Adam
Prentiss arrives at Wolf Creek Ranch on a team-building exercise with the four
colleagues in his department. He is not the cowboy type, but has no choice as
his boss, and father, has sent him to Wolf Creek with instructions to delve
into the financial status of the ranch and report back to him. Falling for
Vance Wolf had not been part of the plan, but the connection between them had
been instant. But what was he more afraid of? Disobeying his
boss or Vance finding out Adam's father was in fact Andrew Blackwell and he'd
been sent to help him appropriate Vance's land by any means necessary?
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Vance surveyed the ranch
from on top of the hill overlooking the valley, his right leg crossed over the
pommel, the horn digging into his thigh. Leaning forward, he stroked along the
length of his horse's sweat-dampened neck, mumbling soothing nonsense as he
stared down at his home. He'd ridden Goliath hard across the south pasture in
an attempt to clear his head, and he knew the animal would be grateful for the
breather. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as Goliath dipped his head to nibble
at the grass, obviously taking full advantage of Vance's pensive mood. Could
the horse sense he wasn't exactly eager to return home? Vance wouldn't be
surprised.
Gazing down at the
ranch, the familiar flash of pride washed through him. Wolf Creek was a little
Texan town sixty miles from the hustle and bustle of Austin, where life moved
along at a sedate pace, a far cry from the big city. Benjamin Wolf, Vance's
great-great grandfather, had been one of the town's original founders in 1878
and there had always been a Wolf in residence at Wolf Creek Ranch. As far as
Vance was concerned, that's how it was going to stay.
Some of the cattle had
been spooked during last night’s storm and broken through one of the fences,
and Vance had spent most of the morning herding them off his neighbor's ranch.
Thankfully he’d known the Carters, who'd owned the land along the south side of
Wolf Creek since he was a kid, so he'd had help from Jake Carter's men to round
up the wanderers. Not that the same could be said for the ranch that stretched
away on the other side of the shallow creek bed that gave Vance's ranch its
name. Sweet Meadow Ranch had been owned by the Gartons for forty years until a
year ago when old man Garton had died. His son, Malcolm, had moved off the farm
as soon as he could and his father had barely been in the ground before he'd
sold the spread to some businessman no one had ever heard of out of New York.
Two weeks later Andrew Blackwell had moved in, bringing more money than Wolf
Creek had ever seen, charming his way into the good graces of the townsfolk,
and lining the pockets of the local council and sheriff's offices.
Hell, he'd even charmed
Vance's parents, Jacob and Audrey Wolf, for a while, too—but not him. Vance
remembered the night Blackwell had sat at their dinner table, eating his
momma's roast off his grandmother's china with the best silver. He'd seemed
nice enough; said all the right things, made all the right jokes, but Vance had
noted, with a sense of unease, that Blackwell's smile never reached his eyes.
Cold, dead eyes—like a shark's.
It had been during
dessert, his momma's apple cobbler if he remembered it right, that Blackwell
had expressed an interest in Wolf Creek. Vance's father had laughed it off and
they'd continued with the meal, but Vance hadn't missed the flicker of
annoyance Blackwell hadn't quite been able to disguise before the subject had
been changed. Throughout the rest of the evening Vance's first impression of
the man hadn't improved and, two weeks later, when they received the first
formal offer from Blackwell's solicitors, he'd known he'd been right to go with
his gut instinct.
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