Czytaj książkę: «Winning The Rancher's Heart»

Chapter One

Folding up the collar of his insulated, sherpa-lined denim coat, Ryder pulled the door of the big barn shut and lifted his shoulders in an attempt to close the gap between the brim of his black felt hat and the edge of his woolly collar. It was the cowboy’s lot to freeze his ears in winter and burn his skin in summer, but neither the summers he and his brothers had spent at Loco Man Ranch nor a childhood in his native Houston had prepared Ryder Smith for an Oklahoma winter. An impending ice storm to bring in the new year was just one of the unusual weather events he’d experienced since he and his brothers had taken up permanent residence on the two-thousand-acre ranch they’d inherited from their late uncle. Still, in the past nine months, Ryder had found ranch life more to his liking than he’d expected, especially when it came to the horses.

His guilt at having been the initial cause of this move from Houston to Oklahoma had waned as his older brothers had both found wives and established their own families. Wyatt and Jake were happy, and that helped, but a mountain of guilt remained.

Taking comfort from the whickers and thumps of the feeding horses tucked into their cozy stalls, Ryder pushed away thoughts of guilt and tragedy as he set out through the cold of early January toward the recently remodeled old ranch house. While the ranch belonged to the Smith brothers, the ranch house had been inherited by their late uncle’s stepdaughter, Tina, who had intended from the beginning to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast. As Tina was now his sister-in-law, that was not as much of a problem as Ryder had feared it would be.

His oldest brother, Wyatt, plus Tina and Tina’s seven-year-old son, Tyler, occupied the house. Jake, the middle Smith brother, along with his new wife, Kathryn, and his son, Frankie, now four, lived in War Bonnet, the small town just to the west of the ranch. That left the modest, remodeled bunkhouse as Ryder’s private domain, though he took his meals in the kitchen of the main house with the family.

Drawing near the expansive carport, Ryder saw that two of the extra bays were filled with pickup trucks. One, a double-cab dualie, he recognized as that of their good friend and nearest neighbor, Stark Burns, the local veterinarian. The other, also a double-cab with dual rear wheels, bore Texas plates and looked brand-new, despite the mud and dust insulting its shiny black paint.

Ryder had been thinking about buying his own truck, but they already had half a dozen vehicles on the ranch, including two trucks, Tina’s hulking SUV, two ATVs and the little sedan his sister-in-law had brought with her from Kansas, which had been given over to him. He appreciated the gesture, but at six feet three inches and 225 pounds, he found the compact car a tight, uncomfortable fit.

Deliberately walking between Stark’s truck and the black dualie, Ryder took careful stock of the new vehicle. When he spied the chrome emblem just above the wheel well next to the driver’s door, he stopped. He’d seen that emblem before, on the rodeo prize trucks exhibited at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. That event wasn’t scheduled until the end of March, but the national rodeo finals had taken place in Las Vegas less than a month ago. Looked like they had some sort of rodeo royalty visiting.

Ryder took the steps up to the backdoor stoop in two long strides and let himself into the warm, fragrant kitchen that was the heart of the house. Jake’s wife, Kathryn, rolled out a piecrust on the stainless-steel island. As expected, Wyatt and two others sat hunched over coffee cups at the rectangular wrought-iron table at the back of the large, completely remodeled kitchen, while Wyatt’s wife, Tina, relaxed in her chair, her hands folded over her distended belly. The shock of her pregnancy coming so soon after their wedding had given way to the shock of learning she was carrying twins. Ryder couldn’t help worrying about her, but at the moment his attention was focused on the others at the table.

One of the visitors was indeed Stark Burns, whose long, lanky frame could not be mistaken. The other was markedly more petite and shapely, with long dark hair flowing down her back from beneath a brown felt hat with the tall, pinched crown and sharply folded brim of what was known as the rodeo crease. The hat was a little ornate for daily wear, the brim being underlaid with silver lace, but then the wearer was rather ornate herself.

All heads turned as Ryder closed the door against the cold weather and automatically reached up to remove his own hat, but the face beneath that silver lace arrested his movement. Round eyes almost as dark as his own regarded him from beneath slender brows with the barest arch. A small, straight nose, apple cheeks, pale pink lips and a chin that managed to be both pointed and squared-off at the tip in an otherwise oval face completed the picture. Dressed all in brown, she was young and stunningly beautiful.

Ryder managed to get his hat off his head and onto one of a row of pegs mounted on the wall next to the door, but he had a little trouble getting out of his coat, his gaze constantly flying back to the beauty at the table. When he finally hung the coat next to his hat, he could only pray that the collar of his long-sleeved flannel shirt and the white thermal shirt beneath it disguised the flush burning up from the center of his chest. Nodding in silent greeting, he turned toward the coffeepot. Tina called to him from the table.

“Ryder, say hello to our new guest.”

He pulled down a coffee mug from the cabinet and turned to nod again. This time, he added a friendly, casual, slightly disinterested smile. Meanwhile, his heart beat like a big bass drum. He’d never seen anything like her, not in real life.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Jeri, this is Wyatt’s youngest brother,” Tina said. “Ryder, this is Jeri Bogman.”

Jeri seemed like an oddly masculine name for a supremely feminine woman. It was also a name he thought he might have heard before, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Did you have to break ice for the horses?” Wyatt asked.

Ryder shook his head and turned back to the coffeepot. “Nope. I don’t think we’re going to need the heating system. The drapes seem to keep the stalls warm enough.” Drapes, in this case, consisted of thick, insulated plastic sheets that closed off the horse stalls from the rest of the cavernous barn.

With his pregnant sister-in-law absorbed by her son, her coming twins and her B and B, Wyatt managing the cattle, sod production and mineral leases, and Jake busy with his family and auto repair shop, Ryder had fallen into place on the ranch as general handyman and horse wrangler. It wasn’t a bad life for a twenty-five-year-old. He would be twenty-six in less than a month, however, which put him more than halfway to thirty, and he couldn’t help thinking that he ought to be doing something more.

Once, he’d thought he knew what that something more was, but life had proved him wrong. He was good—actually, he was expert—at several martial arts. But he was not a fighter, and why he’d thought he could be, he didn’t know now. He’d also had it in his head to raise horses, but Wyatt was proving surprisingly cautious about such an enterprise.

“You’ve got seven animals in there,” Stark said as Ryder poured coffee into his mug. “The drapes and their body heat should keep them warm enough.”

“It’s sure warmer in there than outside,” Ryder commented, turning back to face the others.

He found Jeri Bogman sitting sideways in her chair, her gaze pinning him in place like a needle through a bug on a specimen board. He had a difficult time widening his gaze to include the others, but he had to look somewhere other than at the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty at the table. He made himself turn to Kathryn.

“Potpie for lunch, I see. Chicken, pork or beef?”

Kathryn smiled. “Beef, of course. That’s what fills our freezer.”

“Yum.”

“You must join us for meals, Jeri,” Tina said. “As you’re our only guest just now, you’re welcome to join us here at the family table.”

That comment drew Ryder’s gaze right back to the newcomer. Her stare, still targeted squarely on him, telegraphed some sort of challenge. He had no idea what that might be about, and it made him almost as uncomfortable as his visceral reaction to the woman. Every time he looked at her, he felt frozen, trapped. Enthralled.

“Jeri’s boarding four horses with me,” Stark said. “We draped their space, too, and added heaters.”

“No armed guards?” Wyatt quipped. “I’d have a hard time letting horses like that out of my sight.”

Jeri turned her head to smile at Wyatt, and Ryder found he could breathe and behave normally again.

“I take it these are registered horses,” he commented, struggling not to stare at Jeri Bogman over the rim of his cup. Purebred horses with proven lineage could be registered with various organizations. His ambitions did not reach as high as registered stock. He’d be happy to produce good riding horses, either through trade or a small breeding program, something he could handle on his own.

He sipped hot coffee and leaned back against the counter, only to have Tina wave him over to the table. Wyatt punctuated the silent order with a flat, big-brother glare. Ryder meandered over and took the seat at the end of the table, with Stark on his left and the beautiful Jeri Bogman with the special horses next to Stark. Wyatt sat at the other end with Tina on his left. Her babies weren’t due until April, so she still had at least three months to go, but twins made quite a bundle.

“My horses are more than just registered,” Jeri informed Ryder in a low, husky alto that sent waves of awareness through him. “They’re champion barrel racers. Or will be.”

He focused on the dark well of his mug, fighting to maintain his equilibrium. “I saw the emblem on the truck outside. Win that at the National Finals Rodeo?”

She shifted around on her chair and braced her elbows against the tabletop. “No. I won that in Georgia. I only placed second in the national finals.”

Only second. That was nothing to sneeze at. “Congratulations,” Ryder said, folding his forearms against the tabletop.

“Second place at the NFR is big money,” Stark said needlessly. “Which, I venture to say, is why Jeri’s here.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking for property,” she divulged. “I’ve established myself well enough to produce and train top-notch racers. The next obvious step is a breeding ranch and training center.”

“And she’ll be staying with us while she’s land shopping,” Tina announced happily.

“Sure beats a motel room or the coffin bed in my trailer,” Jeri said, smiling.

Ryder wasn’t certain how he felt about Jeri Bogman being a semipermanent resident of the War Bonnet area, let alone a permanent one. He didn’t like the way she affected him. He seized on the first sensible question that came to mind.

“Why choose our little corner of the world?”

She clasped her coffee cup with small, delicate hands. “I’m still competing and, God willing, will be for many years. This area is fairly centrally located. There’s land to be had, and it’s relatively inexpensive. Cost of living is reasonable, and there are numerous properties between Duncan and Ardmore and Red River. Most important, it’s decent horse country.”

Ryder smiled at his big brother. “That’s what I’ve been telling Wyatt. We’ve got some good horse pasture here.”

“And I said I’d consider expanding the operation to include raising horses,” Wyatt reminded him.

“So?” Ryder pressed.

“So, I’m considering it.”

Stark drained his coffee cup and got up to leave. “Well, I have an appointment. Thanks for the hospitality. Jeri, I’ll probably see you when you come over to care for the horses. Hope the property hunt goes well.”

Jeri looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks so much.” She looked at Tina then, adding, “Because I have a rigorous competition schedule, I’ll only have two or three days a week to look around, so this could take a while.”

Tina looked decidedly happier about that than Ryder felt. He’d resigned himself to the fact that romantic relationships would not be part of his life, and he surely didn’t want to make a fool of himself over this woman. She was young, beautiful and already accomplished enough to be setting up her own horse ranch, while he was hanging here on his brothers’ shirttails. In other words, she was out of his league. Besides, he hated to think what her reaction, or any woman’s, might be when she discovered he was also an accused murderer.

Wyatt and Tina called out their farewells as Stark threw on his coat, grabbed his hat and went out into the cold. The door barely closed before Wyatt pushed back his chair.

“Ryder, I could use your help haying the cattle and putting out mineral blocks in the southeast section before the storm hits.”

The southeast section was too rough to be reached any way except by horseback. Once a week or so for at least a couple of months in winter, they loaded up special sledges with hay and minerals, harnessed the sledges to some horses and hauled everything out to provide extra nutrients to the livestock.

“No problem. But I haven’t seen Delgado yet. Reckon he’ll be here by the time we’re ready to load the horses.” Delgado, who lived in town, was their only hired hand.

“We’ll have to trail the horses,” Wyatt said, “so we’ll just tie them onto the back of the trailer. Delgado could haul them in a trailer, but he won’t be in today. He mentioned that he needed supplies, so I told him to stay in town and take care of it. Didn’t want him getting trapped at home without the necessities if the weather turns off worse than they predict.”

Ryder gulped down as much of his coffee as he could before replying. “We better get moving, then, if we’re going to finish before lunch.”

“You saddle the horses, I’ll start loading the trailer with hay.”

“I took care of that yesterday afternoon.”

“Good job. We’ll just have to load the mineral blocks then.”

“I can help,” Jeri said, looking from one man to the other.

Ryder and Wyatt traded glances. “Oh, we couldn’t ask you to,” Ryder began, but she cut him off.

“I’m an excellent rider, and I’d welcome the chance to look at your range.”

Trying to telegraph refusal to his brother, Ryder tilted his head. Wyatt got the message.

“It’s awful cold out there.”

She pushed back from the table. “I have warm clothes. Just let me change.”

“Thank you, Jeri,” Tina said, widening her eyes at Wyatt, who smiled at Jeri.

“Yes. Thank you, Jeri.”

“Guess I’ll saddle three horses,” Ryder muttered, heading for the door. He couldn’t help being irritated. The woman disturbed him, made him uncomfortable somehow. And yet, when he thought back to the first instant he’d laid eyes on her, he couldn’t help smiling. Beautiful and accomplished. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to spend the morning with that? All he had to do was remind himself that nothing could come of it.

As if he could forget.

* * *

Jeri dropped her favorite hat on the dresser and threw open the suitcase atop the pretty mauve bedspread. Needing to appear the prosperous potential landowner, she’d dressed with a purpose today—but now she could put on the clothes in which she felt most at home. Quickly pulling out worn jeans and a pair of long-sleeved thermal tops, she sat on the edge of the tall bed to yank off her boots, her mind working busily over all that had led her to this point.

She couldn’t help wishing that he wasn’t so good-looking. She’d known, of course, that Ryder Smith was a big, fit hulk of a man with coal black hair. She’d seen the tape of the sparring workout with her brother, as well as promotional photos of him in various fighting poses. Besides, she’d caught glimpses of him on Houston’s local television news. That hadn’t quite prepared her for the live version, however. He was meant to look fierce and brutal in the publicity pictures, and he’d kept his head down and face averted during much of the media snippets. In the one interview that he’d done immediately after the incident, he’d had crocodile tears streaming down his face, and that had so appalled and infuriated Jeri that she hadn’t been able to see anything but his obviously phony emotion. Coming face-to-face with the real deal today had momentarily stunned her, and she knew she’d stared like a giddy groupie when he’d first entered the house.

Quickly slipping on pink thermals and faded denim, she mulled over that video of the sparring match that had ended with her beloved little brother’s death. The video, taped by Smith’s manager, conveniently did not show Ryder Smith actually killing Bryan; yet, the Houston police had used it to exonerate Smith of any wrongdoing in her brother’s death. After watching that tape repeatedly, she’d thought she was prepared to meet in person her baby brother’s murderer, but she hadn’t expected soft, shy eyes so dark a brown they were almost black, or a boyish smile that contrasted decidedly with the dark shadow of his beard and the heavy slashes of his eyebrows. If not for the broadening of the bridge of a nose that had been broken at least once, he would be devastatingly handsome. Even knowing what she knew about him, she couldn’t deny that he was the type to make hearts flutter.

The sheer size of him told her that he’d continued to use steroids despite having left the fight cage. Even under multiple layers, the hard bulge of toned muscles showed. In fact, he looked even bigger and more muscular now than he had in the tape. No doubt he could break her in two without even trying, but she wouldn’t let that intimidate her. If she could handle a half ton of spirited stud horse, she could handle one good-looking steroid freak for long enough to see him held accountable for what he’d done. After all, it was not like she had much choice in the matter.

Her mother had not known a moment’s peace since Bryan’s death, and Dena Averrett had suffered enough. Her mom had been orphaned at an early age and grown up in foster care. Jeri’s father had fallen off a construction scaffold and died when Jeri was a newborn. Then her stepfather, who had treated Jeri as his very own even after Bryan had arrived, had succumbed suddenly to an undetected heart condition almost six years ago. Bryan had become the man of the family at only seventeen. It simply wasn’t fair that he had died so soon after his twenty-first birthday.

Jeri had relished the role of big sister, and Bryan had always been her number one supporter in all that she did. But while she’d loved and cherished her brother, he had been their mother’s whole world. His death had been a devastating blow, one she feared her mother would never recover from. Unless Jeri could give her some closure by bringing his killer to justice.

As Jeri pulled on her comfortable work boots, she reflected bitterly that the police hadn’t even tried to build a case against Ryder Smith, despite the suspicious circumstances. Jeri and her mother felt certain she’d find evidence of steroid abuse by Ryder Smith to bolster their suspicions. Surely that would be enough to force the police to take action. It was well known, after all, that steroid use was rampant among bodybuilders and mixed martial arts fighters.

The police maintained that she and her mother were not entitled to see the results of toxicology tests Smith had taken right after the incident. If Smith hadn’t tested positive for steroids, though, why had he left the business immediately after the tests? After all, he was being touted as the most skilled challenger to enter the cage since MMA had become popular.

She and Dena had tried to prove their point via the press in Houston by feeding the media monster bits of supposition, suspicion and facts through anonymous sources and lawyers. They’d managed to steer the coverage away from themselves and shine a glaring spotlight on Ryder Smith, but they’d also driven him and his brothers out of town. It had taken months and a good deal of money to find out where they’d gone. Jeri had competed relentlessly to gain the necessary funds.

The effort had paid off in more than one way, however. She’d honed her craft and earned her way, at just twenty-four years of age, to the national rodeo finals this past December, where she’d won enough prize money to put this last, desperate plan into motion. If everything went well, she was going to prove that Ryder Smith had killed her brother in a fit of rage induced by the illegal use of steroids.

Failing that, she’d see him punished for drug use.

As a last resort, if all else failed, she’d provoke him into attacking her and press charges against him. She’d find some way to land Ryder Smith in jail, where he belonged.

No matter how breathtakingly handsome he was.

Then maybe she and her mom could find a modicum of peace.