A Forever Kind of Rancher (The Carsons of Lone Rock #5)

Chapter One

S he was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. A vision dressed in pink, and somehow it made him think of strawberries, which got him to wondering if her skin tasted like strawberries.

She wasn’t dancing, and she should be. Hell, Boone was wearing a suit, and he didn’t much care for that shit. He didn’t much care for dancing either, but this was the kind of thing you wore suits to, and danced at, so it felt like a crime she wasn’t dancing.

It was his brother’s wedding after all.

And he was damned happy for Chance. Really. He’d fallen in love and all that. Boone was in love too.

Had been for years. In a way that had left him cut open, hollowed out and embittered.

He respected the hell out of love for that very reason. He knew how intense it could be. How long-lasting.

He decided to remedy the fact that she wasn’t dancing, because hell, he was in a suit after all.

He knew better than this. He stayed clear of her, except when he couldn’t. He knew better than to approach her. She was forbidden. Because of what he wanted to do with her. To her. If all he wanted was a chance to say hi, a chance to shoot the breeze, they could be friends.

But it wasn’t what he wanted.

It never had been.

Tonight this place looked beautiful, and so did she, and she was standing there alone, and that was wrong.

He ignored the warning sounds going off in the back of his head and crossed the old barn that had been decorated with fairy lights and flowers for his brother’s big day.

“Care to dance?”

She looked up at him, and he saw it. That little spark of awareness that always went off when they were near each other. They saw each other way too often for his taste, and hers, too, probably. He loved it, and he hated it. He had a feeling she only hated it.

It only ever ended one of two ways. With her turning red and running in the other direction or getting pissed off and getting right in his face. As if one or the other would hide the fact that she wanted him. She did. He knew that.

Not that either of them would ever do anything about it.

They were too good.

Boone hadn’t often been accused of being too good. But when it came to her...

He was a damned saint.

She lifted her hand, and the diamond there sparkled beneath the light.

“If he’s not going to dance with you,” Boone said, “you might as well dance with me.”

And he could see it. That it was a challenge he laid out before her, and she wouldn’t back down.

Wendy never backed down from a challenge. It was one of the things he liked about her.

That diamond ring was the thing he didn’t much like.

And the fact that it meant she’d made vows to his best friend. Wedding vows.

Boone wanted his best friend’s wife. And it felt so good he couldn’t even muster up the willpower to hate it.

He didn’t wait for her to answer, instead, he reached out and took her hand and pulled her up from her chair, led her to the dance floor, and tugged her against his body like they were friends, and it was fine. She looked over her shoulder, her expression worried. And that spoke volumes. Because they were friends, as far as anybody here was concerned. Because there was nothing between them, not outwardly.

But they both felt it. And that was what made dancing with her dangerous. He had known Daniel for a long time. He loved him like a brother. At least, he had. Before he’d married Wendy.

Daniel, as a husband, sucked. Witnessing that had started to damage their friendship. Boone had never been satisfied that Daniel valued that marriage.

He’d never witnessed anything concrete—if he did he’d be the first one to tell Wendy—but Boone had always had the feeling Daniel took his marriage vows as suggestions when he was on the road with the rodeo.

Not only that, Daniel missed a lot of his kids’ milestones, not that Boone had any kids. Not that he was in a position to judge. It was only that he did judge.

Because he wanted what his friend had so very badly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

He knew she wouldn’t answer that. Because she wouldn’t admit it.

Never.

And maybe they never danced. But they knew this particular dance well. They’d been doing it for fifteen years.

“Nothing is wrong,” she said, linking her fingers behind his neck, and he wasn’t sure if she was preparing to strangle him, or trying to keep herself from moving her hands over his body and exploring him.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She paused for a second. “Boone...”

“Where is Daniel?”

“Drinking,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes defiant, as if she was daring him to comment.

He didn’t have to. Instead, he moved his hand just a little bit lower on her back.

Her nostrils flared, and he even thought that was hot.

“If he’s drinking, then he won’t miss you.”

And why the hell should Daniel have her anyway? He didn’t fucking care about her. Boone was almost certain that every time he went out drinking with the guys, Daniel was screwing around with buckle bunnies. There was no way he was only dancing with them at the jukebox. Boone could never bear to stick around and find out, because he would have to tell Wendy, and his loyalty was supposed to be to Daniel, but he was at a point where he didn’t feel like it could be. Not anymore. And he’d told himself he could not feel that way, and he couldn’t act in the way he wanted to, because he had an ulterior motive. But now he didn’t care. Right at this moment, none of it mattered.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

Slowly, very slowly, she shook her head no. And he led her off the dance floor, out of the barn and into the night. And in one wild, feverish moment, he pushed his best friend’s wife back against the side of the barn and pressed his mouth against hers.

Boone woke up with sweat drenching his body.

Dammit.

For a second, he let the dream play in his mind over and over again.

It was the sliding door. The other path.

The one he had decidedly not taken at his brother’s wedding, when he had gazed across the barn and seen Wendy looking like a snack that night.

He hadn’t even danced with her. Why? Because he’d known he was too close to losing control. But in his dreams...

In his dreams he held that pretty pink slice of glory in his hands. In his dreams, he had pushed her warm willing body up against that barn and tasted her mouth.

It was so real. It was so real he could scarcely believe it hadn’t happened.

Damn it and him, to hell.

He was wrung out. It was all the sleeping in cheap-ass motels.

He missed home or so he told himself. Because it was better than missing a woman he’d never actually held in his arms.

He had bought himself a ranch, one that currently had no animals on it, with a damned comfortable bed in one of the rooms—a bed he hadn’t brought a woman back to yet—in preparation for his life changing. He was on the verge of retirement, because... Hell. His brothers were all out of the rodeo, so he didn’t understand why he was still in. He was the last one standing. The last one who hadn’t left, who wasn’t with the person that they...

Well. He had no idea what the hell Buck was doing. So maybe that wasn’t fair.

Buck wasn’t in the rodeo—he knew that much. But he knew nothing else since Buck had cut all ties with their family.

You have to face it, Buck. It happened. There’s no use sitting down and crying about it, there’s no use falling apart. You have to be realistic.

Not his favorite memory. The last time he’d seen his older brother. Eighteen months his senior and the heir apparent to the Carson Rodeo empire.

Not now, though. Now the heir was Boone.

Someone had to keep the legacy going. It was in his blood.

Because, after all, the Carsons were rodeo royalty.

He nearly laughed.

Rodeo royalty in a shitty motel. Oh well. That was the life. The royalty part came from the fact that they all had trust funds, something Boone had sat on until he got his ranch outright in Lone Rock, Oregon, where he would be near his parents and his brothers... Where he would finally settle... He supposed, because there was a point where the demands of the rodeo would get to be a little bit much, and he wasn’t going to be bull riding past his fortieth birthday. He could, he supposed. He could keep going until he gave himself more of a trick back than he already had.

He could downgrade himself to calf roping, keep on keeping on, because he didn’t know what the hell else to do, but he did feel like maybe there was a fine art to just quitting while he was ahead.

Except when his brothers had quit there had been a reason. There had been a woman.

He got out of bed and looked at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on his nightstand. Then he picked it up and took a swig. Better than coffee to get you going in the morning.

He grimaced, his breath hissing through his teeth, then he threw on his jeans and his shirt, his boots, and walked out of the hotel.

It was the third night of the championship, and he would be competing for the top spot tonight. Finally, for the first time in a long time, not competing against one of his brothers.

Not that he minded competing against them. It was all fine.

He wondered if Wendy would be there, or if she would have to be home with the girls.

And he had the feeling he had put more thought into Wendy’s whereabouts than her husband probably had.

He spent the day doing not much. Had breakfast at a greasy spoon diner near the rodeo venue and didn’t socialize, stayed in his own head, like you had to do.

He got to the arena right on time and cursed a blue streak when he drew the particular bull that he drew, because that bull was an asshole, and it was going to make his ride tonight a whole thing.

And then he saw Daniel from across the way, his friend tipping his hat to him, the ring on his left finger bright.

That was when Boone decided he wasn’t going to let Daniel have two things that he wanted. He couldn’t do much of anything about Wendy, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get this buckle. It was only when it was his turn to get in the shoot that everything felt clear. That everything felt right. The dream finally wasn’t reverberating inside of him when he got on the back of the bull—the bull who was jumping, straining against the gate.

Eight seconds. That was all it took. He couldn’t afford to blink. Couldn’t even afford to breathe wrong. Couldn’t afford to have his heart beat too fast. Adrenaline could take him after, but not before. Before was the time for clarity.

Before was when everything became still. It was when he was at peace. At least, the most that he ever was.

It was damned near transcendental meditation.

He didn’t question it.

And when the gate opened, the animal burst forth in a pure display of rage and muscle and he clung to the back of him, finding a rhythm. Finding that perfect ride. Because it was there. In every decision he made, and the way he followed all the movements of the animal. In the way he made himself one with him.

And maybe no other cowboy would relate to that way of thinking about it. For sure his brother Flint would laugh his ass off. But Boone didn’t care.

There was a reason he was the last one in the rodeo, and it wasn’t just because he hadn’t gone and fallen in love. It was because no matter what he loved, part of him would always love the rodeo in a way he didn’t think his brothers ever had.

Part of him would always know he found purpose there. And if he won tonight, he could leave being the best. And that was what he wanted more than anything. Quit while he was on top. Quit while he could still love the rodeo with all that he had, all that he was. To leave it wanting more. To leave himself wanting more. Because what the hell was worse than overstaying your welcome?

He couldn’t think of much.

He’d set out to prove himself, and he was doing it.

So he rode, and he rode perfectly. And when that eight seconds was up, he jumped off the bull. He wasn’t unseated.

And the roar of the crowd was everything he could have asked for. Except the one thing he really wanted. So he let it be everything. He let that moment be everything.

Nobody was going to outride him. Not tonight.

He was number one on the leaderboard and he stayed there, for the whole rest of the night, and damned if he didn’t give the people kind of a boring show. Because nobody could touch his score, and he loved that.

In the rodeo, Daniel Stevens was second.

And hell, for Daniel that was probably enough. With the Carsons, all except Boone, moved out of the way, that was a damned high ranking for Daniel.

But Boone felt mean about it. Because he was number one, while Daniel was number two, and if Boone couldn’t have the other man’s wife, then it seemed like a pretty good alternative prize.

There was no question about going to the bar after, because the mood was celebratory, and the women were ready to party, and Boone figured it was just the right night to find himself a pretty blonde dressed in pink, one that would make the fantasy easy. He would lay her down in that bed he’d slept in last night, and he’d find himself back in that dream, make it feel real.

He didn’t feel guilty about the fantasies anymore.

He’d been doing it for too long.

But when Daniel came up to him just outside the barn and clapped him on the back, he felt a little bit of guilt. Just a little.

“Hell of a ride,” said Daniel. “You made that bull your bitch.”

He frowned. “I don’t work against him. I work with him.”

“Whatever. Seems to work for you.”

“It does.”

One of the other riders, Hank Matthews, sidled up to both of them as they made their way into the bar. “Does that thing weigh you down?” Hank asked, pointing toward Daniel’s ring.

“Oh, hell no,” said Daniel, holding his hand up. “If anything, there’s a certain kind of woman who likes it.”

Boone let his lip curl when he looked at his friend. “Is that so?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Daniel. “Just having a little fun.”

And after that, the intensity of the excited crowd broke up their group. Fans, male and female alike, were all over the place, and this was their moment of glory. There wasn’t a medal ceremony, instead, they were showered with praise in the form of Jack Daniel’s and Jesus. Free shots and a whole lot of glory to God.

It was normally the sort of thing he loved, but he was still distracted. That dream was in his head, and then what Daniel said about the wedding ring had gotten under his skin and stuck there.

He hadn’t seen Wendy tonight, and it was kind of odd, because it was a championship ride, although they were pretty far off from their home base.

Still. He would’ve thought she might show up.

And there were women all over her husband.

Normally, Boone would be determinedly paying attention to his own prospects. Not tonight.

There were two women on either side of Daniel, both of them touching him far too intimately for Boone’s liking. And then Daniel turned his head and kissed one of them, and Boone saw red. He was halfway across the bar, on his way to do God knows what, when a car alarm cut through the sound of the crowd and the music in the bar. The door opened and some guy came running in like the town crier. “Some bitch is going crazy out there on a pickup truck.”

That was enough to send half the bar patrons pouring out into the night. And when a loud smashing sound transcended the noise of the alarm, Boone found himself moving out there as well.

He stood at the door, stopped dead in his tracks by what he saw. A black pickup truck seemed to be the source of the sound, the headlights on, casting a feminine figure into sharp relief. A slender silhouette with a blond halo all lit up by the lights. She was wearing a short, floaty-looking dress, and she was holding a baseball bat. Then she picked up the bat and swung it, and made the headlights go out, casting everything into darkness like a curtain had fallen over the star of this particular show.

“What the fuck ?” It was Daniel, behind Boone, who shouted that. “That’s my truck,” he said.

“And I’m your wife ,” came the shouted replied, as the bat went swinging again, and dented the truck right in the hood. “I got you the deal that got you gifted this truck, by the way, so I think it’s fair enough for me to vandalize my own property.”

Wendy .

Somehow, he’d known it was Wendy. Or at least, his body had.

An avenging angel, looking beautiful and dangerous, and hell...he’d never wanted her more.

Daniel pushed past him, his jar of whiskey still in his hand. “You’re being a fucking psycho,” he said. “What the hell?”

Wendy advanced on him, her chin jutted out, fury radiating from her. “Tell me you weren’t in there with another woman.”

Daniel backed up, his face going bland. “I wasn’t with another woman.”

“I got the most interesting series of pictures texted to me today, Daniel. And it’s definitely you, because I’m intimately familiar with your shortcomings .”

“What the hell does—”

“Pictures. Of you. Screwing someone else.”

“I never...”

“Save it. What’s the point faking it? You don’t have a reputation big enough to try and save it. Like I said. I know every detail of you just a little too well for you to try to tell me it’s Photoshop.”

And then Wendy stormed right up to Daniel, pulled her rings off and dropped them in his glass of whiskey. “Keep them.”

“Baby,” Daniel said, reaching out and wrapping his hand around her arm, and that was when Boone lost it.

He was right between them before he even realized he’d moved. “Get your hands off her.”

“Boone?” Daniel asked, looking at him like he’d grown another head.

“I said,” said Boone, reaching out and putting his hand around his friend’s throat. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

“She’s my wife.”

“And you put one hand on her while you’re angry and I’ll make her your widow. Step back.”

“You should be defending me ,” Daniel said, as he moved away from Wendy. “You know I’d never—”

Boone growled. He couldn’t help it. And it shut Daniel up good.

Wendy looked high on adrenaline, her eyes overly bright. And Boone wanted to grab her and shield her from all of this. From the onlookers, from everything. From the truth of the fact that Daniel just wasn’t the man that he should have been for her.

Like you are?

No. But he hadn’t made vows to her. And if he had, he would never have...

“I can’t defend you if there’s nothing to defend,” he said.

Wendy looked around, and it was as if the reality of everything crashed over her. As if she suddenly realized what she’d done, and how publicly she’d done it.

Yeah, this was the kind of thing that got you on the news. And it was likely she’d only just realized that. And he wondered if she had driven all the way from California to Arizona riding high on anguish and anger.

He wondered if she’d even given it a second thought.

And now she was giving it a second thought. And third. And probably fourth.

But for what it was worth...

He moved near her, and she looked at him like she wished he would disappear. He didn’t take it personally. She kind of looked like she wanted the whole world to disappear.

“Whatever you do,” he said. “Don’t regret that . Because it was damned incredible.”

And he meant it.

“I don’t have anywhere to go now.” She looked numb.

“Sure you do,” he said. “You can always come to me.”