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Reunion of Revenge
Kathie DeNosky
Thirteen years ago, Nick Daniels had been minutes away from marrying Cheyenne Holbrook when the wedding came to a startling halt. Forced out of town by Cheyenne's powerful, menacing father, Nick vowed to return and seek revenge on the woman he believed had turned on him.Now, an unexpected inheritance made Nick the owner of a Wyoming ranch–and Cheyenne's boss. All Nick's fantasies for revenge were about to come true. But first he'd have to fight off some other desires. Ones that involved tempting Cheyenne into his bed–and marching her down the aisle once and for all….
From the desk of Emerald Larson, owner and CEO of Emerald, Inc.
To: My personal assistant, Luther Freemont
Re: My newly discovered grandson, Nick Daniels
My grandson, Nick, will be leaving at the end of the week to take over running the Sugar Creek Cattle Company in Wyoming. Please be advised that he won’t be particularly happy when he discovers that his ranch foreman is the woman he was to have married thirteen years ago. To ensure the success of my plan and avoid the fallout of his displeasure, I am instructing you to intercept all calls from him until further notice.
As always, I am relying on your complete discretion in this matter.
Emerald Larson
Reunion of Revenge
Kathie DeNosky
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATHIE DENOSKY
lives in her native southern Illinois with her husband and one very spoiled Jack Russell terrier. She writes highly sensual stories with a generous amount of humor. Kathie’s books have appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and received the Write Touch Readers’ Award from WisRWA and the National Readers’ Choice Award. Kathie enjoys going to rodeos, traveling to research settings for her books and listening to country music. Readers may contact Kathie at: P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, Illinois 62948-5264 or e-mail her at kathie@kathiedenosky.com.
For Charlie, Bryan, David and Angie, for loving me in spite of my eccentricities.
From the desk of Emerald Larson, owner and CEO of Emerald, Inc.
To: My personal assistant, Luther Freemont
Re: My grandson Nick Daniels
My grandson, Nick, will be leaving at the end of the week to take over running the Sugar Creek Cattle Company in Wyoming. Please be advised that he won’t be particularly happy when he discovers that his ranch foreman is the woman he was to have married thirteen years ago. To ensure the success of my plan and to avoid the fallout of his displeasure, I am instructing you to intercept all calls from him until further notice.
As always I am relying on your complete discretion in this matter.
Emerald Larson
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
One
“Drop that roll of wire and back away from your truck.”
Nick Daniels took a deep breath and tried to ignore the jolt of awareness that shot from the top of his head all the way to his feet. It had been thirteen long years since he’d heard that soft, feminine voice. But if he lived to be a hundred, he knew he’d recognize it anywhere, anytime. The melodic sound had haunted his dreams and left his body aching with unfathomable need too many nights for him to ever forget.
“I told you to put that down and step away from the truck.”
At the sound of a shotgun being pumped, Nick slowly lowered the coil of barbed wire to the tailgate of his new truck and raised his gloved hands to show he was complying with her command. Then, turning to face the reason he’d left Wyoming one step ahead of the law, he smiled sardonically. “It’s been a long time, Cheyenne.”
The widening of her eyes and the slight wavering of the double-barrel shotgun she pointed at him were the only indications that she was the least bit surprised to see him after all this time. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing out here, Nick Daniels, but I’d advise you to get in your truck and go back to wherever you came from. Otherwise, I’ll call the law.”
He took a deep breath as he stared at her. Damned if she wasn’t more beautiful now than she’d been at sixteen. Her long brown hair, streaked with golden highlights, complemented the healthy glow of her sun-kissed skin and her aqua-green eyes to perfection.
His gaze drifted lower. Her pink tank top caressed her torso, fascinating the hell out of him and giving him more than a fair idea about the size and shape of her breasts. He swallowed hard as his gaze drifted even lower. She’d always been a knockout in a pair of jeans, but the well-worn denim hugged her hips and thighs like a second skin and emphasized how long and shapely her legs were.
He diverted his gaze back to the gun in her hands. He’d do well to forget how good she looked after all this time and concentrate on the fact that she was ready to blow his ass to kingdom come.
“Go ahead and call the sheriff. Last time I heard, it wasn’t against the law for a man to mend a fence on his own property.”
“It’s not your land. It belongs to the Sugar Creek Cattle Company. And you’re trespassing.”
He shook his head as he took a step toward her. “No, I’m not.”
“I swear I’ll shoot you if you don’t stop right there, Nick.”
“That wouldn’t be very neighborly of you, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” She released the safety on the shotgun when he moved forward.
From the sharp edge he’d heard in her voice, he knew he’d hit a nerve. He inched a little closer. “You used to like when I called you sweetheart.”
She shook her head. “That’s past history. Now, get in your truck and disappear like you did thirteen years ago.”
“Why would I want to do that? This is my home.” With the gun barrel still pointed at the middle of his chest, he wisely chose not to point out that her father had been behind his disappearing act back then, or that he was damned tired of a Holbrook trying to run him off his own land. “If you’ll remember, the Sugar Creek ranch has been in my family for over a hundred and twenty-five years.”
“If you’ll remember, you gave up the right to this land a long time ago.” Was that bitterness he detected in her voice?
“That’s where you’re wrong, Cheyenne.” Easing forward a bit more, he was almost close enough to reach the shotgun. “I still own this place, lock, stock…” He lunged forward and, grabbing the shotgun, shoved it away with one hand at the same time he reached out to wrap his arm around her waist. “…and barrel,” he finished, pulling her to him.
“Turn me loose.” She pushed at his chest as she tried to wiggle from his grasp.
“Not until we get a few things straight.” The feel of her soft body squirming against his was heaven and hell rolled into one shapely little five-foot-two-inch package. He did his best to ignore it. “When you point a gun at a man, you’d better be prepared to use it, sweetheart.”
“I was.” She sounded breathless and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he felt a slight tremor pass through her.
Shaking his head as much in answer to her statement as in an attempt to clear his mind, he whispered close to her ear, “You and I both know you could never shoot me, Cheyenne.”
“Let me have my gun back…and I’ll show you.” There was no doubt that she shivered against him this time.
He couldn’t resist teasing the side of her neck with his lips. “Not until you calm down.”
Her labored breathing quickly reminded him of the changes in her body since the last time he’d held her. At sixteen, Cheyenne Holbrook had had a figure that sent his hormones racing around like the steel bearings in a pinball machine. But that had only been a hint of the woman she would become. Her breasts were fuller now and her hips had a slight flare that promised to cradle a man and take him to paradise when he sank himself deep inside her.
When his lower body tightened, he cursed himself as the biggest fool God ever blessed with the breath of life. He wasn’t an eighteen-year-old kid anymore. He was a thirty-one-year-old man and should have mastered at least a modicum of restraint.
“Turn me loose.”
When she pushed against him this time, he let her go, but held on to the gun. He shook his head when she reached for it. “I’ll hang on to this for a while longer.”
“Suit yourself.” She reached for the cell phone clipped to her belt. “It’s not going to stop me from calling Sheriff Turner and having you arrested for trespassing.”
“You do that.”
Her finger hovered over the phone’s dial pad as she glanced up at him. “You aren’t worried about being arrested?”
“Why should I be? I own the Sugar Creek.” He shrugged as he placed the shotgun on the tailgate of his truck, well out of her reach. “You, on the other hand, are on my land.” He stopped short of adding that her father and the sheriff would have a hell of a time getting him to leave again.
“I don’t think so.” She impatiently brushed a silky strand of hair from her cheek as she glared at him. “Emerald, Inc. is the corporation that bought your ranch after you and your mother left.”
“The hell you say.” He removed his leather work gloves, then, tucking them into the waistband of his jeans, he folded his arms across his chest. “And just how would you know that?”
She looked hesitant a moment before taking a deep breath and defiantly looking him square in the eye. “I’m the foreman of the Sugar Creek Cattle Company. Don’t you think I’d know who my employer is?”
Nick couldn’t believe it. Cheyenne’s father, the judge, had actually allowed his precious daughter to work? And at a job where she might actually get her hands dirty? Interesting.
It appeared that Emerald Larson had omitted a couple of important details when she told him she was his grandmother and gave him back the ranch. She’d explained her reasoning behind having his mother sign documents stating that the identity of his father would remain a secret until she deemed he was ready to learn the truth. She’d even solved the mystery of who had tipped his mother off about his impending arrest the night they left Wyoming when she told him that she’d had a private investigator reporting his every move from the time he was born. But she hadn’t mentioned anything about Cheyenne Holbrook being the ranch foreman. And as soon as he went back to the house, he was going to call Wichita and find out what other surprises the old gal had in store for him.
“I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but I really am the owner of this spread,” Nick said.
Cheyenne paled, then stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t believe you. When Luther Freemont from the corporate office called me just last week to discuss my quarterly report, he didn’t mention anything about Emerald, Inc. selling the Sugar Creek.”
Nick wasn’t surprised to hear the name of Emerald’s personal assistant. She trusted the man implicitly and relied on him to be the liaison between her and most of the managers of the companies she owned.
“I’ll tell you what, Cheyenne.” He picked up the shotgun and emptied the shells from its chamber before handing it to her. Then, pocketing the ammunition, he pointed to the truck she’d parked several yards away. “Why don’t you go back to your father’s ranch and give old Luther a call?”
“Don’t think I won’t,” she said, raising her stubborn little chin a notch.
“After you hear what he has to say, we’ll go from there.” Nick pulled his work gloves from the waistband of his jeans and prepared to finish mending the section of fence he’d thought looked weak before he went back home to call Emerald. “Be over at my house tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Why?”
She didn’t look at all happy about having to see him again. And he knew as surely as he knew his own name that she didn’t for a minute believe he was telling the truth about owning the Sugar Creek.
“We’ll have to discuss the terms of your contract.” He grinned. “And the last I heard, it’s pretty common for a rancher and his foreman to work together running a ranch.”
In an obvious test of wills, she glared at him for several more seconds before turning to stalk back to her truck.
As Nick watched her leave, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the gentle sway of her delightful little backside as she walked away. She still had the ability to take his breath away with her beauty and with no more than a touch she could make him harder than hell in less than two seconds flat.
But he’d do well to remember that her father was the mighty Judge Bertram Holbrook, the most ill-tempered, acrimonious son of a bitch on two legs. A man who had half the county officials in his pocket and the other half scared to death he’d turn his wrath their way.
And if Holbrook had his way about it, Nick would still be rotting away in jail, simply because he’d tried to marry the man’s only daughter.
The next morning, as Cheyenne drove the five miles between the Flying H and the Sugar Creek ranch houses, she wondered for at least the hundredth time what she could do about the situation. When she’d talked to Luther Freemont after her confrontation with Nick, she’d developed a splitting headache. He’d confirmed everything Nick had told her and, feeling as if her world had once again been turned completely upside down, she’d ended up lying awake the entire night, reliving the past and worrying about what the future held for her and her father.
It had taken her years to get over the devastation when Nick walked away from their relationship—from her—without so much as a backward glance, and seeing him after all this time had shaken her more than she could have ever imagined. But when he’d grabbed her to take away her gun, she couldn’t believe the awareness that coursed through her traitorous body. At the feel of his rock-hard muscles surrounding her, she’d grown warm from the top of her head all the way to her toes and drawing her next breath had taken supreme effort. It had also scared her as little else could.
When they’d been teenagers, she’d thought the sun rose and set around Nick. He’d been two years ahead of her in school and the best-looking boy in the county. With his dark blond hair, charming smile and tall, muscular build, he’d been every sixteen-year-old girl’s dream and every father’s worst nightmare. Her pulse sped up as she remembered the heart-pounding excitement she’d felt the first time Nick had turned his sky-blue eyes and charming smile her way. She’d instantly fallen head over heels in love.
But her father wouldn’t hear of her having anything to do with Nick. He’d told her the boy was nothing but bad news and a heartache waiting to happen. He’d never explained why he felt that way about Nick, but unfortunately, she’d found out the hard way that her father had been been right.
When he and the sheriff had stopped her and Nick from getting married the summer between her junior and senior year of high school, Nick had disappeared that very night. She’d waited for months, hoping for a phone call, a letter—anything that would explain why he’d abandoned her. But there had been no word from him at all and she’d finally come to the conclusion that just as her father had said, Nick Daniels was trouble with a great big capital T. He hadn’t even had the common courtesy or the courage to face her and tell her it was over between them.
But now he was back. And worse yet, he was her boss. How could fate be so cruel?
Seeing him again had been more than a little disturbing. But when he’d announced that he owned the Sugar Creek Cattle Company, the situation had become downright impossible.
She’d hoped when she questioned Mr. Freemont he would tell her that it was all a lie and that she had corporate’s blessing in having Nick thrown off the property. But without elaborating on the details, Luther Freemont had verified that Nick Daniels did indeed own the Sugar Creek and that, in accordance with her contract, she was locked into working for the cattle company for the next four years, no matter who the owner was.
Parking her truck at the side of the big, white two-story Victorian house, she swallowed around the lump clogging her throat. She hadn’t dared tell her father about the latest development. He wasn’t well and hearing about Nick’s return would only upset him and possibly cause more problems. And until she figured out what she could do about the situation there was no reason to worry him unnecessarily. Besides, she was doing enough stressing for the both of them.
As she grabbed the manila folder on the seat beside her and got out of the truck, she prayed for a miracle. She didn’t really expect one, but at this point, divine intervention seemed to be her only hope of escaping the current mess she found herself in.
When she climbed the steps of the wide wraparound porch and knocked on the door frame, instead of Nick, a heavy-set woman of about sixty opened the screen. “You must be Cheyenne Holbrook.” She stepped back for Cheyenne to enter the foyer. “I’m Greta Foster. My husband, Carl, and I have been the caretakers here at the Sugar Creek for several years, but I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
Cheyenne wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t met. Before Nick left, her father had forbidden her to go anywhere near the place. And after she’d become the ranch foreman a little over six years ago, she hadn’t ventured this far onto the Daniels property because it only reminded her of the shattered dream she’d had when she was sixteen.
She was supposed to have been Nick’s wife and lived here with him and his mother in this big, wonderful house. While he ran the ranch, she was going to teach school and together they were going to raise a houseful of children and live happily ever after.
Removing her red ball cap, she shook her head to dispel the last traces of her troubling thoughts. “I’ve talked to Carl on the phone several times to let him know some of the men I supervise would be working close by, but I’ve never actually been here.”
“Well, now that you have, you’ll have to drop by more often.” Greta’s smile was friendly as she motioned toward a closed door across from the great room. “Nick’s waiting for you in his office. Would you like something to eat or drink? I just took an apple pie out of the oven and made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“No, thank you.” Cheyenne smiled and raised her hand to knock on the office door. “I’m hoping this meeting won’t take long.” At Greta’s surprised expression, Cheyenne hastily added, “I need to make a trip to the feed store for some supplies before Harry closes for lunch.”
Apparently satisfied with her explanation, Greta nodded. “If you change your mind, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
