Wyoming Rodeo Rescue

  Summer had wanted a three-week escape from her chaotic life. Now she was well and truly stuck. Or maybe she could still get out of this rodeo.

  She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I think we’re suffering from a major communication breakdown. The bottom line is that I cannot be separated from my horse. This is unacceptable. I was led to believe there would be adequate accommodations for us here.”

  “Well,” Levi returned in a flat tone. “There will be in about two weeks when you’re due to arrive.”

  Before she could open her mouth to let him know they’d be leaving but would not be returning in two weeks, her trainer Theo interjected, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” He asked Levi, “Can you recommend somewhere we could stay until you’ve sorted out your renovations? There must be a ranch nearby with an empty stall and room for a motor home, right?”

  Levi scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Let me think.”

  “Ours does,” Levi’s ten-year-old daughter chimed in. “We have room. You could stay at our place. We’ve got empty stalls and a full hookup for an RV.”

  Levi barely squelched a groan.

  Then his kind, precocious and unfortunately solicitous daughter reached out a hand and made everything even worse. “Welcome to Wyoming, Ms. Davies. My name is Isla Blackwell. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Now Levi knew for certain that he was in trouble.

  Dear Reader,

  Problems. Ugh. A not-so-fun part of life we all have in common. But I think how we choose to solve our problems is what sets us apart. And there are so many ways: Is it better to deal with a problem straightaway? Or set it aside, gain some perspective and settle it later? Then again, maybe just ignoring a problem altogether is the answer?

  Professional equestrian Summer Davies is running from her problems while former rodeo star Levi Blackwell is tackling his head-on. Of course, bringing these two together doubles their troubles to a comical degree, while adding a romance then compounds them exponentially. Piling on the complications are a cheating almost fiancé, an embarrassing proposal video, a town on the verge of destruction, a legacy at risk, ex-wife trouble and plenty of typical Blackwell family chaos to keep things interesting.

  And while I can’t say Wyoming Rodeo Rescue ultimately answers the question of which problem-solving method is best, I think the story illustrates how much easier it is to face our trials with someone we love. Hope you enjoy Summer and Levi’s engagingly problematic and fun-filled path to their happily-ever-after.

  Thanks so much for reading!

  Carol

  Wyoming Rodeo Rescue

  Carol Ross

  Carol Ross lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to. Carol can be contacted at carolrossauthor.com and via Facebook at Facebook.com/carolrossauthor.

  Books by Carol Ross

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Return of the Blackwell Brothers

  The Rancher’s Twins

  Seasons of Alaska

  Mountains Apart

  A Case for Forgiveness

  If Not for a Bee

  A Family Like Hannah’s

  Bachelor Remedy

  In the Doctor’s Arms

  Catching Mr. Right

  The Secret Santa Project

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Amy, Anna, Cari, Mel & Kathryn

  For this book, more than any other, your friendship, encouragement, support and especially the laughter carried me to the end.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE FIREFIGHTER’S CHRISTMAS PROMISE BY TANYA AGLER

  CHAPTER ONE

  “LYING SNAKE,” Summer Davies whispered, the chill of betrayal spreading through her and turning her blood to ice. “This cannot be happening...” With her fingers numb and trembling, she tapped the play arrow on her phone’s display as if watching the video again would somehow change the outcome.

  Later, much later, after the shock had subsided, Summer would marvel at how the entire calamity that followed could have been avoided if only she’d received the video at a different time. Seriously, at any other point during the day, things would have gone exponentially better. That morning, for example, before riding practice, when her back wasn’t screaming in pain, would have been ideal. But any time during would have been suitable because even though she wouldn’t have checked her phone until afterward, she would have had time to process, calm down, think and then devise a plan before she saw Braden. With a clearer head and her feet encased in sensible shoes, she wouldn’t have acted so rashly. Or, at least, not quite so...publicly.

  Instead, she received the video via text message while standing in the foyer of Chauncey’s, one of Louisville’s chicest restaurants, waiting for the hostess to show her to the table where Braden was already seated. She’d been contemplating setting off to find him on her own, but part of Chauncey’s charm was the historic venue, a grand mansion chock-full of nooks and crannies and halls and stairs and balconies. He could be anywhere, and she was in no condition for a hike. Then again, she wasn’t thrilled about an evening out at all.

  What she really wanted was to get off her feet, kick back with her tiny, perfectly imperfect terrier turned rescue dog, Nugget, and stream a few episodes of Baking Bad, her new favorite cooking show. But because Braden was already prickly about her bailing on their last two dates, she’d forged ahead. She’d only worn the three-inch heels because Braden had requested she show up tonight “to the nines,” his not-so-subtle way of reminding Summer to swap her riding gear for a dress. Since the shoes had been a gift he’d brought her from a recent trip to Milan—that she’d yet to wear—she knew the gesture would make him happy. She was sincerely regretting the impulsive attempt at relationship compromise.

  It was slightly annoying how Braden felt the need to make such a wardrobe request at all. Sure, she might frequent the occasional social outing straight from practice. Mostly gatherings with fellow equestrians, though, and rarely anything important where she’d be “seen.” Braden, on the other hand, would never take the chance of being caught anywhere looking anything less than perfect. Then again, Braden liked being seen. Made a point of it, which, she had to admit, was a bonus when it came to landing—and keeping—the big-dollar sponsors.

  That, along with his model-worthy looks, dashing charm and edge-of-reckless riding style, made him one of the most popular personalities in the world of professional equestrian sports. Everyone loved Braden Keene.

  Summer, on the other hand, not so much. As her coach and friend Theo kindly put it, she didn’t have the patience for publicity or a natural flair for networking. She was embarrassingly unphotogenic; her focus, nerves and intensity translated through the lens as grumpy, snobby—or worse. Fortunately, her innate talent, hard work and devotion to her horse, Sacha, resulted in a consistently high ranking. She had to work at the rest. Thankfully, her biggest sponsors like Juniper Saddle & Leather, Bundy Jump Co. and Matilda Specialty Motorcoach were all very specific to her sport, where her performance mattered more than her persona.

  This was why she and Braden were so good together. Being seen with Braden boosted Summer’s social cachet. While for Braden, being paired with Summer elevated the professional regard he received. They were a match made in Louisville, as her father, Roland Davies, liked to say. A concept that advertisers had noticed, too, and one that would secure her a comfortable existence for the next year while they publicly played out their engagement and subsequent wedding plans. A massive ad campaign was being designed around it. Just the notion of living so blatantly in the spotlight caused her chest to constrict to a lung-crushing degree, although Braden, Roland and her agent, Ingrid, kept reassuring her it would all be fine.

  They weren’t even engaged yet, and speculation was already raging about their relationship. When was the wedding? Where would it be held? How big was the ring? What will the merging of two such powerful equine families do to the sport? Can you imagine what their stables are going to look like? Won’t their kids be cute?

  Summer didn’t want to think about any of that right now, or for the next several weeks, for that matter. They’d agreed to put all wedding talk on hold until after the Meadows Cup next month. That’s when they were scheduled to “officially” announce their engagement and begin the photo shoots, appearances and filming. Even now, not thinking about it had her thinking, which sent her head spinning—a perfect example of why she needed to stay f
ocused. This would be the most important competition of her life to date.

  As teammates, Braden Keene and Summer Davies were predicted to place high. But Summer’s secret hope lay with the individual eventing title. A championship at Meadows would cement her standing in the international circuit. More prize money coupled with higher-dollar endorsements of her own were the key to her financial independence, something she absolutely needed to achieve. Not only for her sake, but for her father’s, too. That’s what she was thinking about when her phone chimed.

  Expecting a text from an impatient Braden, she was surprised to see a number she didn’t recognize. The message read:

  You deserve to know the truth. He’s not who you think he is.

  Tension shot through her, her mind going straight to her father, to the issues he’d been having—another massive source of stress that had lately been taking a toll. Squinting at the blurry, frozen image of a man and woman on the screen, Summer quickly realized the man’s hair wasn’t nearly dark enough to be her dad’s. His was darker blond, thick and wavy, too. Like Braden’s.

  Wait, was it Braden? One thing she was certain of: the woman was not her.

  Curious now, she stepped outside to a discreet smoking patio shared by the lounge. No one was there, so she leaned against the wall and hit the play button.

  Now she realized the man was indeed Braden. Shirtless and in the arms of a strange woman. No, that wasn’t accurate. He was the aggressor, for lack of a better term. The woman was in his arms. Not that she wasn’t amenable because her hands were all over him, too, threading through his hair, gripping his neck and finally settling around his shoulders until... They were equally in each other’s arms. Both...armed? She nearly chuckled, but the feeling passed quickly because soon they were both shirtless, too, which wasn’t at all funny. And then they were kissing and...

  More. So much more. More than enough to get the idea of where things were headed. Finally, the video ended with a merciful, albeit predictable, cliff-hanger.

  A knifelike spasm clenched her lower back, stealing her breath with its depth and intensity. Bending at the waist, she placed her hands on her knees and inhaled deeply until the worst of it passed. She straightened, steadying herself with one hand by gripping a concrete ashtray-planter-thing. And then, inexplicably, she watched the video again.

  This time, she examined the footage more carefully, watching for signs that it was fake or that the man wasn’t truly Braden. The brief flash of his tattooed shoulder confirmed the worst as he’d gotten the tattoo shortly after they’d started dating. When it ended, she continued to stare numbly at the screen, struggling to land on an emotion—humiliation, disappointment, anger, despair...

  Seconds passed until another text from the same number appeared:

  I’m sorry. But I thought you should know before.

  Summer glanced around, suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed. Was she being watched? What did the before refer to? Before what? This evening’s date? The Meadows Cup? Just the thought of receiving this video on the eve of a competition vaulted anger straight to the top of her tumbling heap of emotions.

  A text from Braden followed a few seconds later:

  Hey, beautiful. Where are you? I thought you’d already arrived. Are you OK? I miss you. I ordered that cheesy crab appetizer you like. But you have to promise not to eat it all because I want you looking extra hot for next weekend’s party. ;)

  “Ha, ha, ha,” she cackled. “He misses me? Somehow, I do not believe that is true.” Not that it was at all funny. Nope, and the near-evil edge in her tone probably should have served as a warning that she needed to take some time to process what she’d seen. But it didn’t. Not even a little bit.

  Stepping back inside the foyer, she was immediately accosted by the hostess.

  “Oh, Ms. Davies, there you are! Thank goodness! Mr. Keene was getting concerned, and that had me worried. My name is Gwen. I’ll show you to your table. Right this way.” Without waiting for a response, the woman took off at a hurried clip.

  Easy for her to do in her practical, comfortable ballet flats, Summer acknowledged as she followed, her own condition requiring a more measured pace and a dedicated effort not to limp.

  “New shoes,” Summer explained when she caught up to Galloping Gwen, who’d stopped to wait for her at the first intersection.

  “I understand! Isn’t that the worst?” she gushed, her face a mask of sympathy as she eyed the sparkly heels. “They are gorgeous, though.”

  Gwen slowed her pace but kept tossing worried glances over her shoulder. Glances, Summer knew, that had everything to do with not disappointing Braden Keene and very little to do with Summer’s well-being. They trekked through the large dining area, down a long hall, up a set of stairs and onto a landing where they hung a left into the Emory Ballroom.

  Summer couldn’t help but pause because the space was magnificent. Most of the entire wall opened on to a vast expanse of balcony with small tables skillfully arranged to provide privacy. Twinkle lights and the glow from tabletop candles evoked romance, as did the subtle strains of orchestral music emanating from well-placed speakers. Summer knew these were the best tables in the house, reserved weeks in advance.

  Gwen herded her to the far corner on the balcony’s edge, which delivered a stunning view of the lake below. And yet, even with all of these clues, Summer still did not anticipate what was coming, distracted as she was by the cheating video looping through her brain.

  Then suddenly, there he was, the star of the show. Braden. Picture-perfect in a black suit with an ice-blue tie that complemented the shade of his eyes. His dark blond hair was stylishly gel-ruffled, and when he caught sight of Summer, his face lit with an electric smile.

  That smile. An alluring mix of sincerity, mischief and mystery, it consistently earned him admirers of every variety. The moneymaker, his agent dubbed it because it not only landed him sponsorships but also lucrative ads and magazine covers. Summer preferred the term rakish, often teasing him about both its appeal and its dark power.

  Always courteous, the consummate gentleman, he stood as she approached the table.

  “Summer.” Her name whooshed out with an eager, relieved breath. “There you are.” Glancing at the hostess, he cooed, “Thanks so much, Gwen. You’re an angel.” She departed with a blush and a brilliant smile.

  “You look spectacular,” he said to Summer, dipping his head to brush a kiss to her cheek. Drawing back an inch, he added a whispered, “Thank you for dressing up for me. You won’t regret it. And the shoes, too. I’m... Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Summer replied flatly and took a step back. “Huge mistake all the way around.”

  “What?” A furrow appeared between his eyebrows but was quickly squelched when he grinned. “I know you don’t like heels, but trust me, your legs look fabulous. You can thank me later.”

  “Doubtful. Can I please sit now? We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do need to talk,” he responded eagerly. “But, um... Hold on one more second, okay? Stay there.” He glanced over her shoulder, and if the circumstances hadn’t been what they were, she would have seen that for the signal that it was, too. So many missed hints and overlooked clues.

  “Braden, I—”

  “Summer,” he interrupted softly, the magic of his smile now aimed at her. “I love you. I think you’re the most incredible, talented, dedicated woman I’ve ever known...”

  He went on, but Summer quit listening. It was too late. She’d missed her chance at avoiding an altercation because as he stood before her, expression radiating affection and tenderness, he looked so perfect. He looked like a man in love. When she knew it was all a lie. He was a lie.

  A lying snake. Why did he think she needed to hear his lies, too? The video said it all.

  It was all too much. Really, it would be too much for anyone to take, right? Okay, maybe not anyone, but Summer had certainly reached her breaking point.

  “Braden—”

  He dropped to one knee. “Summer Francesca Davies.”

  Oh. No. He. Is. Not.

  One arm swept forward, hand cradling a small blue velvet box.