Two To Wrangle (Hotel Rodeo #2)(16)

“You’re probably right about that,” Monica said. “But I hate to trouble you . . .”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Delaney reassured her. “My place is only fifteen minutes down the road if you’d like to give them a try. Otherwise, the nearest place to buy anything is going to be an hour away.”

Monica chewed her lip. Although she hated to be indebted to Ty’s ex, she didn’t have the time or inclination for shopping. She also didn’t want to give Ty any excuse to leave her behind when he rode down to the river. “Thanks, Delaney,” she replied with a smile. “I accept the offer.”





“What the devil?” Ty muttered under his breath. Gazing out Tom’s office window, he spotted Monica and Delaney looking like bosom buddies as they climbed into Delaney’s gleaming-white Escalade. He watched gape-mouthed as, wheels spinning and kicking up a spray of loose gravel, lead-footed Delaney turned and pulled out of the drive, leaving a long trail of dust in her wake. He had no idea what they could be up to—besides no good.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he turned back to Bob. “So what you’re sayin’ is that I may have controlling interest of the hotel, but Monica still holds all the purse strings. What the hell good does that do me?” His prayer to finally have control of the hotel and a chance to fulfill his dream had been answered, but he still needed money.

“How about investors?” Bob asked.

“Tried that already,” Ty grunted.

“And?” Bob prompted.

“I found one. He came through with enough to buy Monica out, but not enough for the renovations.” Ty wasn’t about to mention Delaney’s insane proposal.

“Tom also willed you the ranch, Tyrone.”

Ty blinked. “The Circle B is mine?”

“It took Monica by surprise too, not that she begrudges you. She said she has no interest in it and the ranch should rightfully be yours. Any idea what your plans might be for the place?” Bob asked.

“Hell, I dunno.” Ty sighed. His head was still spinning after hearing the particulars of Tom’s will. “I need some time to digest all this.”

“Course you do,” Bob said. “You and Monica both have some big decisions to make.”

Although he had a one-in-a-million opportunity, Ty didn’t have a clue what his next move should be. In the past seven years when he’d overseen the operations for Brandt Morgan Entertainment, he’d never imagined he’d one day find himself in the CEO chair. He was never more afraid of screwing up. With so much on the line, his inexperience scared him shitless.

He knew that his talents lay in managing the people, not the finances. Tom had known that too. That’s why he’d tried so hard to get Monica and Ty to work together. The terms of Tom’s will still bound them—unless Monica sold her share of the business. Somehow, he had to convince her not to sell, not just because he needed a savvy partner he could trust, but because he needed her.



“Were you raised here in Oklahoma?” Monica asked Delaney.

She already knew the answer, having heard the story from both Ty and Gabby, but she was eager to establish some neutral, if trite, conversational ground.

“No,” Delaney replied with a proud tilt of her chin. “I’m a Houstonian, born and bred. My great-great-granddaddy even fought beside Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto.”

“Really? What brought you to Oklahoma?”

“A mistake,” Delaney quipped, “but one I’ve learned to live with.” She slanted Monica a sidelong look. “Or maybe I should have said live without.”

Ty Morgan.

“Rural Oklahoma must be a far cry from Houston,” Monica said.

“It is, but I love the ranching life,” Delaney said.

“Did your family have a ranch?”

“My daddy owns several cattle operations; most everyone in Texas with money has a hobby ranch, but I didn’t grow up on one. Mama’s a socialite and hated the place, so I was hardly even allowed to visit. I always envied my brothers. They got to spent all their free time out there, doing as they pleased, while I had no freedom at all. This is it. Home sweet home.” She nodded to a gated gravel drive and then made the turn.

The property bore little similarity to Tom’s other than what seemed like miles of fenced, manure-dotted pastures. The houses couldn’t be more different. While Tom’s place was a sprawling, Spanish-style hacienda, Ty’s family homestead was a modest two-story white clapboard with a wraparound porch.

“How old is this place?” Monica asked, noting the old-style chimneys.

“I think it dates back to the twenties,” Delaney said. “But Ty knows exactly since his great-granddaddy originally homesteaded it.”

“And you live all the way out here by yourself?” Monica asked.

“Yeah,” Delaney grinned.

“How?”

Delaney’s brow wrinkled. “ ’Scuse me?”

“How can you stand being out here alone after living in Houston? Aren’t you bored out of your mind?”

“The first few years were really rough,” Delaney confessed. “But then it all sorta clicked when I decided to make a go of raising bulls.”

“You raise cattle?”