The Maverick Meets His Match (Hearts of Wyoming Book 2)
Anne Carrole
Chapter 1
Ty Martin had never regretted the choices he’d made, until now. Shading his eyes against the sunlight glinting off the dial of his Rolex, he checked the time. Twenty minutes until life changed. Maybe temporarily. Maybe for good.
Or bad.
Tamping down the unease that always came with loose ends, Ty moved past the corrals where the cowhands were topping off the water troughs. Heads popped up like jack-in-the-boxes, but no one acknowledged him. Not a word, not a wave, not a nod. Instead, they stared as if he were some curiosity on parade.
Ty tugged the brim of his Stetson lower. At least being an outsider would make decisions easier.
Without breaking stride, he swept by the barn where the stalls were being mucked out and moved on past the low building that served as an office for the livestock rodeo company he would now head. Dust kicked up as he went, coating his custom-made alligator boots and threatening to settle on his black dress pants.
A steer bellowed in the distance, part of the ranch herd that had been brought in for culling.
He scanned the side parking area for a gray pickup truck. Silver metal glistened just a few feet away from his black BMW. At least he wouldn’t be the last one to walk into the lawyer’s office.
For most of his life he had run from anything to do with ranching, working his way through law school, scoring a job at a land development firm, and fighting his way to a partnership—only to eventually walk away. And now, here he was, heading up a livestock operation. A rodeo livestock operation.
Just a year. That’s what he had promised. Just enough time to decide the fate of the company that bore another family’s name. And they would hate him for it, or at least one person would hate him for it, if she didn’t already.
He clicked the remote in his pocket, and his car hummed in response. A few more steps and he pulled open the door. Semi-cool air blasted his face from the side vent, carrying with it that new-car odor. He slipped onto the sun-warmed leather seats, extracted a pair of Oakley shades from the center compartment, and opened the sunroof as he closed the door.
It was too damn hot for May in Wyoming, he thought, removing his suit jacket and hat and laying them on the passenger seat. He buckled up, popped on the sunglasses, and shifted into reverse. Gravel crunched under the tires.
Mandy Prescott would fight him despite this just being business. He might understand why the old man had worked it this way. She never would.
It would be easier if she wasn’t so damned attractive, and stubborn. A challenging combination he’d found tempting in the past. But the fact she was J. M. Prescott’s granddaughter had kept Ty’s pants zipped. He’d realized early on dallying with Mandy was not an option unless he was prepared to marry her. And that would never be the case—with any woman, but certainly not with a hardheaded, determined woman like Mandy, no matter how much she tempted him.
Ty shifted the car into gear. Of course, now that J. M. Prescott was gone, maybe a little fling with Mandy, if she was as inclined as she’d once been, would be just what he needed to fight this strange feeling that had come over him since JM’s passing. Like something important had seeped out of him, slowly, almost imperceptibly, but steady enough to leave an uncomfortable void.
Yup, Mandy Prescott’s feminine charms could be just what the doctor ordered, despite her current disposition toward him, because if life had taught him two things, it was that anything was possible and nothing was certain.
*
Mandy Prescott misstepped on the tan carpet of the law office’s hallway almost causing her to stumble. Ty Martin stood in the conference room doorway, looking like he’d strode out of an Old West wanted poster, given his six-foot height, the stubble shadowing his firm jaw, and the black suit jacket outlining his broad shoulders. Dark eyes peered at her from under the brim of a Stetson pulled low enough for the back of his ebony-colored hair to feather the crisp white collar of his shirt. Neater than an outlaw, maybe, but no less threatening.
“I didn’t know Ty would be here, did you, Mandy?” her mother whispered, leaning closer as they walked and bringing a whiff of Chanel No. 5 with her movement.
Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, like it wanted out.
“No.”
Brian Solomon, the family attorney, had said only the main beneficiaries of her grandfather’s will would be in attendance. To her that had meant family. But there was Ty, leaning against the doorjamb with arms crossed and an annoying smile gracing a face she’d once found attractive.
Devils were always tempting.
“Ty.” She nodded, barely able to get the single syllable past her dry lips as she stopped outside the doorway.
“Mandy.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Prescott.”
“I’ve told you, it’s Shelia, Ty. Mrs. Prescott makes me sound old.” At forty-eight her mother was still an attractive and vibrant woman. Dressed in a tailored black sheath, her blond hair meticulously styled in a bang-less page-boy, Shelia Prescott exuded quiet elegance. It was a wonder she’d never remarried, given it had been over ten years since Mandy’s father had died.
“Sheila it is.” The lines around Ty’s eyes crinkled as his smile broadened and he trained those dark orbs on Mandy. “I was worried about you, Mandy. Thought you might not be feeling well since you’ve yet to meet with me about the Greenville rodeo.”