Page 7 of Breaking the Cowboy's Rules

Always the idealist. Mr. Sunshine.

“Not if we can persuade him to stay put.” Bodhi grinned. “I say we call his bluff.”

“How?” Beck asked.

“What’s Granddad all about?” he demanded. Beck opened his mouth but said nothing. Bowen looked like he was ignoring him, but Bodhi knew better, although if Bowen didn’t take a swig of his beer soon, Bodhi was going to dump it on his head. Did he have to do all the work?

What the hell would they do if he…?

He shut off the unpleasant thought. “Am I the only one who listened up in college? Took a psych class?” Bodhi taunted. “Family. Granddad is all about family.”

Bowen and Beck nodded.

“You look like bobbleheads.” Bodhi slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “Who’s in?”

“Me.”

“Me.”

Beck and Bowen spoke in unison.

Bodhi felt the challenge heat his blood like whiskey. He felt strong and he felt wicked. Invincible. A dangerous threesome, but what the hell. Life was short. And for him maybe even shorter. Go out fierce and fighting on top. No hiding in a swath of blooming chokecherries in mid-May in a national park and sticking a Glock in his mouth for him.

“What’s the game?” Beck and Bowen both demanded.

“Marriage,” Bodhi said flatly.

“Marriage isn’t a game,” Beck objected.

“It can be.” Bodhi jangled with unleashed tension. “We can all play. We’ll call it the Rodeo Brides Game.”

“You were just hand to God-ing it that you will never, ever get married,” Beck said. “You act like marriage is a leash.”

Bodhi had never let Beck know how he felt about Ashni, and he wasn’t going to now. If he had to play a game three beers in to get Beck to pull his head out of his ass, he was all in.

“I won’t. But I can bring a fiancée home to the Ballantyne Bash.”

The Bash was their granddad’s annual party following the Copper Mountain Rodeo that they were all competing in at the end of the week.

“You’re not even dating,” Beck scoffed.

“What’s dating got to do with it?” Bodhi dismissed. “The winner of the game brings a fiancée to the Ballantyne Bash.” Bodhi threw down the gauntlet. He knew they’d pick it up.

No Ballantyne had refused a challenge. Ever.

“And then what?” Bowen asked skeptically.

“Granddad can stop worrying that the Ballantyne legacy is in peril. He’ll know the next generation of Ballantynes is on the way. The moms won’t be able to sway him to sell.” He grinned at their shocked faces and softened the blow—just a little.

“And if he needs money, he’ll know that the sucker…I mean, the winner—” He looked hard at Beck, who looked absurdly clueless considering he was the only one of them who had a steady girl. Could he punch him? Nah. Jason would kick him out. No mercy in the man. Like his mom.

“The winner will be bringing in an influx of cash if he needs it.” Bodhi hesitated but then plowed on. “And if Granddad is ill, well then he’ll know he’ll have help on the ranch and help around the house. Win-win.”

All of them would happily hand over their earnings and savings if Granddad, or really any of them, needed money, but they all knew he’d never ask. They all lived lean, saving what they could and investing and grabbing sponsorships so they could buy into the ranch. But the ranch wasn’t lucrative enough to support them all when Beck and Bowen had families, so there would likely have to be some side hustles involved.

“That’s an end result,” said Bowen, always practical and the first to cut to the chase. “What’s the prize?”

Bodhi thought the prize was self-explanatory. Granddad would be saved from scheming moms, money or health concerns. And he’d have Beck and Ashni with him full-time. Probably Bowen too. No-brainer. All Beck had to do was propose to Ashni and get his ass off the tour, marry her, and have a baby.

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