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His Enemy's Daughter
Sarah M. Anderson


To get what’s rightfully his, he’ll need to get past her.Pete Wellington is on a mission to reclaim his birth-right. But first he must win the trust of Chloe, the daughter of the man who stole Pete’s legacy. But Pete is starting to wonder if he’s been aiming for the wrong prize…







To get what’s rightfully his, he’ll need to get past her.

But this ain’t her first rodeo...

Pete Wellington’s mission: take back his birthright, the All-Stars Rodeo. First, he must earn the trust of Chloe Lawrence, daughter of the city slicker who stole Pete’s legacy. But this princess of the rodeo isn’t who he imagined. Chloe has beauty, business savvy and spirit, leaving Pete to wonder...has he been aiming at the wrong prize all along?


SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award in 2012. The Nanny Plan was a 2016 RITA® Award winner for Contemporary Romance: Short.

Sarah spends her days having conversations with imagi-nary cowboys and billionaires. Find out more about Sarah’s heroes at www.sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for the new-release newsletter at www.eepurl.com/nv39b (http://eepurl.com/nv39b).


Also by Sarah M. Anderson (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

Not the Boss’s Baby

Tempted by a Cowboy

A Beaumont Christmas

His Son, Her Secret

Falling for Her Fake Fiancé His

Illegitimate Heir

Rich Rancher for Christmas

His Best Friend’s Sister

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


His Enemy’s Daughter

Sarah M. Anderson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07659-3

HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER

© 2018 Sarah M. Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Kristi—I’m so glad you’ve come into our lives!


Contents

Cover (#u54dbae92-4f17-5529-984c-773458a98f35)

Back Cover Text (#ub9dc2a59-03e5-57ab-b118-4a5b86604c3f)

About the Author (#u3da63214-bf2e-5cdd-9396-26fcec0286d4)

Booklist (#ueef017e0-965e-50b2-ac06-e82a7210f1c9)

Title Page (#uf84c18af-3847-5f70-974f-0734b17fc22f)

Copyright (#ue043c399-6baa-510b-9f7d-61c68824343f)

Dedication (#u2f926373-a96e-5f21-9e4b-4f599939d08e)

One (#ube623369-a8f9-52d1-996a-58f310c425d4)

Two (#u0295b0ef-e7a8-5683-bfab-6c055d7274eb)

Three (#u894c9aec-05cc-536a-a77d-834c6bdca1a6)

Four (#u69513983-a7d4-5ebe-ab06-691017316c3c)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

It took everything Chloe Lawrence had to keep her winning smile locked into place.

“Miss,” the stock contractor said, taking off his hat and slicking his thin hair back before replacing the Stetson, “this isn’t how we did things back when your father was in charge.”

The first time some grizzled old coot had said that to her, she had been genuinely shocked. For all intents and purposes, Milt Lawrence hadn’t been in charge of the All-Around All-Stars Pro Rodeo since her brother Oliver had wrestled control of the family empire away from the older man four years ago. The All-Stars was one of the family’s many holdings, had been ever since her father had won the rodeo circuit in a poker game thirteen years ago.

Oliver had managed the rodeo from a distance while simultaneously running their main company, Lawrence Energies. Which meant that, on the ground, Chloe was the Lawrence the stock contractors had been dealing with.

“Mort,” she said, keeping her voice warm and friendly instead of angry. “This is just a slight change in who’s qualified to compete.”

Which was not necessarily the truth.

Allowing women to compete with the men was anything but slight. But it wasn’t like she was suggesting they cut calf-roping or anything.

Dale Jenkins, an older man with his stomach hanging over his belt buckle, stepped in front of Mort. “What Mort is trying to say,” he drawled, “is that of course we’re still interested in supplying the All-Stars with our stock. But you’re just the Princess of the Rodeo. You’re good at it, of course,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But...”

He aimed a big smile at her, one that Chloe recognized. But that just grated on her every nerve.

When she’d been younger and so excited to open and close every rodeo, Dale had given her that exact same smile and patted her on the head as if she were a puppy and told her that she looked “right pretty up on that horse.”

If he patted her on the head now, she might break his hand.

“Gentlemen,” she said, putting as much force as she could into the word. “There is no harm in trying something different. If it works, the All-Stars will gain viewers, fans and sales. When those three things combine, you know what that gets us?” She waved her hand to encompass Dale, Mort and the other cowboys paying attention. “More money. A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“Women ride barrels,” said a crusty old fart named Dustin Yardley. He stalked right into her personal space. “You’re asking us to be part and parcel of something we didn’t sign up for. The All-Stars is a men’s rodeo.” He gave her a look that was so mean she had to fight the urge to take a step back. She wouldn’t show fear before these men.

Of course, meanness was Dustin’s natural look, so it was hard for Chloe to tell if he was extra condescending today or not. “And we,” he went on, “are the men who make the rodeo work.”

Oh, that absolutely did it. She had heard some version of that speech in Des Moines, Kansas City, Shreveport, Memphis and, worst of all, in Fort Worth. Now she was hearing it in Sikeston, Missouri.

None of the stock contractors or riders or promoters had ever had an issue with her running the All-Stars when her brother Oliver or her father, Milt, were nominally in charge. All she’d had to do then was phrase her orders as coming from her family.

From a man.

But this year was different. At the beginning of the season, Oliver had ceded all control, real or imagined, to Chloe. He was way too busy to handle the All-Stars. He’d gone and fallen in love with Chloe’s oldest friend, Renee Preston—who came with a certain amount of scandal, what with her being pregnant with her dead husband’s child and the rest of her family under indictment for running a massive pyramid scheme.

And besides, Oliver hated the rodeo. Chloe still didn’t understand why. She loved it and she’d been pushing for more control over the All-Stars for years. It hadn’t been until Oliver had gone behind their father’s back to give her the television distribution negotiations that she’d been able to prove her skills.

And prove them, she had. She wasn’t just the Princess of the Rodeo. Not anymore.

Or so she’d thought.

This season should have been Chloe’s victory tour. Finally, the rodeo she’d loved since her father had won it was hers and hers alone. The TV deal was just the first step. She’d also launched her own line of couture cowgirl clothing named—what else?—Princess of the Rodeo and it was selling well. Sure, the workload was insane and yeah, she didn’t get much sleep anymore. But her brother had managed the rodeo while running a billion-dollar energy corporation. She could juggle some cowboys and clothing. She had to—this was just the beginning.

She had plans. Great plans.

Plans that required people to go along with them.

The one variable she hadn’t accounted for. Damned people.

She gritted her teeth. “Mister Yardley,” she said. She didn’t have time to stand around debating. She just needed them to nod and smile and say they’d be happy to try something new. “I’ll be sure to pass that sentiment along to your wife and two daughters, who delivered the agreed-upon calves to the Bootheel Rodeo last year—by themselves—while you were recovering from surgery. How’s the heart, by the way?” She did her best to look sweet and concerned.

Not that Yardley was buying it. His eyes narrowed as his lip curled. He was not a man who took kindly to having his authority questioned, especially not by someone who was just a princess. “Now you look here, missy,” he began, his cheeks darkening.

That’s when a male voice behind her said, “Problem?”

Inside, her heart sank.

If she had expected anyone to barge into this situation, it would have been her younger brother, Flash Lawrence. He was not only a Lawrence heir but also a cowboy who rode for the All-Stars. He was legendary for three things—his charm with the ladies, the chip on his shoulder and his short-fuse temper.

She’d had plenty of trouble in Omaha when, in the middle of a similar conversation with similar contractors, Flash had decided Chloe’s honor needed to be defended. It had taken all of her negotiating skills to get the police to drop the charges.

She would be so lucky if it was Flash who’d spoken. But today was not her lucky day.

Yardley smirked as he made eye contact with the man standing behind Chloe. The very last man she wanted to deal with. She would take a hundred Jenkinses and Yardleys and Gandys rather than deal with this one man.

“Pete Wellington,” Yardley said and Chloe didn’t miss the sudden warmth and good cheer in his voice. “What a surprise to see you here.”

He didn’t sound surprised. In fact, none of the men she’d been trying to reason with looked shocked that Pete Wellington had ventured from his East Texas ranch to drop by the All-Stars rodeo in Missouri.

Dammit.

“How’ve you been?” Mort asked, then he cut a glance at Chloe. “We’d love to see you at the rodeo again.”

Yeah, that wasn’t subtle. But before she could point out that Pete Wellington hadn’t had jack crap to do with the All-Stars in years, Dale spoke. “You here to compete?” he asked, beaming widely. “We sure do miss seeing a real professional in the arena.”

Lord, why didn’t they just roll out a red carpet and lick his boots clean? Chloe had to fight back a scream of frustration. She didn’t like it when people took pot shots at Flash, but the fact was he was a damned good rider. He’d earned that seventh-place world ranking on his own, no matter what anyone else thought.

“Now, gentlemen,” Pete said from behind her and she had to repress a shiver at the sound of his voice, deep and rich. “You know I retired from riding years ago.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make a comeback. It’d be an improvement. A huge one.” Yardley started to step around her to shake Wellington’s hand, but Chloe wasn’t having any of it. Pete’s father, Davey Wellington, might have founded this rodeo, but he’d also lost it fair and square in a poker game to Chloe’s father, Milt.

She wasn’t going to let anyone cut her out of her rodeo. Especially not Pete Wellington.

Just as Yardley stuck out his hand, Chloe spun to face her nemesis, accidentally hip-checking Yardley. “Whoops,” she said, working hard to keep her eyes innocent when Dustin stumbled. “Why, Mr. Wellington,” she cooed. She’d once heard Flash call him that and Pete had snapped that Mister Wellington was his father and she absolutely wasn’t above using every single weapon at her disposal. She batted her eyelashes and shifted so her breasts were at their best before finishing, “I didn’t see you join us!”

She looked up at him through her lashes—a move that usually gave her total control over the situation. But Pete Wellington wasn’t distracted by a pretty face. If that were possible, she would have had him eating out of her hands for the last ten years.

Instead, he said, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Princess of the Rodeo.” His tone was only slightly mocking. “You’ve got things well in hand, I see. As usual.”

Chloe refused to react. She didn’t even allow her cheeks to heat as the old farts around her started chuckling. She’d been performing in public as the Princess of the Rodeo since she was sixteen, three years after her dad had taken over the circuit. Every weekend, at the featured All-Around All-Stars Rodeo, Chloe opened and closed the show by riding a horse into the arena and carrying a huge American flag.

The All-Stars was the big leagues for cowboys who wanted to demonstrate their skills at calf-roping, bronco-busting, team roping, steer wrestling and bull riding. It didn’t bring in as much money as the Total Bull Challenge, which was strictly bull riding. But Chloe had plans to change that.

The first step was to find her breakout star—who was absolutely not her brother Flash. She’d love to find a female rider, a positive role model to bring in younger girls. After all, that strategy had worked wonders for the Total Bull Challenge’s bottom line when June Spotted Elk had worked her way up through the ranks. Why shouldn’t Chloe replicate that success?

Pete smirked down at her while Dustin chortled behind her. They were the reason that, at this very moment, she wasn’t replicating any success.

She hated Pete Wellington and his smug attitude and his built body, not to mention his freaking amazing jaw that only looked better with a five-o’clock shadow. And his eyes! They were almost gray when he looked down at her from under the brim of his brown cowboy hat but, depending on the light, changed to either light blue or green. Oh, how she hated Pete’s eyes in particular. They were simply the most beautiful color she’d ever seen and some days, all she wanted to do was stare into them endlessly and watch them shift with the changing light.

But more than that, she hated the way he looked at her. Would it kill him to acknowledge that she was a damned good steward to his beloved rodeo? That she ran a tight ship and got things done—like television distribution and increased revenues?

Apparently, it would kill him because she only saw mocking contempt in his eyes. His lips curved into something that could have been a heart-stopping smile on a man with a soul but on him was nothing but a taunting sneer.

He was in Missouri for one reason and one reason alone—to knock her down in front of the very men she most needed to buy into her new plans.

If that’s how he wanted to play this, fine. It wasn’t her fault his father hadn’t been able to hold his liquor. Nor was it her fault that the man had been a lousy poker player who hadn’t known when to hold ’em or when to fold ’em. But Pete acted as if she’d stolen his rodeo. As if she’d been there, pouring Davey Wellington another shot of whiskey and whispering in his ear.

Basically, he looked at her like she was the devil incarnate and he treated her accordingly.

She was only too happy to return the favor.

“It’s true I have much more to get my hands around than you do,” she replied easily, keeping everything light, as if she weren’t intentionally insulting his manhood. “But it’s so nice to see you getting out and about again.” She patted his upper arm, pointedly not noticing the way his hard biceps tensed at her casual touch. “You let me know if you need any help dealing with the crowds. I know it can be overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”

Any hint of a smirk on his nice, full lips died, which only made her smile broaden. But instead of launching a counterattack, Pete swallowed hard and said, “Big night?”

“Been sold out for weeks.” Of course, part of that was because Dwight Yoakam was the closing act. It’d been a huge get, bringing a country star of that magnitude to this tiny corner of Missouri.

But she was going to put on a hell of a rodeo while she had butts in the seats. She had to. If this didn’t work...no. There was no if here. It would absolutely work. When the rodeo took off, she’d be the one holding the reins.

She braced herself. Now he would come up firing. Now he would try to destroy her with a witty comeback. She could see the cords on his neck straining as he ground his teeth. No matter what he said, she wouldn’t let him get to her.

Now. Surely now.

“Pete, maybe you can make the little lady see sense,” Mort said.

“About what?” Pete replied, but he didn’t look away from her.

“About women,” Dustin said. He whipped his hat off his head and slapped it against his leg. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Pete stepped back and looked Chloe up and down, his gaze traveling the path over her blinged-out cowgirl shirt and customized jeans—both from her Princess of the Rodeo clothing line—way too slowly for her taste. “I don’t know, guys. She looks pretty qualified in the woman department, if you ask me.”

Chloe blushed. She didn’t want to, didn’t want Pete to know that his words could affect her at all—but she couldn’t help it. Was he...protecting her? Or just ogling her?

What was going on?

“She wants to let women compete!” Dustin all but roared.

“Don’t get us wrong,” Dale went on in his pleasantly condescending voice, “women can ride the hell out of barrels.”

“And they’re good-looking,” Mort unhelpfully added.

Chloe managed not to lose her ever-loving mind. But she couldn’t stop herself from gritting her teeth and closing her eyes. Their words shouldn’t hurt. They wouldn’t.

“But you put a pretty little thing out there in the arena with a man and he’s gonna get distracted,” Dustin said, disgust in his voice. “And a distracted cowboy is a hurt cowboy. You know that, Pete.”

Pete cleared his throat, making Chloe open her eyes again. He had to be loving this open rebellion. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d orchestrated this whole scene. She glanced around—yep. They’d amassed a crowd of about twenty people. Lovely. There would be plenty of witnesses to her humiliation.

At least Flash wasn’t here. There wasn’t a single bad situation her brother couldn’t make worse.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Pete Wellington—a man who had never bothered to hide his hatred of her—lowered his chin and, from under the brim of his hat where no one else could see it, winked at her. Before she could figure what the hell that was supposed to mean, he stepped back.

“You’re right,” he said to Dustin in particular and the crowd of cowboys in general. “I happen to know firsthand that, because we don’t have mixed competitions, no one has ever been injured in the All-Stars rodeo.”

Chloe blinked. Was that...sarcasm?

In her defense?

What the hell was going on?

There was a three-second pause while Pete’s words settled over the crowd before the first chuckle started. Another joined it and soon, all the guys who’d ridden in rodeos, past or present, began to laugh.

“Face it, boys,” Pete went on, “we’ve all been stepped on by a bull or thrown by a bronco.” Heads nodded in agreement. It was practically a sea of bobbing cowboy hats. “Women have nothing to do with the bones I’ve broken or the bruises I’ve suffered—no offense to my momma, who tried to keep me out of the arena. I say, if women want to compete on our teams and they can help a team win, why wouldn’t we want that to happen?”

The bobbing stopped and Dustin pounced. “Are you serious, Wellington?”

“Have you ever seen my sister rope a steer?” Pete shot back. “She could give any man in this arena a run for his money.”

Chloe stared almost helplessly up at Pete. He hadn’t gone in for the kill. He really was defending her.

When he looked down at her, an electric shock skated over her skin. Then he completely blew her mind by saying, “If Chloe says it’s a good idea to open up the team competitions to women, then it’s a good idea.”

“You can’t seriously think she’s had a good idea.” Dustin spat into the dirt.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Pete shot back.

Chloe gaped at the man.

Who the hell was this Pete damned Wellington?


Two (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

Pete couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. Chloe Lawrence looked exactly like a fish stunned to find itself in the bottom of a boat instead of the bottom of a lake. By God, it was good to get the upper hand on the woman, for once. Everything was going according to plan.

Pete cut a glance back at Chloe. If he weren’t enjoying himself quite so much, he’d be tempted to feel sorry for her. She was normally so high and mighty, the kind of smugly self-assured woman who thought she was better than everyone else, especially him. She never missed the opportunity to rub his face in the fact that the All-Stars wasn’t his rodeo anymore.

Now he’d turned the tables and he was going to enjoy rubbing her face in it. These men didn’t owe her any particular allegiance and they all knew it.

But that fleeting moment when Dustin took a swipe at her, where pain etched her delicate features, didn’t make him feel like he was winning. It made him feel like an ass. He felt like he’d seen that look before, a long time ago. Probably when he’d said something cruel. He couldn’t remember what and besides, Chloe always gave as good as she got, so he wouldn’t bother to feel bad about past insults.

He pushed back against that wisp of guilt because it was small and easily ignored. Hey, he was not the bad guy here, never had been. All he wanted was what was rightfully his. It had nothing to do with Chloe personally. It had everything to do with her lying, cheating family.

But even as he repeated that familiar truth, his gaze was drawn to her again. The fact that she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever had the displeasure of butting heads with only made it worse. In another lifetime, the one where his family still owned the All-Stars, he and Chloe wouldn’t be on opposite sides of a never-ending war. She would’ve been just another gorgeous face and Pete would’ve been free to...

Well, he would’ve had his rodeo back.

The rodeo was his, dammit. The Lawrence Oil All-Around All-Stars Pro Rodeo circuit was comprised of individual rodeos that were hosted from small towns to big cities. Most of the rodeos, like the Bootheel Rodeo in Missouri, predated the All-Stars by decades.

When Pete’s father Davey had started the All-Stars back in the eighties with a group of his friends, he’d had big plans. More than just a bunch of individual rodeos—with individual winners—Davey Wellington had seen a way to crown the world’s best All-Around Cowboy. It’d been a crazy idea but then, Davey had been just crazy enough to make it work.

Every rodeo that wanted to count toward the world rankings had to be approved by the All-Around All-Stars. The summers of Pete’s childhood had been spent with his dad, driving from rodeo to rodeo to see if that local rodeo was worthy of being counted as an All-Star rodeo.

God, those had been good days, just the two of them in Dad’s truck, sending postcards back to Mom. As far as he could recall, those summers had been the only time Pete had ever had his father’s undivided attention. Pete might not have been there when Davey decided to settle the matter of who the best cowboy was forever, but by his father’s side, Pete had literally worked to build the All-Stars from the ground up.

Rodeo was family. The All-Stars was his family, his father’s legacy. It was his legacy, by God. Except for that damned poker game. Milt Lawrence had all but stolen the All-Stars from Davey when the man was deep into his whiskey and nothing Pete did could change that. And God knew he’d tried.

When Armstrong Oil—Lawrence Oil’s main competitor—had tapped oil on his ranch and Pete had suddenly become quite rich, he’d tried to buy the All-Stars back from Milt Lawrence. Hadn’t worked. Neither had any of the lawsuits that had followed.

The Lawrences were like leeches. Once they’d latched on, they weren’t letting go until they’d drained the All-Stars of all its history, meaning and money. It was time to try a new line of attack.

One that relied on grumpy old farts. “You can’t be serious,” Yardley snarled. “We had a deal.”

Pete glared at the man. He should’ve known better than to trust Dustin Yardley with something like this.

“What deal?” Chloe snapped. Any trace of confusion was gone from her face. She jammed her hands on the sweet curve of her hips and glared at Pete. Because of course she suspected the truth.

It was no accident that Pete was in Missouri today and it was no accident that he’d come upon the scene with Chloe being browbeaten by a bunch of old cowboys.

“What deal?” Pete echoed, trying to sound innocent and hoping that Dustin would get the damned hint to shut his trap.

Chloe had been running the rodeo by herself for a few months now and the buck stopped with her. She couldn’t hide behind her daddy’s boots anymore, and her brother Oliver? He’d been useless from the get-go, relying on Chloe as his liaison. In theory, the decisions had come from Oliver but Chloe had been the show manager.

When Oliver had officially stepped away from managing the rodeo earlier this year, Chloe hadn’t hired anyone else to help run the show. She should have, though. She had to be drowning in work. They were a long way from Dallas and Chloe had no backup.

Managing the All-Stars was a full-time job and she’d also started that Princess clothing line. His sister, Marie, had bought a couple of shirts, ostensibly so she and Pete could make fun of the latest tacky venture from the tacky Lawrences. But Marie—the traitor—had actually liked the clothing so much she’d bought a few more pieces.

Chloe could have her little fashion show—Pete didn’t care about that at all. But she was going to ruin his rodeo and he wasn’t going to stand for that.

The contractors and local rodeo boards—they wanted to work with him, not her. Not Oliver Lawrence. And they’d never trusted New Yorker Milt Lawrence, with his fake Texas accent.

Pete could rally everyone who made the All-Stars work and get them to go on strike unless the Lawrence family either divested themselves of the circuit or paid Pete his fair share of the profits—going back thirteen long years. The rodeo was worth a lot of money—money that by rights belonged to the Wellington family.

But money wasn’t why he was in Missouri this weekend. Between oil rights and cattle, his ranch was worth millions. No, this was about his father’s legacy—about Pete’s legacy. He wanted the All-Stars back.

So he’d proposed a solution to the stock contractors. The locals threatened to mutiny and, when things looked bleak, Pete would ride to the rescue, Chloe’s knight in a shining Stetson. Chloe would be so grateful for his support that she would agree to Pete working for the All-Stars in one capacity or another. And once he was in, he’d slowly begin to crowd Chloe out.

It was a hell of a risky plan but he’d tried everything else. This would work. It had to. By this time next year, Chloe would be completely out of the picture and the All-Stars would be his.

Provided, of course, that Dustin Yardley didn’t blow the plan to bits before it got off the ground.

Chloe swung back to him, her eyes narrowed. Suspicion rolled off her in waves. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Pete?” She bit off each word as if it had personally offended her.

He had to make this look good. The plan would work fine even if she was a little suspicious of him, but he needed her to hire him on. Pete was walking a fine line and he knew it.

“Steve Mortimer gave me a call. He’s under the weather and wasn’t able to get his horses here, so he asked me if I could help out. I guess he must’ve asked Dustin first, but you know Dustin.” That wasn’t exactly how it’d happened. It’d cost Pete a pretty penny to get Steve to stay home this weekend. The man did love his rodeo. But then, so did they all.

Chloe gave him a hard look before her entire face changed. It was like watching a cloud scuttle past the sun because suddenly, everything was brighter. Yet, at the same time, that look irritated him. Like she’d flipped a damned switch, Chloe Lawrence looked instantly dumber. If Pete hadn’t watched it happen, he might not have noticed the difference.

He’d say this for Chloe Lawrence—she was a hell of an actress.

She swung around to face Dustin. An inane giggle issued forth from her mouth. She was smart, Pete had to give her that. Dustin Yardley would never admit to being outmaneuvered by a girl.

“I’m so glad Mortimer trusted you enough to call you first,” she said, her voice rising on the end as if she were asking a question.

Pete frowned at her. He understood what she was doing, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Then again, when had she ever done anything he’d liked? He didn’t like the way she ran the rodeo. He didn’t like the changes she wanted to institute. He didn’t like the way she used the rodeo to promote her own princess-ness.

The All-Stars wasn’t about Chloe Lawrence. It didn’t exist to sell clothing or stuffed animals or—God help him—Lawrence Oil, a subsidiary of Lawrence Energies, owned solely by the Lawrence family. The All-Around All-Stars existed for one reason and one reason only—to celebrate the best of the best of ranchers and cowboys. To take pride in ranching. To connect them to the tough men and women who had tamed the Wild West.

None of those things applied to Chloe Lawrence. She’d been born in New York, for God’s sake.

Dustin looked confused. The man was mucking this up. Then, at the last possible second, Dustin got a grip on the situation. “Yeah, good old Steve. I, uh, didn’t have any room, uh, in my trailer. For his horses. I was glad Pete was able to pick up the slack.”

Yeah, that was believable.

“But that doesn’t change anything else,” Dustin went on, talking over Chloe’s head to Pete. “It’s not right to have women riding in our rodeo. They’re distracting and they could get hurt. She’s the goddamned Princess of the Rodeo. She shouldn’t be making decisions like this, and God save us all from that arrogant ass of a brother of hers.”

“Which one?” someone from the crowd asked.

“They’re both asses,” Dustin announced with grim satisfaction.

Pete watched the tension ripple down Chloe’s shoulders and he knew without even looking at her face that she had lost her innocent mask and was about to tear Dustin a well-deserved new one. But before she could launch into her tirade, Pete stepped forward. “How about a compromise?”

“How about you go screw yourself?” Chloe said under her voice.

Pete damn near bit his tongue, trying not to laugh at that quiet jab. Never let it be said the woman didn’t give as good as she got.

“Ms. Lawrence isn’t wrong,” he went on as if she hadn’t just insulted him. “A rising tide does lift all boats. Making the All-Stars bigger will mean more money for you, for the riders and, yes, for management. And she’s not wrong that having a woman ranked in the top ten in the Total Bull Challenge has brought in a lot more money to that outfit. Are you guys trying to tell me you would rather remain a second-tier rodeo organization rather than open up the All-Stars to new blood?”

Dustin glared at him, but that was to be expected. Pete was more concerned about what Mort and Dale and the riders would think. If other people bought into Dustin’s way of thinking, Chloe would dig in her heels and the rift could tear the All-Stars apart. A flash of terror spiked through him. That was definitely not part of the plan. He wanted his rodeo back intact, thank you very much.

Chloe turned so she could look at Pete sideways. “Have you been replaced by aliens or something?” she asked in that same quiet voice, and oddly, he was reassured that she didn’t sound inane or ditzy.

He wanted to deal with the real Chloe Lawrence. No tricks, no deceptions.

Which was ridiculous because he was actively engaging in deception as they spoke.

“Doesn’t sound much like a compromise,” Dustin grumbled.

“I’m getting to that.” Pete put on a good grin, the kind he used in bars on Friday nights when a pretty girl caught his eye. “We all want to make more money and Chloe has a few interesting ideas that are taking a lot of her time and attention.”

She kicked at the dirt. “A few?” But again, she was talking only to him.

He ignored her, knowing it would do nothing but piss her off. “Maybe it’d be best if we let her focus on high-level marketing and expansion stuff, the kind that will bring in new viewers and new fans, and leave the nitty-gritty details to someone who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, someone people know and trust.”

“We?” she challenged. Damn. Pete had been hoping that would slip right past her.

“Someone like you?” Dale said on cue. Thank God someone was hitting their marks today.

“I am going to kill you,” she whispered even as her eyes lit up and she smiled as if this were a great idea. “Slowly.”

He ducked his head as he stepped around her. “You can try,” he whispered back, and then he turned his attention to the gentlemen gathered around him. “What do you all say? Does that sound like a workable solution? Chloe can keep doing her part to move the rodeo forward and I can handle everything else.” He winked at the crowd where Chloe couldn’t see it.

Dustin looked like he wanted to challenge someone to a gunfight, but Pete had most everyone else and that was the important part.

“Might not be a bad idea,” Dale mused. “After all, we know and respect Pete.”

Pete couldn’t see Chloe’s face, but he heard the sharp intake of breath at what wasn’t said. Sure, they all knew and respected Pete—but they didn’t respect her. It didn’t matter how long she’d been riding at the All-Stars rodeos.

She would never really belong here. It was high time she realized that.

“Well,” she managed to say in a voice that sounded relieved, if a little airheaded. “I’m so glad we were able to find a solution that works for everyone! And Mr. Wellington, I’m extra glad you are able to bring your horses all the way to the Bootheel.” Her grin was so bright it about blinded him. “I’d like to remind everyone that showtime is in three hours and we do have a sold-out crowd tonight and an almost sold-out crowd tomorrow night. Let’s give these people a reason to come back that doesn’t involve funnel cakes.”

She got a little bit of a laugh for this and she kept that big smile going, but Pete could see the light dying in her eyes a little bit.

Good. That’s just what he wanted. He didn’t feel the least bit sorry that she’d been overthrown in a mutiny. It was past time she found out what it was like to have a usurper sitting on the throne of one’s inheritance.

Still... Watching her grit her teeth as she shook hands with cowboys bothered Pete a little bit. These men had been nothing but rude to her today. Some of them had dressed it up with prettier language than others, but still. She had to pretend like this was all hunky-dory because if she punched someone like her brother would’ve, they’d start in on how it was more proof that women shouldn’t be in charge of these things.

That’s just the way it went. What was done was done and the end justified the means. He had successfully accomplished the first step in taking back his rodeo and he couldn’t afford to let things get personal. Nothing he felt for Chloe was personal and that was final.

She turned to him. “When you get time,” she said, sweetness dripping off every word, “I’d like to go over your new duties with you.”

Which meant she was going to try to destroy him. Pete grinned. He’d like to see her try. “Absolutely,” he told her, fighting the odd urge to bow. “You’re the boss.”

Fire danced in her eyes, promising terrible, wonderful things. She tilted her head in acknowledgment of this false platitude and then sashayed off, her head held high and her hips swaying in a seductive rhythm. Pete knew he wasn’t the only one watching the Princess of the Rodeo leave him in the dust. The woman was an eyeful.

Just as she got to the gate, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. Sunshine lit her from behind, framing her in a golden glow. Damn, she was picture-perfect, every fantasy he’d ever had come to life. If he didn’t know who she was, he’d be beating these other idiots off with a stick to get to her first.

But he did know. She was an illusion, a mirage. She dressed the part, but she was nothing but a city slicker and interloper. A gorgeous, intelligent, driven interloper.

Their gazes collided and his pulse began to pound with something that felt an awful lot like lust. Even at this distance, he could feel the weight of her anger slicing through the air, hitting him midchest.

Oowee, if looks could kill, he’d be bleeding out in the dirt.

With a flip of her hair, she was gone.

“Well, how about that,” Dale said, laughter in his voice. “You got your work cut out for you, Pete.”

Oh, yeah, he was going to have his hands full, all right.

It was time to show Chloe Lawrence that the All-Stars was his. But she wasn’t going to make this easy.

The thought made him smile. He was already starting to like this job.


Three (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

Chloe’s hands were shaking as she sat at her makeshift makeup table in her makeshift dressing room. Which made applying her false eyelashes somewhat of a challenge. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths.

She was going to kill Pete Wellington. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of how.

She’d love to run him down with her glossy palomino—but Wonder was at home, enjoying her hay and oats at Sunshine Ridge, Chloe’s small ranch retreat northeast of Dallas. With all the things she had to juggle, she couldn’t handle taking care of her horse, too. It wasn’t fair to Wonder and it wasn’t fair to Chloe. So she was borrowing a horse for her big entrance tonight.

Frankly, it didn’t feel right running Pete down with a borrowed horse. Too many complications.

That man was up to something. If Steve Mortimer had had a problem getting his horses to the Bootheel, he would’ve called Chloe. It was obvious Mortimer had no such problems.

What kind of deal had Pete made with the stock contractors?

And how did backing her up when she was under siege figure into it? Because he wasn’t doing it solely out of the kindness of his heart. This was Pete Wellington she was talking about—there was no kindness in his heart. Not for her or anyone in her family. She didn’t want to offer him a job. She didn’t want him anywhere near her. But...

If she didn’t hand off some of the responsibilities to Pete, would people break their contractual obligations in protest? She could hire someone else but then she’d have the exact same problem—the people who made the rodeos work would balk at dealing with an outsider. By the time she found a workable solution, the All-Stars might very well die on the vine. And who would take the blame for that?

She would.

Maybe she could arrange a stampede. Watching Pete get pulverized would be immensely satisfying.

There. Her hands were steady. Who knew thinking of ways to off her nemesis would be so calming?

Now she applied the false lashes easily. She wore them for the shows because she was moving around the arena at a controlled canter. If she didn’t have over-the-top makeup and hair—not to mention the sequins—people wouldn’t be able to see any part of her. She’d be nothing but an indistinct blur.

And if there was one thing the Princess of the Rodeo wasn’t, it was indistinct.

She was halfway through the second lashes when someone knocked on her dressing room door. If one could call this broom closet a dressing room, that was. Hopefully, that was Ginger, who sat on the local board of this rodeo. If anyone could talk some sense into those stubborn old mules, it’d be Ginger. She took no crap from anyone.

Chloe still had an hour and a half before showtime, but the gates were already open and she needed to be out in the crowd, posing for pictures and hand selling the Princess clothing line. She was behind schedule thanks to Pete Wellington, the jerk. She finished the lashes and said, “Come in.”

Of course it wasn’t Ginger. Of course it was Pete Wellington, poking his head around the door and then recoiling in shock.

“What do you want?” she asked, fighting the urge to drop her head in her hands. She didn’t want to mess up her extravagant eye shadow, after all. Then she’d be even further behind schedule.

He was here for a reason. Was it the usual reason—he wanted his rodeo back? Or was there something else?

“I want you to put on some damned clothes,” Pete said through the open door. At least he wasn’t staring.

Chloe frowned at her reflection. “It’s a sports bra, Pete. It’s the same one I wear when I go jogging. The same basic style women across the country wear when they’re working out.”

It was a really good bra, too. Chloe had perfectly average breasts. And she’d come to a place in her life where she was happy with perfectly average breasts. She liked them. They were just right. Anything bigger would make cantering around arenas every weekend downright painful.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy a high-end sports bra that provided plenty of padding. Everything about the Princess of the Rodeo was bigger, after all. She did a little shimmy, but nothing below her neck moved. She was locked and loaded in this thing and her boobs looked good. And completely covered. “It’s not like you can see my nipples or anything.”

“Dammit, Chloe, it’s a bra,” he growled back through the door. “I can’t... You’re... Look, just put on some clothes. Please.”

Oh, she liked that note of desperation in his voice. Was it possible she’d misread the situation? For almost ten years now, she and Pete had been snarling at each other across arenas and in parking lots. She’d always thought her physical attributes had no impact on him because he’d never reacted to her before in that way.

But he was reacting now. She could hear the strain in his voice when he added, “Are you decent yet, woman?”

She stood, her reflection grinning back at her. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” she said, plucking the heavily sequined white shirt off the hanger and sliding her arms through the sleeves. “I’d be willing to bet large sums of money you’ve seen your sister in a sports bra and never thought twice about it. And yes, I’m decent.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Lawrence—you are not my...” Pete pushed his way into the dressing room, which was not designed to hold a man his size. The space between them—no more than a foot and half—sparked with heat as his gaze fell to her chest. “Sister,” he finished, his voice coming out almost strangled as he stared at the open front of her shirt.

“Thank God for that,” Chloe said lightly as she brushed her hands over the sequins—which conveniently lay over the sides of her breasts. “I pity Marie for having to put up with you, I really do.”

She’d never had a problem with Marie Wellington, who worked her wife’s ranch in western Texas. But then again, Marie had made it clear some years ago that she didn’t care if the Wellingtons got control of the All-Stars or not. “It’s just a rodeo,” Marie had confided over a beer with Chloe one night. “I don’t know why Pete can’t let it go.”

In the years since then, Chloe hadn’t gotten any closer to finding out why, either. But if the man was going to torture her, she was going to return the favor—in spades.

Her hands reached the bottom of the shirt and she took her time making sure the hem was lined up.

Pete’s mouth flopped open as Chloe closed the shirt, one button at a time. She probably could’ve asked him for the keys to his truck and he would’ve handed them over without even blinking. She had him completely stunned and that made him...vulnerable.

To her.

She let her fingers linger over that button right between her breasts as Pete began breathing harder, his eyes darkening. The cords of his neck began to bulge out and she had the wildest urge to lick her way up and down them. The space between them seemed to shrink, even though neither of them moved. Her skin heated as he stared, tension coiling low in her belly.

Crap, she’d miscalculated again. Did she have Pete Wellington at her mercy? Pretty much. But she hadn’t accounted for the fact that desire could be a two-way street. He’d always been an intensely handsome man. She wasn’t too proud to admit she’d had a crush on him for a couple years when she’d first started riding at the rodeos, until it became clear that he would never view her as anything more than an obstacle to regaining his rodeo.

But the way he was looking at her right now, naked lust in his eyes instead of sneering contempt?

He wanted her. And that?

That took everything handsome about him and made him almost unbearably gorgeous. Her pulse began to pound and, as she skimmed her fingers up her chest to ostensibly reach for the next button, she had to fight back a moan.

“There,” she said as she fastened the last button, and dammit, her voice came out breathy. “Is that decent enough for you?”

Pete’s gaze lingered on her body for another two seconds before he wrenched his whole head up. His eyes were glazed. She probably couldn’t have stunned him any better than if she’d hit him on the head with a two-by-four. Chloe had to bite her lower lip to keep from saying something wildly inappropriate, like I’ll undo all of those buttons while you watch or maybe just a simple, effective your turn.

Talk about wildly inappropriate. Instead, she said, “What do you want?” because that was the question she needed the answer to.

His presence wasn’t an accident and he was plotting something. But her words didn’t come out as an accusation. At least, it didn’t sound like one to her. It almost sounded like...an invitation.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. The look in his eyes said one word and one word only—you. “We, uh, have to talk. About the job.”

Right, right. The job. The rodeo. The feud between their families, going back over thirteen years. The way she knew he was here to undermine her but she wasn’t sure how supporting her was going to help with that.

None of that had a damned thing to do with the way his eyes devoured her.

She turned and bent at the waist to check her makeup in the small travel mirror. Pete made a noise behind her that sounded suspiciously like a groan. She glanced back at him in the reflection and saw that he was, predictably, staring at her behind. “Yes, the job. The one you volunteered yourself for?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed again. “That job.”

She reached over and picked up her chaps. They were show chaps, bright white leather that had never seen a speck of dirt or a spot of cow manure. With supple fringe at the edges, the chaps had “All-Stars” worked in beads running vertically down each of her thighs and then, at the widest part of the chaps at the bottom, “Princess of the Rodeo” had been spelled out in eye-popping gems of pink and silver. Nothing about these chaps were subtle and everything was designed to catch the eye. She always wore the white outfit on the first night of the rodeo. The second night, she had another matching outfit in patriotic red, white and blue. Those chaps were so covered with rhinestones she needed help mounting up in the saddle.

“What I’m trying to figure out,” she said, propping one leg up on the chair and strapping the chap around her upper thigh, “is why you want the job, Pete. By all accounts, you don’t need the money. I know Marie’s ranch does well, too.”

Chloe had done her research—he was quite well off. He wasn’t at the same level the Lawrence family was, but his net worth meant he didn’t need this job. Gorgeous, wealthy, rugged—Pete Wellington was a hell of a catch no matter how she looked at him.

And she was looking at him right now. He stared at her with naked desire and she could feel her traitorous body reacting. If it weren’t for his hell-bent vendetta, she’d be tempted.

A shudder worked through her body as she went on, “And you haven’t exactly shown a willingness to work beneath a woman in general or me in specific.”

He had his thumbs hooked into his belt, but he was gripping the leather so hard his knuckles were white. She’d put a lot of money on the fact that he wouldn’t be able to tell her what she’d just said.

But this man was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “I never said I have any problem working under you,” he said in a low voice that made that tight coil of desire in her stomach painfully tighter. “In fact, I’m beginning to think it’s a good idea to have you over me.”

Her fingers fumbled with the strap and she had to stop before the heavy leather fell off her leg entirely. Her hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t with rage.

Damn this man. Even when he pissed the hell out of her, he still had the capacity to make her want him. At least this time, she knew she’d made him want her, too.

It wasn’t so much cold comfort as it was outright torture, however.

She took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head—but it didn’t work because now his scent was filling this tiny space. Leather and dirt and musk. He smelled exactly like a cowboy should, rough and maybe a little dirty but so, so right.

“Good,” she managed to get out, but she didn’t sound in charge by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m glad you’re coming to your senses.” There. She managed to get the straps on the first chap done and turned her attention to the second chap. Which required her to switch legs. She leaned into the mild stretch and this time, Pete definitely groaned.

She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come out as “Could you help me with this?” and no matter how hot he was making her, she was absolutely not about to have sex with Pete Wellington in a glorified broom closet.

Or anywhere else, she mentally corrected.

Sex with Pete Wellington was completely off the table. Or any other flat surface. That was final.

So she kept her mouth shut as she worked at the buckle. When she had that one done, she belted the chaps at her waist, which finished the whole look off with the giant belt buckle that had Princess worked in Swarovski crystals. Her dad had commissioned it for her when she’d turned eighteen.

She turned back to the mirror, trying not to look at the man behind her, but it wasn’t easy. He must’ve taken a step forward at some point because he loomed over her now. She could feel his breath messing up her carefully curled hair and it was tempting—so damned tempting—to lean back into that broad chest, just to see what he’d do. Would he push her hair to the side and press his lips against the little bit of skin right below her ear? Cup her breasts through the sequins? Run his hands down her waist and around to her denim-clad butt?

She physically shook as these thoughts tumbled through her mind. She never hooked up at any of the All-Stars events—which was both company policy and her own personal rule. Cowboys were off-limits. But she lived out of a suitcase seven months of the year, which didn’t make it easy to have relationships, either.

It’d been too long since a man had gotten this close to her.

Why, oh why did it have to be Pete freaking Wellington? He might be turning her on and she might be driving him crazy, but a little raw sexual attraction didn’t change anything. He wasn’t here by accident and she couldn’t give him any more leverage over her. For all she knew, this attraction was part of whatever con he was running. Get her in a compromising position and blackmail her or something.

She leaned forward and plucked her white Stetson out of its travel case. The hat had a fancy sparkling crown that matched her chaps. She carefully set it on her head, making sure not to disrupt the curls she’d teased into her hair. There. Now she was the Princess of the Rodeo.

“Chloe...” Pete spoke the moment before his hands came to rest around her waist.

Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his strong hands touching her. Had they ever touched before?

Ten years they’d been dancing around each other, slinging insults and innuendos in a never-ending attempt to come out on top—but had they ever actually touched?

She didn’t think so because she would’ve remembered the electric feel of his fingers on her body, the rush of heat that flowed out from this connection.

How would his rough, calloused hands feel against her bare skin?

“Yes?” Her gaze caught his in the mirror. She wanted to cover his hands with her own, lace their fingers together. She wanted to pull him closer.

She had lost her ever-loving mind.

But even that realization didn’t make her move. She couldn’t. She had to know what he was going to say. His mouth opened and she held her breath.

Bam bam bam. The crappy door to this closet practically bowed under the force of the pounding as Flash called out, “Chloe! You in there?”

Pete dropped his hands and backed up so fast he tripped over her rolling luggage and all but fell into the far corner of the tiny space. Chloe tried not to groan out loud. There was no situation her brother couldn’t make worse. “Yeah, I’m almost ready.” To Pete, she hissed, “Here’s the deal, Wellington. I know whatever you’re doing is a trap, but...”

“But?” he replied, almost—but not quite—pulling off a nonchalant look. He was breathing too hard to look casual about anything.

She didn’t miss his lack of a denial. Right. Nothing like a confirmation that he was completely untrustworthy to help squash her rampant desire.

She took a deep breath, inhaling more of his scent, and did something she’d sworn she’d never do. She admitted weakness to Pete Wellington. “But you’re not wrong that I need a little help handling the stock contractors and the cowboys. Do you legitimately want to work with the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo?”

He had the nerve to look indignant. “Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted?”

“No,” she whispered furiously. “You’ve always wanted to put me in my place.”

“Did we determine if that was above me or below me?” he asked with a sly grin.

And just like that, they were right back to the same place they’d always been. She ignored his question. “I will tolerate your presence as long as you do what I say, when I say it. If you can convince the locals to get on board with my ideas, then you can stay. But the moment you undermine me, you’re gone and I’ll see to it you never set foot at an All-Stars event ever again. Understood?”

Flash banged on the door again. “Chloe? Is everything all right? I heard Pete Wellington is here. Do you know what that asshole wants?”

Irritating little brothers would always be irritating, even if they weren’t little anymore. She had no idea if she was pissed at Flash or thankful that he’d interrupted the madness she and Pete had been barreling toward at top speed. “One second, for God’s sake,” she snapped. She jabbed a finger in Pete’s direction, but she made sure not to touch him. “Understood?”

It took him a while before he responded. She could practically see the lust fading away, replaced with his usual condescension. “Understood, boss.”

“Can you handle leaving my dressing room without getting caught?”

He gave her a dull look. “Go before he breaks down the damned door.”

She threw the door open—which conveniently slammed into Pete’s chest. She gave him one last warning look and then had to dodge Flash’s next knock as she quickly walked away from her dressing room. “What?”

Thank God Flash followed her. He already had his chaps belted on, but unlike hers, Flash’s weren’t all that flashy. Dirt and muck from the arenas he’d been riding in for the last six years had permanently worked into the creases. Chaps that had once been a light brown with a darker brown diamond pattern down the leg were now just...dirty brown. “Who’s the act tomorrow night?”

“You had to interrupt me getting ready to ask me a question you could have looked up on the internet?”

She was so done with this day, honestly. She needed a stiff drink and maybe a video call with her sister-in-law, Renee Lawrence. She and Renee had been best friends back when Chloe had grown up in New York City, before Milt Lawrence had won the All-Stars in that ill-fated poker game and relocated his entire family to Dallas.

A few months ago, Renee had gotten into a little trouble—which was the nicest way anyone could say her husband had committed suicide rather than face charges for his part in what the newspapers had dubbed the Preston Pyramid, the largest financial con in American history. Renee had come to Dallas looking for Chloe but had found Oliver, the oldest of the Lawrence children and somehow, two people who had driven each other crazy as kids had absolutely clicked as adults. Now one of Chloe’s oldest, dearest friends was her sister.

She could use some girl time, frankly, away from the overwhelming masculinity of the rodeo. Renee had no history with Pete Wellington either, so Chloe could work through her suddenly complicated feelings.

But instead she had Flash.

Her brother scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just wondering...you know, if the act had changed.”

Flash was many things—a cocky pain in the butt, mostly—but hesitant wasn’t one of them. To see him hemming and hawing was unsettling, frankly. “What? Were you hoping to see someone else?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She stared at her brother. Why did she think this was about a woman? When it came to Flash Lawrence, he only cared about two things—women or earning his place at the All-Stars table.

Then it hit her. “Is this about Brooke Bonner?”

“No,” he answered quickly, but his cheeks shot red.

“Uh-huh.”

At the All-Stars rodeo in Fort Worth early in the season, Brooke had been an up-and-coming country star. And it hadn’t escaped Chloe’s notice that Flash and Brooke had both disappeared about the same time after the rides and before Brooke’s show. They’d had to delay the start of the concert for twenty minutes before Brooke had reappeared, claiming she’d gotten lost backstage.

If Chloe had the time or mental energy, she’d go for Flash’s jugular over his country-star crush because the man had earned more than a little crap for all the times he’d made Chloe’s life that much more complicated. But today, she didn’t have it in her. She was late, still flustered from whatever the hell had happened between her and Pete and still furious that none of the stock contractors were willing to agree to her ideas until Pete declared them okay. So instead of ribbing her brother, she only said, “If there’s any change in the music lineups, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” Her baby brother smiled at her, the good smile that drew buckle bunnies to him like moths to a flame. But underneath that cocky grin was relief.

“But,” she went on, “you owe me.” Before Flash could interrupt her, she went on, “Yes, Pete Wellington is here. And I’ve hired him—on a trial basis,” she practically had to shout over Flash’s holler of disbelief. “He’s going to run interference with the stock contractors. I’m asking you as a sister and ordering you as your boss not to start anything with him. Okay?”

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” Flash demanded, scuffing the toe of his boot into the dirt. “You can’t trust that man. He’s out to take us all down.”

“Who said I trusted him?” No, she didn’t trust Pete at all. But aside from Flash, she was alone in that judgment. Everyone else here had made their feelings crystal clear—they’d pick Pete over her every day of the week.

She just needed a little help while she pushed the All-Stars through this transition phase, that was all. She’d make full use of Pete’s ability to get cowboys to shut up and go along with the plan and then, when she had the All-Stars positioned properly, she’d cut him loose.

All there was to this...relationship with Pete Wellington was a calculated risk. He was betting he could trick her out of the rodeo, somehow. She was betting he was no match for her. He might be gorgeous, wealthy and awfully good with a rope, but she was a Lawrence.

Flash looked doubtful, so Chloe went on, “Look—trust me. I know what I’m doing and I know what he’s trying to do—but I can handle him. Just don’t pick a fight with him, okay?”

“If you need someone to run interference, why not just ask me?”

The hell of it was, Flash meant that. He hadn’t seen the messes she’d had to clean up after all his other attempts to “help.” Flash would always be a big bull in a very tiny china shop.

“Because,” she explained, “you want to be a rider, not a Lawrence. You start meddling in the show management and no one will ever believe you’ve earned your ranking.”

Flash was hell-bent on being one of the best all-around riders in the world, which meant riding with the All-Stars. But the problem with riding the rodeo circuit your family owned was that no one believed he hadn’t just bought his way into the rankings. Everyone—even the competitors who watched him ride night after night—believed he was here only because he was a Lawrence.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You’re right. But why does it have to be Pete?”

Chloe grit her teeth. “Because everyone else already respects him. They listen to him.” And not to her.

She pushed that thought aside and went on, “If I bring in someone new, it’ll take months—maybe years—before they’re willing to try something different and I have plans, Flash. I want them in place before the next season starts.” That was the one area where Pete had her up against a wall.

No, no—wrong mental image. Because Pete would never have her up against a wall.

But she needed his connections and goodwill now.

Flash scowled. “If Pete gives you any crap at all, I’ll beat the hell out of him.”

“Agreed,” she said and then pasted on her big smile as a family with two little girls spotted them. “Well, now—who are these two beautiful princesses?”

The girls squealed and hugged her and Chloe posed for pictures with the mom and her daughters and then, with surprisingly good humor, Flash posed with the dad.

By then, other people had noticed the Princess of the Rodeo and a crowd formed. As Chloe posed for another picture, she saw Pete Wellington in the distance, talking with a few of the riders. As if he could sense her gaze upon him, he turned. And tipped his hat in her direction.

Another thrill of pleasure went through her at the gentlemanly gesture. No, she didn’t trust him. Not a damned bit. But it looked like they were working together from here on out.

This was a bad idea.

After what had almost happened in the dressing room? It was a horrible idea, one that almost guaranteed failure.

But as long as she kept her fantasies to herself and Pete’s hands off her body, it’d be fine.

No problem, right?


Four (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

Pete watched the opening procession from the top of the bull chutes. God, he’d missed being up here.

Chloe was, predictably, first in line. His gut tightened as he looked at the way she sat in the saddle and remembered the way she’d looked in nothing more than a pair of skin-tight jeans and a bra, for God’s sake, acting as if that were the most normal thing in the world. To say nothing of the way her nimble fingers had worked at the buckles of those ostentatious chaps as she strapped them on over her long, lean thighs...

He cleared his throat and shifted his legs, trying to take the pressure off his groin as Chloe stood in her stirrups, her ass cupped by those chaps.

When she’d first started this princess crap, Pete had been twenty-three. That he remembered clearly because his dad had stopped by for his birthday and...well, Pete wasn’t proud of what he’d done. But he’d been twenty-three and pissed as hell that the Lawrences were making a mockery of his rodeo. He couldn’t take out his anger on a cute teenager like Chloe and her dad would’ve pressed charges if Pete had punched him. Besides, it’d been Davey Wellington’s fault that Pete had lost his whole world in one drunken bet.

Even now, the betrayal still burned. The All-Stars had been the one thing he’d shared with his father and yet, Davey Wellington had just drunkenly gambled it away like the circuit hadn’t meant anything to him. Like...like all the time he and Pete had spent together at rodeos hadn’t meant anything.

When Pete had come into his oil money, Dad had been sick, with just a few months left. Pete had sucked up his pride and made Milt Lawrence an offer to buy back the All-Stars so that Pete and Davey could have a chance to relive those happier times. Pete had been determined to make things right. He’d even offered to let Chloe keep riding as the Princess of the Rodeo, if it would’ve made her happy.

Only to have the old man laugh in his face and have security escort Pete out of the building. Then he’d promptly kicked Pete off the All-Stars circuit.

After that, it was war.

Pete looked at the arena, at the families having a good time. His gaze traveled back behind the chutes, where riders and cowgirls were all humming with energy for the competition and he felt it again—that sense of homecoming. This was where he belonged. All of this should’ve been Pete’s. Now that Dad was gone, this should’ve been his family because rodeo was family.

Instead, it was Chloe’s.

But not for much longer.

Chloe was announced and she kicked her horse into a gallop, an enormous American flag billowing above her head. Pete followed her with his gaze. He wasn’t staring. Everyone was watching her circle around the arena at top speed, expertly guiding her borrowed mount through the curves.

Huh. He didn’t remember her riding quite so well. It’d been a while since he’d been able to bring himself to watch this farce. The last time he’d suffered through Chloe riding had been...a few years ago. Four, maybe?

She looked good up there.

She’d looked good in that closet, too, buttoning her shirt over her breasts, her breath coming hard and fast when he’d stepped in behind her and rested his hands on her waist. If Flash hadn’t interrupted them...

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you if you screw with my sister?”

Speak of the devil. Pete refused to cede any space as Flash Lawrence squeezed in next to him at the top of the chute, his big black hat pulled low over his head. A nervous energy hummed off Flash, which made him a decent rider in the arena and a loose cannon out of it.

Pete gave it a second before he replied and he made damned sure to sound bored as he said, “I imagine you’ll talk a big game, throw a few wild punches, then get drunk and stumble off with the first buckle bunny who catches your eye. As usual.” He was speaking from personal experience with Flash. The kid had caught him by surprise one night and given him a hell of a black eye.

Of course, Pete had returned the favor. Anyone who was old enough to get drunk and start a fight was old enough to finish one—on the floor, if need be. Which was where Flash had wound up after Pete had started swinging. It hadn’t been a fair fight—Pete had a solid ten years on the kid and at least forty pounds. But Flash had started that one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Flash’s shoulders rise and fall. Pete couldn’t tell if that was a sigh of resignation or a man fighting to keep control. But then Flash tilted his head and looked at Pete from underneath the brim of his hat. “You just can’t let the past go, can you?”

Irritation rubbed over Pete’s skin. “Sure I can. I don’t hold it against you that you jumped me at a honky-tonk, do I?”

Flash snorted. “Yeah, you’re clearly over it.” He shifted, angling his entire body toward Pete. “We both know you’re not here because you’ve moved on, Wellington.” His voice dropped as the music shifted and the local rodeo queen led the rest of the procession out. He was quiet until the music hit a crescendo. “You hurt my sister and you won’t have to worry about a barroom brawl.”

“That sounds like a threat, Lawrence.” But Pete was almost impressed with the bravado the kid was pulling off. Chloe wasn’t the only one who’d grown up, it seemed.

Flash cracked a grin but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those were hard with something that looked a lot like hatred. Pete recognized that look all too well. “Of course not, Wellie.”

Pete gritted his teeth but otherwise didn’t react. No way in hell he’d let someone who willingly chose to go by Flash get under his skin for a stupid nickname.

Flash slapped him on the shoulder and leaned forward. “It’s a promise,” he whispered and damn if a chill of dread didn’t race down Pete’s back because Flash Lawrence was doing a hell of a good job at pulling off menacing. He moved to walk past Pete but paused and added, “We’ll be watching.” Then he was gone.

The national anthem began to play and Pete whipped off his hat as Flash’s words echoed around his head. Had the kid caught wind of Pete slipping out of Chloe’s dressing room? Or was he simply fulfilling his brotherly duty?

Didn’t matter. Either way, Flash hadn’t told Pete anything he didn’t already know.

The Lawrences didn’t trust Pete.

They’d have to be total idiots to do so and, sadly, they weren’t that stupid. But Pete knew that’d be the case going in. For his plan to work, he didn’t need them to trust him.

He just needed a foot in the door and, for the time being, he had one.

He had to make the most of it because if he screwed this up, he’d never get his rodeo back.

* * *

The last of the crowd was filtering out under the starlit sky and the last chords of the last song were fading from the air when Chloe finally dragged her boots back to her dressing room, where Pete had been waiting for her for at least forty minutes. The sound from the concert back here had been distorted something awful, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Chloe trying to give him the slip.




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