Two-Week Texas Seduction

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.