Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(45)

Janice returned within minutes with a foamy mug for Wade and a shot glass sporting a paper umbrella that she set in front of Nikki with a wink for Wade.

“I suppose this is a joke?” Nikki said, plucking out the umbrella.

Wade laughed, a low, warm rumble that ceased the second Nikki licked the back of her hand to apply the salt. She took the shot, in a single choking swallow, made a face, and then bit into the lime.

At first Janice also chuckled, but then a wave of fierce envy followed. They were hardly able to tear their eyes from each other. Was it so very long since she’d experienced that kind of attraction? It had been almost three years since she’d been with anyone. Yearning pierced her like a physical pain—not just for sex, but for intimacy.

She wondered if Wade would think to mention her to Dirk. Probably not. His mind was preoccupied with other things—pretty little brunette kinda things—and it looked like his interest was more than reciprocated. Judging by the way Wade later flung his money on the table and half carried her out the door, Nikki had certainly lit his fuse. By the looks of things, Wade was finally moving on. She was glad of it. At least one of them was getting their life back together. It gave her hope that maybe after three years of licking her wounds, she might be able to do the same.

Hours later when her shift ended, Janice was still thinking about Dirk. He continued to linger in her mind during the thirty minute drive home. Although she’d tried to move on, her heart had never belonged to anyone but Dirk Knowlton. She’d come back to Montana and so had he, but they were both damaged and broken. It was heartrending how many mistakes they’d both made, but the past couldn’t be changed. The present was what counted. The here and now.

Dirk, by all accounts, was a shattered man. The question she intended to answer was whether his pieces could ever be put back together again.





Chapter 11


Flying K Ranch, Montana

“Goddamnit!” Dirk hoisted the saddle onto his horse’s back with a curse. “And double damn Wade!”

His brother had ridden out late yesterday afternoon after strays and still hadn’t come back. He had a half-dozen animals missing and Wade was too busy screwing around with his new girlfriend to care—as if there wasn’t already enough bad blood between him and his brother already. Had Wade not taken the girl with him, Dirk might even have been worried, but now he’d bet the whole friggin’ ranch they were holed up in the cabin doing what he could only fantasize about.

The only reason he’d sent Wade after the cattle was his own difficulty riding. He used the ATV most of the time for cattle work, but there were a number of strays on the mountain and some of the cow paths were too treacherous and narrow to chance it with the ATV. He rarely rode a horse unless he had to. He couldn’t do it like he used to, so he didn’t want to do it at all.

Unfortunately, there were still a few occasions where riding was unavoidable. It was the only reason he kept horses at all. It wasn’t just the mounting and dismounting that made it difficult, but the chance of a hang-up was a constant danger. Riding with a prosthetic leg was a royal pain in the ass. He supposed his stubborn pride was an even bigger pain in the ass, but that’s just how it was.

If the missing cattle wasn’t already enough to fire him up, Allie Evans had just shown up with another offer on the ranch. He’d thought the issue of selling out was laid to rest a week ago, but here was Allie back again. She might have Wade in her pocket, but she was wasting her breath if she thought to change Dirk’s mind. He had a legacy to protect and he swore he’d do so with his very last breath. It wasn’t just a matter of guilt on his part, it was a matter of honor.

The Flying K was all he had left.

He’d screwed up his life so many times and in so many ways that all he wanted was the opportunity to start over. Just one stinking chance to see if he could finally get it right—whatever-the-hell “it” was.

He was damned tired of just scraping by and barely surviving. Hell no, he wanted the Flying K to thrive again as it once had, as he knew it still could. While his neighbors continued to complain about the low prices they were getting for their Angus and Herefords, Dirk had researched everything he could get his hands on about Japanese Wagyu and what it would take to raise a herd. His ideas meant taking chances and facing mockery, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass what others thought. Montana ranching methods were steeped in old tradition but it was time to break out of the box or perish.

He knew he could turn things around but a new breeding program didn’t happen overnight. It took time. Not weeks or months but years. It was also risky, but he knew in his gut it would pay off in the long run—if only his damned brother would have a little faith. But instead of supporting Dirk’s ideas, he’d teamed up with Ms. Allison Fuck-Me-Pumps Evans to sell the place out from under him. Allison’s unexpected arrival had also forced him to deal with his handicap head-on, which pissed him off even more.

Copenhagen shifted uneasily. They were decades-old trail partners and the horse was sensitive to Dirk’s every mood. While only a few years ago he could have effortlessly vaulted onto the back of the most skittish and ill-mannered horse, now he only picked the veterans out of the paddock, the old-timers with patience—like Red Man and Copenhagen.

“S’all right, boy.” He soothed the animal and adjusted the saddle. Then, cursing his brother all the while, he swung himself up, positioning his prosthesis carefully in the custom-designed stirrup. He resented the hell out of having to drop everything to go up the mountain after Wade, but being honest, rage about Allie’s appearance wasn’t all that motivated him. He was equally eaten-up with envy. Wade had found himself a new woman and looked to be moving forward with his life, while everything Dirk was working for was slowly turning to shit.