone possessed the power to stop her breath in her throat. He shared Noah’s height and broad shoulders, but lacked his youngest brother’s military-honed bulk. Yet Asher still compelled attention in a way his other family members didn’t, his mere presence a commanding force that exuded a confidence born of being raised as the heir apparent.
Of all the partners in Grit and Grace, she’d had the most contact with Asher Halliday. She alone had toured the ranch with Asher and negotiated the terms of their lease. And because of that initial contact, she’d felt compelled to be the one to contact Asher when his youngest brother, Noah, had shown up here after his career in the military had ended.
Hoping her tone didn’t reveal how much he unsettled her, Laura said, “I’d thought only Noah’s parents were coming today.”
Beth shrugged. “It seems Asher was free too.” Beth’s raven-black brows scrunched together. “You don’t think he wanted to check up on what we’ve been doing to his ranch, do you?”
Laura totally thought as much, but shook her head nonetheless. “I don’t know why he would. All he has to do is ask his brother if he wants some kind of report. I think he simply wanted another opportunity to wish Noah and Emma well.”
As if correctly sensing he was the subject of their conversation, Asher turned and looked their way. His gaze collided with hers before she could look away. Something flared in his green-flecked brown eyes.
Heat poured into her cheeks. What the hell? She never blushed. But there was something about Asher Halliday that affected her in the most elemental way. A way she rejected with everything in her. She was here on this ranch to make her way in this world based on her own merits. In what she considered to be her first act of rebellion against her parents’ edicts, she’d dated a bronc rider she’d met at the Houston Rodeo while attending Rice University. Until she found him in bed with another woman, and he’d claimed it was Laura’s fault, because she didn’t know how to have fun.
She’d kept the bronc riding, ditched the cheating cowboy, and left any notion of romance in her wake.
Without breaking eye contact with her, Asher murmured something to his brother and then started her way.
Beth said, “Oh. Looks like the landlord wants a word. I’ll leave you to it.”
“No. Wait, Beth—” Laura reached for her friend, trying to grab her silky cream sleeve but missed.
She considered following Beth to the other side of the pool, but Asher’s long stride had him directly in front of Laura before she could act.
“Laura,” Asher intoned in a deep, rich voice that always wrapped around her like a plush, black velvet blanket.
“Mr. Halliday.”
“Please, Laura. I thought we were done with that.”
She suppressed her wince. “Sorry. Asher.”
A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She smiled tightly in response. She’d tried to stubbornly cling to the more formal way of addressing him, to keep him at arm’s length through professionalism. But Asher wasn’t having it. The fact that she was a friend, as well as a business partner of his sister, Peyton, apparently had him wanting a more personal relationship with her.
She’d prefer one that didn’t make her sweat.
His gaze sharpened on her. “What’s wrong?”
Laura’s heart stuttered. How could he possibly know something was wrong? Was she failing so miserably at keeping her worry concealed that a man she’d only spent a matter of hours with could detect it?
She bought herself a moment by taking a cooling and, hopefully, fortifying gulp of her drink.
Asher’s attention didn’t waver.
She swallowed heavily, then said brightly, “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”
He blinked slowly, clearly not buying her denial.
Needing to shift his focus off her, she asked, “Weren’t you able to attend the engagement party your parents threw at the Double H?”
“I attended it. But I wouldn’t be a proper Texan if I passed up the chance to attend a party hosted by beautiful and accomplished cowgirls.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes at his excuse. He was totally here to check up on them. She smiled her rodeo parade smile. “We’re honored to have you.”
“And I’d be remiss if I didn’t take this opportunity to offer any and all help, if needed, of course.”
Laura’s grip on her drink tightened dangerously. “That’s very kind of you . . . Asher.” She’d been tempted to call him Mr. Halliday again, but thought better of it. Having his focused attention on her was unnerving.
Almost as bad as the roaring temptation to accept his offer of help. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, allow him to do her job in any way. It was her responsibility to keep the company afloat and to make it a success.
Besides, she’d given up too much to back away from her hard-won independence.
As confidently as she could, she pronounced, “But I don’t need your help.”
Laura Senske just lied to him.
Most people jumped to accept his offer of help. Especially those attempting to establish a business. But not this steel-spined beauty. She’d impressed him from the first time they’d met when he’d given her a tour of his newly refurbished ranch at his baby sister, Peyton’s, behest.
Naturally, he’d looked into the backgrounds of all the women Peyton wanted to go into business with. And Laura, with her degree in finance from Rice University and an MBA from Rice’s Jones Graduate School of Business in Houston, clearly had a head for numbers. But was the thirty-one-year-old encountering difficulties in translating her experience garnered at her parents’ accounting firm to the rodeo game?
Her heart-shaped face, framed by the most glorious sun-kissed long brunette hair, remained serene, and the smile curving her lush mouth didn’t waver. But there was poorly veiled panic swirling amongst the golds and browns in her hazel eyes. A look he’d seen in hardened oilmen when things were going horribly wrong.
Considering everything Noah had told him about what the former Buckin’ Babes had to do to even be allowed to submit a bid to provide rough stock to the local rodeo as they attempted to establish their Grit and Grace Rodeo Roughstock Company here, Asher’s nose for trouble had been twitching. Something was definitely going on. For Peyton’s sake, he was determined to find out exactly what.
Speaking softly, Asher said, “Perhaps we should go into the den and have a private conversation.”
Laura’s eyes flared and her lips pursed. But before she could undoubtedly beg off, a loud, harsh tone emitted from seemingly every cell phone out on the patio. The telltale warning alarm of a reverse 911 text.
Asher and Laura, along with everyone else, pulled their cell phones from whatever pocket they’d been stowed in. They simultaneously read the message appearing on the screen, then met each other’s gaze again.
This time the panic in Laura’s eyes was obvious when she breathed out, “Flash flood.”
End of Excerpt
