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A Husband In Wyoming
Lynnette Kent
Dylan Marshall is a man of many secrets and journalist Jess Granger is determined to uncover them all. First, why did he suddenly abandon his promising art career? And why, after a two-year hiatus, did he agree to a new exhibition of his work? Jess is so busy working on the handsome rancher’s defences that she doesn’t realise he is quietly eroding her own. She came looking for a story that would save her job and do justice to Dylan’s sculptures. But, when it comes to Dylan, Jess discovers that the real story might be about finding her true home.
“This should do it.”
He placed the hat on her head, then turned her around to face the mirror above the dresser. “There you go. Looks good—you’re already a bona fide cowgirl.”
Jess gazed at their reflection, feeling the warmth of his body behind hers, the weight of his palms, his breath stirring her hair. Awareness dawned inside her.
“Thanks,” she said, appalled at the quavery sound of her voice.
“Uh … you’re welcome.” Dylan sounded a little stunned, as well. He cleared his throat and stepped away.
This new Dylan Marshall—the grown-up version—was comfortable, satisfied … solid. His sexy grin, the confident and flirtatious attitude, the broad shoulders and narrow hips all combined into one seriously hot package.
But she would fly back to New York on Sunday, giving her only four days to get what she needed for the article.
But she was tempted to want more. Very tempted.
A Husband in Wyoming
Lynnette Kent
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LYNNETTE KENT lives on a farm in southeastern North Carolina with her six horses and six dogs. When she isn’t busy riding, driving or feeding animals, she loves to tend her gardens and read and write books.
Contents
Cover (#u2173f114-5e5c-5c9a-9558-720a4580329b)
Excerpt (#u07440524-e9aa-5767-bcce-9271c53a7701)
Title Page (#u6197adec-0fd3-54f1-9fca-55e5ed4d8054)
About the Author (#ubc8281d6-ec14-582a-a01c-dd24c7653fe0)
Chapter One (#uecbb7b81-c77a-50bf-99cd-6199ea6cc61e)
Chapter Two (#uf3fd0211-a470-53c1-b0c3-d24c3b57846a)
Chapter Three (#uf5472760-1f62-5d1e-8d8c-60e6d8e5d681)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_7ea1fb8b-b626-57bb-a856-75a5a384c2f8)
June
Here comes trouble.
Standing outside the barn, Dylan Marshall watched as dust billowed up behind the vehicle approaching in the distance. He swallowed against the dread squeezing his throat. If he could have avoided this encounter by any reasonable means, he would have. The next four days were going to be absolute hell.
At last the Jeep came into full view, its dark blue paint now mottled with dirt. Going too fast, the car barreled up the last hill and hurtled along the road toward the ranch house, where it screeched to a stop with a spray of gravel.
Dylan shook his head. Somebody needs to slow down.
His boots felt as if they had lead in them, but he managed to move his feet and descend the hill toward the house. After a long day driving cattle, all he wanted was a shower. Dirt had settled in the bends of his elbows and the creases of his jeans, the cuffs of his gloves and at the base of his throat. He could taste it on his tongue.
He also wanted some dinner and a chance to sit down on a chair instead of a saddle. But most of all, he wanted to get clean.
He did not want to meet the press.
The door on the Jeep opened and a pair of high-heeled boots hit the ground. Standing up, the driver saw him coming, shut the car door and walked forward. Like two gunfighters, they moved slowly, warily toward each other, hands at their sides as if poised to draw a pistol and fire.
Dylan stopped with about ten feet between them. “Jess Granger?”
She was tall and slim, with long, shapely legs showcased by skinny jeans and those fashionable boots. Shiny brown hair whipped around her head, blown by the never-ending Wyoming wind.
Pulling the long strands out of the way, she nodded. “From Renown Magazine. You’re Dylan Marshall?”
Her face could make Da Vinci weep—big eyes, the cheekbones of a goddess and a wide red mouth that stirred a man’s blood to the boil.
He tipped his hat and then closed the distance between them, removing his gloves so he could shake her hand. “Welcome to the Circle M Ranch.” A warm, slender palm returned his grasp. Dylan let go slowly, smiling in pure appreciation of her beauty.
Spreading her arms wide, she took a deep breath and blew it out. “There’s a lot of space out here. Such a big sky.”
“Are you a New York native?”
“I’ve lived there for half my life, so it feels like it. I’ve done my share of traveling, but this is my first time in Wyoming. I’m ready for a Western adventure.”
“We’ll do our best.” A drop of sweat rolled down the nape of his neck. “Let me get your luggage.” Stuffing his gloves into a back pocket, he crossed to the car and opened the rear hatch.
She whirled to follow him. “That’s okay. I can—”
He pulled out her two bags before she could finish. “Got it. Come into the house.” Leading the way onto the porch, he set down the big red suitcase and opened the screen door, nodding her through. “Be our guest.”
He was determined to be polite. The only way to survive this interview was to keep control of the conversation, making sure Jess Granger learned only what he wanted her to. Reporters could be ruthless, but his job for the next four days was to give this New York journalist a peek at his life and his sculpture without actually revealing anything important. The gallery where he’d be showing his work had insisted on a big publicity push. Their bottom line: no article, no exhibit. After the way he’d sabotaged his career two years ago, Dylan knew he was lucky to get this chance for a significant show. If he wanted his work to be seen, he had to cooperate with the gallery—and with Jess Granger.
But he didn’t want his emotional guts dissected in a fancy magazine for strangers to read. His three brothers deserved their privacy, as did the kids staying with them for the summer. Fortunately, Dylan considered himself an expert in the art of shooting the bull. Try as she might, he’d make sure Ms. Granger discovered only the most harmless details.
He set her bags by the hallway door while she sashayed inside and circled the living room. “Nice,” she said, with a surprised expression. “Quite upscale for a bachelor pad.”
“We try to stay civilized.”
“So I notice.” She homed in on the one sculpture in the room, a bear figure he’d made while still in high school. “Is this yours?”
And so it started. “Yep. An early piece.”
“It’s...clever. Obviously talented.” Her words echoed the art critics he remembered from his time in that world—conceited and condescending. “But not at all similar to the work you were doing when you came out of college.”
Hands in his front pockets, Dylan tried to stay relaxed. “I took a different direction for a while there, exploring new materials, new techniques. I tried to give people what they appreciated. What they wanted to see.”
Jess Granger nodded, setting the bear in its place. “You certainly did that. For five years, you were the darling of the international art scene, the name everybody talked about. You had sculptures in the major art fairs and showed up at all the right parties.
“Then—” she turned around and snapped her fingers “—you disappeared. Just gone, without an explanation or a goodbye. There hasn’t been a hint of news about you in more than two years. My editor was surprised to hear that you have a new show opening, and downright shocked that Trevor Galleries would sponsor this article.”
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, the reporter stared at him. “They sent me to get the story, Dylan. They want to read all about this comeback of yours. What does it mean, personally and artistically? What are your plans? Will you be returning to New York, or Miami? Or working in Europe? And, the most important detail... Why in the world did you drop out in the first place?”
Dylan cleared his throat. “You dive right in, don’t you?” he asked. “Would you like something to drink or eat, first? A chance to get settled?”
“No. Thanks,” she said, after a beat. “You had scholarships to European art schools. Blue ribbons at juried shows around the country. The critics all raved. You were a sensation before your twenty-fifth birthday. Why would you give that up?”
“Inspiration comes and goes,” he said. “You can’t always predict where it’ll lead.”
Jess Granger shook her head. “Artists don’t just abandon their careers. What have you been doing in the two years since?”
“Working.”
“On what?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a ranch—there’s a lot to do. In fact,” he added, “I won’t be able to sit around talking for four days. We’ve got a full schedule here in the summer, from sunup to sundown. Not including studio time.”
“I’m not here to disrupt your life.” Her hands went up in a gesture of surrender. “This article is supposed to provide positive press for you and your show. I intend to convey how you blend your art with your lifestyle.”
“Sure. ‘A Day on the Ranch’ is all you want.”
“I can’t force you to confess.” She actually pouted at him, making the most of that beautiful mouth.
Dylan only grinned at her. “With your looks, I suspect you can persuade a man to confide all his most dastardly secrets.”
Her face eased into a sassy smile. “I promise not to reveal where you hid the bodies, anyway.”
“I don’t worry about that.” Flirting was much more fun than dueling over the truth. “This is the Wild, Wild West, after all. It’s the superhero tights in my dresser drawer I’m concerned about. We artists are a weird bunch, you know.”
Jess Granger laughed out loud. “What a story angle!”
He enjoyed the sound of that laugh. “Anything to draw readers, right?”
“I do try to stay on the right side of the truth.” Her sudden frown said he’d hit a sore spot. “So you’ll have to show me the tights before I commit to print.”
Dylan chuckled. “Once you’re in my bedroom,” he promised, “we’ll see about that.”
* * *
JESS WINKED AT HIM. “An interesting prospect.” Maybe flirting was the way to get Dylan Marshall loosened up and talking. Otherwise, he’d stonewalled her so far.
And she certainly had no objection to trading banter with such a gorgeous specimen. He’d always been handsome, thanks to those long-lashed, dark chocolate eyes and a sensitive mouth framed by a square jaw and determined chin. Three years ago, though, he’d seemed too young to take seriously, wearing designer suits and an edgy haircut, dating top models and rich socialites. Observing from a distance, she’d considered him a brat. Talented, but spoiled.
Today, Jess had to admit that his exile had caused a huge change in Dylan Marshall, on the outside at least. There was a maturity in his face she found immensely appealing. With his narrow hips, long legs encased in snug jeans and broad shoulders under a blue-checked shirt, he could certainly lay claim to the legendary cowboy assets. He even wore a white hat, to finish off the hero image.
But her assignment was to get behind that image and discover the truth. Judging from his evasions so far, an aggressive approach did not bode well for the interview. She would have to handle him carefully, or she wouldn’t get the details her editor demanded.
Before she could renew her offensive, a husky blonde dog padded into the room from the rear of the house followed by a big man with light brown hair and dark eyes like Dylan’s.
“Welcome to the Circle M,” the man said in a bass voice. “I’m Wyatt.” He wore jeans and boots but had a back brace fitted over his chambray work shirt. “Make yourself at home.”
Jess shook his hand, noticing calluses indicative of physical labor. “That seems pretty easy to do. I appreciate your hospitality.”
“No trouble.” He glanced at the canine standing beside him wagging her tail. “This is Honey. She runs the place.”
“She’s beautiful. Can I pet her?”
“She’ll be insulted if you don’t.”
Bending over, Jess carefully stroked the tawny head. “Nice to meet you, Honey. You’re a good dog, aren’t you?” She didn’t have much contact with animals, so she was never quite sure what to do with them. But Honey’s brown eyes seemed friendly. Her tail wagged and she licked at Jess’s wrist with her long red tongue.
“Wyatt’s on restricted duty,” Dylan explained as she straightened up. “He took a fall and broke a couple of bones in his spine. We’re attempting to fill the gap he’s left, but that’s about as easy as trying to drive a truck with the engine missing.”
“An exaggeration,” Wyatt said, giving her a slow smile. “I understand you’re from New York. Have you traveled much in the Western states, Jess?”
“I’ve visited Colorado and New Mexico for interviews, and I’ve skiied in the Rockies. But I’ve never had the chance to experience authentic ranch life.”
“You’re in the right place,” Dylan said. “We’re about as authentic as it gets when it comes to cowboys.” He paused. “Well, unless you consider that Ford’s a lawyer and Garrett’s a preacher. They’re a little out of the ordinary. Wyatt’s the genuine article, though. A rancher through and through.” He obviously admired his brothers and wasn’t afraid to say so.
Footsteps sounded on the porch outside. “Hey, Dylan, get your butt out here. You’re supposed to be—” Another cowboy in a white hat stomped into the house, but stopped short when he caught sight of Jess. “Oh...sorry. I didn’t realize we had company.”
“This is Jess Granger,” Dylan said. “The reporter I mentioned would be here. Jess, meet my forgetful brother Garrett.”
Garrett Marshall took off his hat and smiled as they shook hands. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive today. There’s been a lot going on.” As handsome as his brothers, he shared the same strong face and athletic build, but his eyes were blue, and his build was somewhere in between Wyatt’s and Dylan’s. He wore his light brown hair in a conservative cut and the uniform that ranch life apparently called for: jeans, boots and shirt. “I guess this means you won’t be supervising the dinner detail,” he told his younger brother.
