Page 1 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

One

The runaway groom returns.

Brett Harston winced as he passed through the gates leading to Heritage Ranch, his hands loose on the steering wheel of a brand-new Ford-150 Limited, which he’d picked up in Dallas on his way back from the Cayman Islands. The best thing about being rich was being able to afford private jets, secluded beachside cabins and treating yourself to a new truck.

Not that he deserved to be rewarded for last month’s shitshow.

Brett rubbed the back of his neck before hitting the button to lower the electric window. Sweet Texas air rushed inside the cab and he inhaled deeply, some of his tension easing.

He was finally home, the only place he’d wanted to be for the past fortnight.

His staying away was intended to give Lexi some space, to allow some of the more salacious gossip over him bailing on their wedding to die down. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what the Royal Reporters—his name for the three biggest gossips in town—had to say—the Harstons had been a favorite subject of Royal gossip for as long as he could remember. But this was, as far as he knew, Lexi Alderidge’s first brush with being the focus of the town’s speculation.

Being alone in a secluded, luxurious cabin on a private beach that he’d booked for their honeymoon had given him plenty of time to think about why he’d stumbled so close to becoming hitched and stitched.

It had all happened so fast: he’d been caught off guard when his first love—one of a handful of people who’d looked past him being the son of the town drunk—dropped back into his life looking to reignite their intense teenage love affair.

Knocked off his feet, attraction and memories and lust creating a thought stealing concoction, he’d dived right in, casually ignoring the fact that she was fresh off a divorce and clearly on the rebound. After a few weeks of spectacular sex, Lexi suggested getting married and, half asleep, he’d sorta, kinda suggested that they would, sometime way in the future.

But he’d hadn’t considered Lexi’s selective hearing or the savvy organizational skills of the Alderidge women, namely Lexi and her mom, Violet. Before he had time to wipe the sleep out of his eyes, the news of their engagement was all over Royal and mother and daughter were determined to prove they could arrange a kick-ass wedding in two months.

Winston Alderidge expressed his reservations about their marriage from the get-go, and Brett reluctantly admitted that his disapproval was enough to make him dig in his heels. Lexi’s dad had an overinflated opinion of his own status and worth, and Brett, despite his wealth, wasn’t good enough for his baby girl. So if Winston said the sky was blue, Brett’s instinct was to thwart him by insisting it was green. Winston still made him feel like the poor kid working any extra hours he could for Tweed Huggins, desperate to prove himself.

Brett was now one of the richest landowners in the district, a respected cattle rancher and horse breeder. But to some people, the Alderidges included, he would always be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

Bottom line? The combination of his first love returning, putting a spark back in Lexi’s eyes with lots of sex and compliments, and feeling like he’d finally belong when he married into one of the most respected families in Royal, overrode his gut instinct that marrying Lexi was a mistake.

Fortunately, he’d come to his senses before it was too late.

While he didn’t regret bailing on the wedding, he did regret hurting and embarrassing Lexi. He’d called her, tried to apologize, but Lexi wasn’t taking his calls. In a few days, he’d try again.

Brett wasn’t proud of himself and, at thirty-eight, he was ashamed he hadn’t ended the engagement sooner. But nothing could be changed now. He’d already contacted his lawyer to refund Lexi and the Alderidges any money they’d lost, and he hoped, in time, that Lexi would forgive him. The Royal Reporters would talk about the aborted wedding until something, or someone, more interesting came along to divert their attention.

He swung his car to the right, following the road to his residence, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of a dark ball cap and a glimpse of blond hair pulled back into a stubby tail.

Brett slowed his vehicle and watched as his foreman’s teenage daughter stormed up the road toward the ranch house. Stacy often ran the trails snaking over the ranch and she was a talented athlete, Brett admitted.

When she didn’t slow down, he realized Stacy wore earbuds because she had yet to hear the growly rumble of his new truck. He noticed the time on his dash, then lifted his wrist to confirm what he was seeing. Yep, it was eleven forty... What the hell was Stacy doing out of school?

Brett slowly approached her. “Why aren’t you in school, Stace?” he demanded, irritated with himself and with her for skipping school.

Brett watched as the runner used her index finger to push up the brim of her ball cap, turned—and instead of brown eyes, a deep blue, amused gaze slammed into his.

And, just like that, all the moisture left his mouth. Awareness, hot and dark, ran up and down his spine as he dragged his gaze off those stunning eyes framed by long, thick lashes, to drift over her high cheekbones then drop onto her wide, lush, sensual mouth.

It had been a long time, but Brett recognized her immediately. Sarabeth Edmond wore an aqua-and-black gym shirt, matching yoga pants, and expensive running shoes adorned her feet. The workout gear skimmed over her still slim, toned body. God, she was hot.

As insmokin’.

“Hi there.”

It was a standard greeting but her raspy voice, deeper than normal, sent shivers up his spine. He wanted to hear her murmuring his name as she wound those longs legs around his hips, as he slid inside her...

Brett sighed and frowned, annoyed at his reaction to this gorgeous woman. He’d all but left his fiancée at the alter two weeks ago; he had no right to be attracted to anyone, let alone Rusty Edmond’s ex-wife.

And why was she on his land, running up his drive?

Brett asked the question, conscious of his less-than-gracious delivery.

---