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Brandee shook her head. Chelsea didn’t understand how well Shane hid his true motives for being nice to her. He lived by the motto “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” The smooth-talking son of a bitch wanted Hope Springs Ranch. If Brandee agreed to sell, she’d never hear from Shane again.
“Where Shane Delgado is concerned, let’s agree to disagree,” Brandee suggested, not wanting to spoil her lunch with further talk of Shane.
“Okay.” Chelsea clasped her hands together on the table and leaned forward. “So, tell me your good news. What’s going on?”
“I found out this morning that Hope Springs’ first summer session is completely booked.”
“Brandee, that’s fantastic.”
Since purchasing the land that had become Hope Springs Ranch, Brandee had been working to create programs for at-risk teens that helped address destructive behaviors and promote self-esteem. Inspired by her own difficult teen years after losing her dad, Brandee wanted to provide a structured, supportive environment for young adults to learn goal-setting, communication and productive life skills.
“I can’t believe how well everything is coming together. And how much work I have to do before the bunkhouses and camp facilities are going to be ready.”
“You’ll get it all done. You’re one of the most driven, organized people I know.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
It had taken years of hard work and relentless optimism, but she’d done her dad proud with the success she’d made of Hope Springs Ranch. And now she stood on the threshold of realizing her dream of the camp. Her life was perfect and Brandee couldn’t imagine anything better than how she felt at this moment.
* * *
Shane strode away from his latest encounter with Brandee feeling like he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. Over the years, he’d engaged in many sizzling exchanges with the spitfire rancher. After each one, he’d conned himself into believing he’d emerged unscathed, while in reality he rarely escaped without several holes poked in his ego.
She was never happy to see him. It didn’t seem fair when everything about her brightened his day. Usually he stopped by her ranch and caught her laboring beside her ranch hands, moving cattle, tending to the horses or helping to build the structures for her camp. Clad in worn jeans, faded plaid work shirts and dusty boots, her gray-blue eyes blazing in a face streaked with sweat and dirt, she smelled like horses, hay and hard work. All tomboy. All woman. And he lusted after every lean inch of her.
She, however, was completely immune to him. Given her impenetrable defenses, he should have moved on. There were too many receptive women who appreciated that he was easy and fun, while in Brandee’s cool gaze, he glimpsed an ocean of distrust.
But it was the challenge of bringing her around. Of knowing that once he drew her beneath his spell, he would satisfy himself with her complete surrender and emerge triumphant. This didn’t mean he was a bad guy. He just wasn’t built to be tied down. And from what he’d noticed of Brandee’s social life, she wasn’t much into long-term relationships, either.
And so he kept going back for more despite knowing each time they tangled she would introduce him to some fresh hell. Today it had been the scent of her perfume. A light floral scent that made him long to gather handfuls of her hair and bury his face in the lustrous gold waves.
“Shane.”
His mental meanderings came to a screeching halt. He nodded in acknowledgment toward a trio of women, unsure which one had hailed him. These three were trouble. Cecelia, Simone and Naomi. A blonde, brunette and a redhead. All three women were gorgeous, entitled and dangerous if crossed.
They’d recently been admitted to the Texas Cattleman’s Club and were making waves with their demands that the clubhouse needed a feminine face-lift. They wanted to get rid of the old boys’ club style and weren’t being subtle about manipulating votes in their favor.
Brandee had been one of their most obstinate adversaries, working tirelessly to gather the votes needed to defeat them. She’d infiltrated the ranks of the oldest and most established members in order to preach against every suggestion these three women made. The whole thing was amusing to watch.
Shane responded to Naomi’s wave by strolling to their table. “Ladies.”
“Join us,” Cecelia insisted. She was a striking platinum blonde with an ice queen’s sharp eyes. As president of To The Moon, a company specializing in high-end children’s furniture, Cecelia was obviously accustomed to being obeyed.
Putting on his best easy grin, Shane shook his head. “Now, you know I’d love nothing more, but I’m sorry to say I’m already running late.” He glanced to where his best friend, Gabriel Walsh, sat talking on his cell phone, a half-empty tumbler of scotch on the table before him. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”
“We noticed you were talking with Brandee Lawless,” Simone said, leaning forward in a way that offered a sensational glimpse of her ample cleavage. With lush curves, arresting blue eyes and long black hair, she, too, was a striking blend of beauty and brains. “And we wanted to give you some friendly advice about her.”
Had the women picked up on his attraction to Brandee? If so, Shane was losing his touch. He set his hands on the back of the empty fourth chair and leaned in with a conspiratorial wink.
“I’m always happy to listen to advice from beautiful women.”
Cecelia nodded as if approving his wisdom. “She’s only acting interested in you because she wants you to vote against the clubhouse redesign.”
Shane blinked. Brandee was acting interested in him? What had these three women seen that he’d missed?
“Once the vote is done,” Simone continued, “she will dismiss you like that.” She snapped her fingers and settled her full lips into a determined pout.
“Brandee has been acting as if she’s interested in me?” Shane put on a show of surprise and hoped this would entice the women to expound on their theories. “I thought she was just being nice.”
The women exchanged glances and silently selected Naomi to speak next. “She’s not nice. She’s manipulating you. Haven’t you noticed the way she flirts with you? She knows how well liked you are and plans to use your popularity to manipulate the vote.”
Shane considered this. Was Brandee flirting with him? For a second he let himself bask in the pleasure of that idea. Did she fight the same intoxicating attraction that gripped him every time they met? Then he rejected the notion. No. The way she communicated with him was more like a series of verbal jousts all determined to knock him off his white charger and land him ass-first in the dirt.
“Thank you for the warning, ladies.” Unnecessary as it had been. “I’ll make sure I keep my wits about me where Brandee is concerned.”
“Anytime,” Naomi murmured. Her brown eyes, framed by long, lush lashes, had a sharp look of satisfaction.
“We will always have your back,” Cecelia added, and glanced at the other two, garnering agreeing head bobs.
“I’ll remember that.” With a friendly smile and a nod, Shane left the trio and headed to where Gabe waited.
The former Texas Ranger watched him approach, a smirk kicking up one corner of his lips. “What the hell was that about? Were you feeding them canaries?”
“Canaries?” Shane dropped into his seat and gestured to a nearby waiter. He needed a stiff drink after negotiating the gauntlet of strong-willed women.
“That was a trio of very satisfied pussycats.”
Shane resisted the urge to rub at the spot between his shoulder blades that burned from several sets of female eyes boring into him. “I gave them what they wanted.”
“Don’t you always?”
“It’s what I do.”
Shane flashed a cocky grin, but he didn’t feel any satisfaction.
“So what did they want?” Gabe asked.
“To warn me about Brandee Lawless.”
Gabe’s gaze flickered past Shane. Whatever he saw made his eyes narrow. “Do you need to be warned?”
“Oh hell no.” The waiter set a scotch before him and Shane swallowed a healthy dose of the fiery liquid before continuing. “You know how she and I are. If we were kids she’d knock me down and sit on me.”
“And you’d let her because then she’d be close enough to tickle.”
“Tickle?” Shane stared at his best friend in mock outrage. “Do you not know me at all?”
“We’re talking about you and Brandee as little kids. It was the least offensive thing I could think of that you’d do to her.”
Shane snorted in amusement. “You could have said spank.”
Gabe closed his eyes as if in pain. “Can we get back to Cecelia, Simone and Naomi?”
“They’re just frustrated that Brandee has sided against them and has more influence at the club than they do. They want to rule the world. Or at least our little corner of it.”
On the table, Gabe’s phone chimed, signaling a text. “Damn,” he murmured after reading the screen.
“Bad news?”
“My uncle’s tumor isn’t operable.”
Several weeks ago Gabe’s uncle Dusty had been diagnosed with stage-four brain cancer.
“Aw, Gabe, I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
Dale “Dusty” Walsh was a dynamic bear of a man. Like Gabe he was a few inches over six feet and built to intimidate. Founder of Royal’s most private security firm, The Walsh Group, he’d brought Gabe into the fold after he’d left the Texas Rangers.
“Yeah, my dad’s pretty shook up. That was him sending the text.”
Gabe’s close relationship with his father was something Shane had always envied. His dad had died when Shane was in his early twenties, but even before the heart attack took him, there hadn’t been much good about their connection.
“Hopefully, the doctors have a good alternative program to get Dusty through this.”
“Let’s hope.”
The two men shifted gears and talked about the progress on Shane’s latest project, a luxury resort development in the vein of George Vanderbilt’s iconic French Renaissance château in North Carolina, but brimming with cutting-edge technology. As he was expounding on the challenges of introducing the concept of small plates to a state whose motto was “everything’s bigger in Texas,” a hand settled on Shane’s shoulder. The all-too-familiar zap of awareness told him who stood beside him before she spoke.
“Hello, Gabe. How are things at The Walsh Group?”
“Fine.” Gabe’s hazel eyes took on a devilish gleam as he noticed Shane’s gritted teeth. “And how are you doing at Hope Springs?”
“Busy. We’ve got ninety-two calves on the ground and another hundred and ninety-seven to go before April.” Brandee’s hand didn’t move from Shane’s shoulder as she spoke. “Thanks for helping out with the background checks for the latest group of volunteers.”
“Anytime.”
Shane drank in the soft lilt in Brandee’s voice as he endured the warm press of her hand. He shouldn’t be so aware of her, but the rustle of her tulle skirt and the shapely bare legs below the modest hem had his senses all revved up with nowhere to go.
“See you later, boys.” Brandee gave Shane’s shoulder a little squeeze before letting go.
“Bye, Brandee,” Gabe replied, shifting his gaze to Shane as she headed off.
All too aware of Gabe’s smirk, Shane summoned his willpower to not turn around and watch her go, but he couldn’t resist a quick peek over his shoulder. He immediately wished he’d fought harder. Brandee floated past the tables like a delicate gray cloud. A cloud with badass boots the color of Texas bluebonnets on her feet. He felt the kick to his gut and almost groaned.
“You know she only did that to piss off those three,” Gabe said when Shane had turned back around. “They think she’s plotting against them, so she added fuel to the fire.”
“I know.” He couldn’t help but admire her clever machinations even though it had come with a hit to his libido. “She’s a woman after my own heart.”
Gabe laughed. “Good thing you don’t have one to give her.”
Shane lifted his drink and saluted his friend. “You’ve got that right.”
Two (#ulink_acebe3d6-9d77-5bb1-9ece-19adda3352a8)
Afternoon sunlight lanced through the mini blinds covering the broad west-facing window in Brandee’s home office, striping the computer keyboard and her fingers as they flew across the keys. She’d been working on the budget for her summer camp, trying to determine where she could siphon off a few extra dollars to buy three more well-trained, kid-friendly horses.
She’d already invested far more in the buildings and infrastructure than she’d initially intended. And because she needed to get the first of three projected bunkhouses built in time for her summer session, she’d been forced to rely on outside labor to get the job done.
Brandee spun her chair and stared out the window that overlooked the large covered patio, with its outdoor kitchen and fieldstone fireplace. She loved spending time outside, even in the winter, and had created a cozy outdoor living room.
Buying this five-thousand-acre parcel outside Royal four years ago had been Brandee’s chance to fulfill her father’s dream. She hadn’t minded having to build a ranch from the ground up after the tornado had nearly wiped her out. In fact, she’d appreciated the clean slate and relished the idea of putting her stamp on the land. She’d set the L-shaped one-story ranch house half a mile off the highway and a quarter mile from the buildings that housed her ranch hands and the outbuildings central to her cow-calving operation.
The original house, built by the previous owner, had been much bigger than this one and poorly designed. Beaux Cook had been a Hollywood actor with grand ideas of becoming a real cowboy. The man had preferred flash over substance, and never bothered to learn anything about the ranching. Within eighteen months, he’d failed so completely as a rancher that Brandee had bought the property for several million less than it was worth.
Brandee was the third owner of the land since it had been lifted from unclaimed status ten years earlier. Emmitt Shaw had been the one who’d secured the parcel adjacent to his ranch by filing a claim and paying the back taxes for the five thousand acres of abandoned land after a trust put into place a century earlier to pay the taxes had run out of money. Health issues had later compelled him to sell off the land to Beaux to pay his medical bills and keep his original ranch running.
However, in the days following the massive storm, while Brandee was preoccupied with her own devastated property, Shane Delgado had taken advantage of the old rancher’s bad health and losses from the tornado to gobble up his ranch to develop luxury homes. If she’d known how bad Beaux’s situation had become, she would’ve offered to buy his land for a fair price.
Instead, she was stuck sharing her property line with his housing development. Brandee liked the raw, untamed beauty of the Texas countryside, and resented Delgado’s determination to civilize the landscape with his luxury homes and fancy resort development. Her father had been an old-school cowboy, fond of endless vistas of Texas landscape populated by cattle, rabbits, birds and the occasional mountain lion. He wouldn’t be a fan of Shane Delgado’s vision for his daughter’s property.
Her smartphone chimed, indicating she’d received a text message. There was a phone number, but no name. She read the text and her heart received a potent shock.
Hope Springs Ranch rightfully belongs to Shane Delgado. –Maverick
Too outraged to consider the wisdom of engaging with the mysterious sender, she picked up the phone and texted back.
Who is this and what are you talking about?
Her computer immediately pinged, indicating she’d received an email. She clicked to open the message. It was from Maverick.
Give up your Texas Cattleman’s Club membership and wire fifty thousand dollars to the account below or I’ll be forced to share this proof of ownership with Delgado. You have two weeks to comply.
Ignoring the bank routing information, Brandee double-clicked on the attachment. It was a scan of a faded, handwritten document, a letter dated March 21, 1899, written by someone named Jasper Crowley. He offered a five-thousand-acre parcel as a dowry to the man who married his daughter, Amelia. From the description of the land, it was the five thousand acres Hope Springs Ranch occupied.
Brandee’s outrage dissipated, but uneasiness remained.
This had to be a joke. Nothing about the documentation pointed to Shane. She was ready to dismiss the whole thing when the name Maverick tickled her awareness. Where had she heard it mentioned before? Cecelia Morgan had spoken the name before one of the contentious meetings at the TCC clubhouse. Was Cecelia behind this? Given the demands, it made sense.
Brandee had been doing her best to thwart every power play Cecelia, Simone and Naomi had attempted. There was no way she was going to let the terrible trio bully their way into leadership positions with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Was this their way of getting her to shut up?
She responded to the email.
This doesn’t prove anything.
This isn’t an empty threat, was the immediate response. Shaw didn’t search for Crowley’s descendants. I did.
That seemed to indicate that Maverick had proof that Crowley and Shane were related. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t ignore this. Brandee set her hands on the edge of the desk and shoved backward, muttering curses. The office wasn’t big enough for her to escape the vile words glowing on the screen, so she got up and left the room to clear her head.
How dare they? She stalked down the hall to the living area, taking in the perfection of her home along the way.
