Ranchers snowed in reuni.., p.1
Rancher's Snowed-In Reunion, page 1
Contents
Cover
Praise
Title Page
Table of Contents
Rancher’s Snowed-In Reunion Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Time Cowboy Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Copyright
Landmarks
Cover
Title Page
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Copyright
Select praise for New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates
“Her characters excel at defying the norms and providing readers with...an emotional investment.”
—RT Book Reviews on Claim Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)
“A sassy, romantic and sexy story about two characters whose chemistry is off the charts.”
—RT Book Reviews on Smooth-Talking Cowboy (Top Pick)
“This is an exceptional example of an opposites-attract romance with heartfelt writing and solid character development.... This is a must-read that will have you believing in love.”
—RT Book Reviews on Seduce Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)
“Their relationship is displayed with a quick writing style full of double entendres, sexy sarcasm and enough passion to melt the mountain snow!”
—RT Book Reviews on Hold Me, Cowboy (Top Pick)
RANCHER’S SNOWED-IN REUNION
Maisey Yates
www.millsandboon.com.au
Table of Contents
Rancher’s Snowed-In Reunion
Part Time Cowboy
Rancher’s Snowed-In Reunion
Contents
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 1
After
Flint Carson had to hand it to his brother. His recent move in life had inspired Flint. And he couldn’t say that he was often inspired by his little brother. Not that Jace wasn’t a decent guy, it was just that Flint, in general, didn’t want what Jace had. He had settled down recently, and that wasn’t in the cards for Flint.
But when his brother had become a part owner of the hotel that his fiancée bought, it had gotten Flint thinking. And then he had done more than think. He had been content for a long time competing in the rodeo. Working his family ranch, giving to them in a way that he could. His father recognized rodeo triumphs, and he took them as credits to who he was as a father, as the rodeo commissioner.
He also recognized contributions to the ranch. His mother appreciated that his father felt appreciated. He didn’t do emotions, so that kind of physical involvement was what he had to give, so he gave it.
At least until a couple of years ago. It had started being profoundly not enough.
And after...
There was just so much anger in him. There had been, for a long time. For a lot of reasons. But after that song had come out...
He gritted his teeth. It infuriated him every time.
But what didn’t infuriate him was his brand-new purchase. Pine Creek Resort. Nestled in the mountains of central Oregon, a couple hours away from his family home of Lone Rock.
He’d seen it and just felt drawn to it. He didn’t give much credit to fate or feelings—not these days. But he believed a man ought to trust his gut.
So, he was trusting his.
It was practically off-grid, and solar panels, generators and other things kept it going with the iffy power running to the place. But it was pretty seamless, and he had done his due diligence on that. Because while he thought it was great that Jace and Cara were running the hotel at the end of the main drag of Lone Rock’s main business center—which was just a few businesses, surrounded by mountains—he wanted more. Bigger.
The thought made his mouth curve into a smile as he looked around the highly polished lobby area. It was all logs and wooden beams. Rustic sort of luxury.
He could remember back when he’d said he didn’t have ambitions or dreams at all.
But that was before.
Back then, everything he’d done had been to burn the rage out of his blood. To push himself to the edge so that he could ride out the simmering hatred that turned his blood to poison.
He’d chased adrenaline because it made things feel clear. Pure. Clean.
Could have been worse.
Could have been heroin.
Maybe it wasn’t all that different now. Maybe this wasn’t all that different. Maybe he was still trying to climb impossible mountains, just with more financial risk than physical.
With the weather being what it was, almost every guest had canceled their reservation for the weekend. There was a huge storm coming in, and while usually the hotel was accessible year-round, there had been some warnings and questions about whether or not it would be possible over the next couple of days. He didn’t mind. A little bit of quiet in his newest acquisition while he looked to the next one was fine by him.
And since there was only going to be one guest, he’d let the staff go as well. The guest had declined maid service, and there was enough food that all he would have to do was heat and deliver. And he didn’t mind that.
A little bit of manual labor didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he thought it was good. Another way to burn out that rage. He had to do it.
And as if just thinking had brought it all to him, he suddenly became aware of the fact that there was music playing in the lobby. And not just any music.
You were the cowboy my mama warned me about
And I thought I listened, I thought you were different
I gave you my heart, and you gave me good-luck charms
I gave you my body, and you kept my scarf
I gave you my body, and you kept my heart
For God’s sake. Was it destined to follow him everywhere? Even when he quite literally owned the damn place?
He growled and stalked toward the reception desk. The guy had told him how to control the music, but as his own personal level of hell played around him, he couldn’t quite remember how.
I gave you everything to the sound of crashing waves
You knew you were the first one
I wanted you to be the only one
It made him think of her.
The song always made him think of her.
The way she’d looked at him, like she was searching his eyes for the answers to all of her questions. Wordless questions he’d wished he hadn’t understood. Questions that still echoed inside him.
In the end, she’d said that he was right. She had said that they needed to finish the whole damned thing.
She was the one that had called it a fling.
She said she loved you too.
Yes. She had said that. And then she had taken it back. She had said that it was just because of the sex. And he’d been more than willing to believe it because hearing her say that she loved him had done things to him. Terrible, intense things that made him feel like his chest was being cut into.
He needed to find the volume. Or a sledgehammer.
Before the next part.
But then it was the next part, and it was in his head, his heart, his soul.
You took the clothes off my body
I gave you my yes and I love you
You took the skin off my bones
You gave me nothing at all
I prayed for our sin to disappear
But I didn’t mean for it to end in blood
He found the speaker right then. He found it just a lyric too late. He crouched down, reaching for the knob on the speaker behind the desk. And as he did, he heard the door to the lobby open. He hit the off button on the speaker just as the next part of the song started.
He couldn’t explain the way it made him feel.
He could remember where he was the first time he heard it. The first time he’d heard his ex-girlfriend—was she his ex-girlfriend? He’d never had a girlfriend in his life. And they weren’t supposed to be that, but he’d also never ended a physical relationship with someone and felt like their connection was still there. And yet.
So imagine his surprise the first time he’d heard that song. Documenting everything. The most personal, deep feelings he’d ever had in his whole life turned into a sing-along.
Even if no one else had ever heard it, it would have felt too raw and personal for him to listen to.
But people had heard it. So many people.
To make matters worse, her fame and his own niche notoriety in certain circles had made it so there were theories out there on the internet about who the song was about.
Her fans were nuts. They spent all day weaving together theories about what every lyric meant. And he knew that because he’d googled it, because he’d wanted to know what the lyrics meant too.
Dammit.
The terrible thing was, her fans made points. Points he didn’t like, but points nonetheless.
That would have been bad enough. But it didn’t stop there.
Strangers sometimes accosted him on the street and asked him how dare he break Tansey Martin’s heart? Country music’s sweetheart. Barrel-racer-turned-overnight-singing-sensation.
She was beautiful and beloved, and he was the expertly cast villain in her narrative. Set to music, which meant that people could hum his humiliation as a catchy tune.
He could remember clearly the way that she had looked up at him. The way that she had looked up at him when he’d said all those things. The awful sort of things that he’d warned her he would say. As everything had broken apart inside of him, the walls that he had erected around himself beginning to crumble, she had looked up at him, and she had said that he was right.
That he was right, and they shouldn’t be together. That he was right and they should forget everything.
Yeah. He knew that. Because he knew his limitations. And then... And then four months later, completely and totally blindsided by this song. And he’d known it was about them. That it was their story.
It was like she had crawled beneath his skin with those song lyrics. Like she had described his own pain. Like she’d dug into his soul and carved clear arrows to his own motives. To things he’d denied even to himself.
He’d pretended that he wasn’t hanging on to her scarf for any particular reason, and she had immortalized it in song and made it impossible for him to pretend.
But it was the pregnancy scare.
That was what destroyed him the most, because it shone a light on the way that he had fallen apart most profoundly.
The worst, cruelest way he’d failed her.
When something like that happened, you had to take a good look at yourself. Even though there hadn’t been a baby in the end, it had been a come-to-Jesus moment. A look-hard-at-the-man-he’d-become moment.
He didn’t like that man.
It was one reason he’d changed everything. One reason he’d started...working. Really working. Not just on his father’s land, not just on being rodeo champion yet again. But building something that was entirely his.
And he couldn’t let that song into his head. Not now. Because it was the only thing that could get beneath his skin, just like she was the only thing that ever could.
He was pretty good at staying stoic in the face of difficult things.
It wasn’t the fans yelling at him. That was actually fine. That made him mad. Anger, he had found, was fantastic fuel.
It was the pain.
The pain he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel anymore. The pain that ambushed him when he didn’t expect it. When he was alone. The pain that took him right back to the place that he’d been when he was a boy, a place he couldn’t even think about, much less fully remember or relive.
And so he pushed the song to the back of his mind, and he stood up. But then he froze. The predator spotting prey. That was what it felt like. Like everything in him went quiet. And the edges of the empty lobby blurred.
Her.
There she was. Standing there at the center of the room, strawberry blond hair curling and cascading past her shoulders.
She looked like he remembered her.
Not the way that she dressed up for the public. All fake eyelashes and red lipstick.
This was just her.
The way that he had seen her that first day. Coming in from barrel racing, her cheeks bright red, her smile exuberant. Though she wasn’t smiling now. She looked storm tossed, her hair full of snowflakes, and a couple of twigs. Her face was wet, likely from melting snow, and it forced him to remember how hot her skin could be when he put his hands on it.
She looked just like she had the first time...
Before
She wasn’t his type.
Flint Carson had interacted with more than his fair share of the sort of women you met at a rodeo. From rodeo queens to buckle bunnies, and everything in between. He tended toward the queens and the bunnies. Soft, pretty rhinestones. The sort of glamour that wasn’t necessarily subtle or classy, but he liked it. He was a man, dusty, hard and full of grit. He liked a woman who was the opposite of all that.
That was the point of women, as far as he was concerned.
Bring on the glitter, the lip gloss, the long fingernails. Flashy, maybe even bordering on what some would call trashy. He didn’t think it was trashy.
He liked it.
Now, some of the barrel racers had a little bit of flair to them, but they still weren’t his thing. Felt too much like coworkers, really. He didn’t like it.
He was also very careful to choose women close to his age and level of experience. He didn’t have forever in him. Hell, he didn’t even have more than a couple of nights in him, so it didn’t do any good to go after a woman who was expecting something more. To go after the kind of woman who wanted something more. He needed the women that he hooked up with to want exactly what he wanted.
Which was why, when the pint-size, barefaced barrel racer tripped on unsteady legs on her way out of the gate after a ride, and landed right in his arms, the first thing he told himself was, she wasn’t his type.
She had freckles all over her face. Her eyes were green. Her hair was strawberry blond, curly, he could tell; even though it was in a braid, there were wispy tendrils that had escaped. She was thin but athletic, wearing a plain white tank top and a pair of torn blue jeans. She was young.
And something in him burned.
He set her back on her heels.
“Careful there.”
“Thanks, Ace,” she said, brushing some dust off of her jeans. “I’ll do my best to be more careful.”
“Darlin’, I just saved you from doing a face-plant, and you’re going to get sassy with me?”
“A face-plant never hurt anybody.”
“Neither has spending a few minutes in my arms. You can ask around.”
She laughed. But it wasn’t a particularly kind or warm laugh. “Of course. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Tansey,” she said. “Tansey Martin. You’re Flint Carson.”
She knew who he was. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. She was...young. He was sort of an elder statesman of the bull-riding circuit, and in addition to that, his dad was the rodeo commissioner. Practically everybody around these parts knew the Carsons.
“Guilty,” he said.
“Of quite a lot of things if the gossip is anything to go by.”
She could walk away. That was the thing. She could walk away, but she was antagonizing him instead. He could also walk away.
Neither of them were doing that.
It would almost be interesting except she wasn’t his type.
She wasn’t his type, and wasn’t charmed by his whole facade. Which made him wonder if there was any point to the facade at all. Made him tempted to drop it. And he never dropped it, not ever.
“Now,” he asked, “did your parents ever teach you not to listen to gossip?”
