Two To Wrangle (Hotel Rodeo #2)(43)

She gaped. “What did you say?”

“You heard me right. If you leave me, Evan comes out the winner. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? Or is he the only one who would finally get what he wants?”

“I can’t believe this,” she said. “All this time I thought all you really cared about was the hotel and getting the money to rebuild it.”

“Maybe I did in the beginning, but that was before you. Now I realize there’s something I want more. I want you, Monica. If you think you could be happy here, I’d like you to stay in Vegas, even if it means fighting and squabbling our way to a grand reopening. If you want to go, I’d ask you to consider making a life with me on a five-thousand-acre spread in Oklahoma. It’s in the middle of nowhere, but at least we have a plane and lots of privacy if we ever decide we’d like to try our hand at making babies.”

“Tom would have loved that,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ty answered with a soft smile. “He sure would’ve.”

“What if I don’t want to live on a ranch?” she asked. “What if I suddenly got a wild hair and decided I wanted to travel to the French Riviera?”

Ty cocked his head with a frown. “Depends. Do they still have topless beaches over there?”

“I’m serious, Ty. What if I wanted to travel?” Monica asked.

“How long would you want to travel for?” he asked.

“I don’t know. A month or two, maybe.”

“We’re gonna have to shut the hotel down anyway for construction. We could close at any time now that we’re through the bull-riding finals.”

“You’re serious?” she asked.

“Yeah. I figure the demolition part is gonna take a few weeks, but I don’t have to be here for that. I just need to be back for the construction.”

“How long do you figure for that?” she asked.

“I’d say we’re looking at anywhere from twelve to eighteen months, depending on permits and such,” Ty said. “I’m hoping to do it in phases so we don’t put our people completely out of work. I’d like to get started as soon as we get our plans approved, but right now we’re still not even decided on what those plans are gonna be, so I don’t see why I couldn’t take some time off.”

“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” Monica said. “You’d really hop on a plane tomorrow and go traveling with me?”

“I didn’t say tomorrow, sugar, but I think I could go for a few weeks, if that’s what you really want. Maybe you could show me that Spanish bullring?”

“You really mean that, Ty?” she asked, her throat choking with tears.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” he replied with a sexy grin, “Maybe I just have fantasies of you and me joining the Mile High Club.”

“Do you now?” Grabbing his shirt collar, she pushed him backward onto the bench seat and then straddled his lap. “If that’s the case, Ty, why wait?”





Don’t miss the next novella in the Hotel Rodeo series


Beauty and the Bull Rider

On sale in March 2016 from Lyrical Shine!





Chapter One


National Bull Riding Championship, Las Vegas, Nevada Zac McDaniel entered the bull pen cursing his damned bad luck. He didn’t need a doc or X-rays to tell him he’d broken something. The grinding of bones was a sure enough sign, even if the pain hadn’t already clued him in. He was used to pain though. After fifteen years of rodeo, the last ten dedicated strictly to bulls, he’d experienced his fair share of it. Twelve broken bones—thirteen if you counted the currently-broken wrist—three concussions, and numerous sprains and dislocations that didn’t count ’cause he’d ridden through most of ’em still hadn’t knocked any sense into him.

Then again he was a hard-headed sonofabitch.

Whether he was harder-headed than the bull he’d drawn for his final ride was yet to be determined. Super Spin Cycle was one of the rankest bastards on the tour and the most notorious for rearranging cowboy’s faces, but with thirty outs and only two rides, he was also one of the most coveted draws. The more buck in the bull meant the more chance of a payoff—if Zac made it to the whistle.

Swapping riding hands made the likelihood of that payoff a long shot at best, but his left handed grip was too weak from the injury to chance it, and quitting wasn’t an option. This ride was his last big shot: after that, he was done for good. Living on the road had lost its shine a long time ago.

In the beginning he’d loved the freedom and the variety of traveling, all the different places and the new faces, but somewhere along the line, the lack of routine had become more mundane than working a nine-to-five. The roads all looked the same. The rodeo arenas all smelled the same. The motel beds felt the same. The only thing that changed was his bedmates. The only real difference from one event to another was the bull. Any rider who forgot that or became complacent would have a short career—one that usually ended in intensive care.

After fifteen years of riding broncs and bulls, he knew he was pushing his luck. The next injury could be fatal. He didn’t give a shit about the glory anymore. Now all he wanted was enough money to fix his place up and figure out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.