Her Rebel Cowboy: Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance

  Her Rebel Cowboy

  Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance

  Stephanie Rowe

  SBD Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Never Says No

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Loves Forever

  Sneak Peek: Irresistibly Mine

  Sneak Peek: Hunt the Darkness

  Books By Stephanie Rowe

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Her Rebel Cowboy (Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance).

  Copyright © 2017 by Stephanie Rowe.

  ISBN 10: 1-940968-52-6

  ISBN 13: 978-1-940968-52-0

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews.

  Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist. There are excerpts from other books by the author in the back of the book.

  Chapter 1

  At any moment, Wyatt Parker was going to find out what happened three hours ago. He wasn’t going to lie. He was scared shitless to get that call—

  The bull he was riding jumped to the left, jerking Wyatt off balance. He lost his grip and was ripped over the bull’s right shoulder. Swearing, he ducked his head a split second before he hit the ground, face planting into the dirt.

  The shock of the crash on his not-quite-healed body kept him motionless for a moment while he waited for the impact to stop reverberating through him. As he lay there, spitting dirt, he realized that he’d missed even the taste of dirt during his two-month suspension.

  After endlessly waking up in the middle of the night, sweating his ass off from another nightmare that he was never going to get on another bull again…he was suddenly days away from competition again…or from being banned for life, like his old man.

  Banned for life. The words made an icy chill grip his spine. Banned for life from the only thing that made his heart beat. Sweat broke out on his brow, but it wasn’t from the pain of his crash. It was from the raw terror of having bull riding taken away from him.

  He wasn’t a praying man, but hell, he’d even thrown up a couple requests to that big, blue western Oregon sky to make sure he covered all his bases. The World Rodeo Championships rules committee was reviewing his appeal today. He knew he was innocent, but he also knew that didn’t always matter. According to what he’d heard, the decision had been scheduled to come down three hours ago. His fate was already sealed. All that was left was for someone to tell him what had happened.

  Unless the majority of that committee believed his innocence, everything that mattered to him was going to be stripped away from him because of one eight-second ride two months ago.

  Eight damn seconds.

  “Get up, Wyatt! Hell, man, get up!”

  Awareness came roaring back to him, and Wyatt vaulted to his feet just as the bull who’d dumped him lowered his head to impale him. Wyatt lunged to the right, and the horn clipped his right hip, knocking him off his feet. The bull’s feet pounded down next to his head, and Wyatt rolled to the side as hooves thudded past him. He scrambled up and sprinted for the fence, hauling himself over the rails as the bull thundered by.

  Grinning, Wyatt leaned on the rails, sweat beading down his brow. “Hell, I missed this.”

  “You’re not ready.” Brody Hart, who’d been his friend since they were kids, slammed the gate behind the bull, glaring at Wyatt as if it was his damn fault that the bull had almost crushed him. Which it was. He’d had no business taking his time getting up, and they both knew it.

  Brody didn’t ride the bulls, claiming that bull riding was for assholes who wanted fame, money, and chicks. He stuck with the horses, and the proof of his success was the expansive neighboring ranch he owned with his seven brothers and two sisters, none of whom were related by blood or even paperwork, but were the most loyal family he’d ever known in his life.

  Wyatt had always thought he’d had a messed-up childhood…until he’d met Brody and the rest of the Harts, when they were all teenagers. Back then, the Hart clan had been nothing more than a desperate, scared bunch of runaways living under a bridge in downtown Portland, Oregon, hiding from authorities who wanted to drag them back into the assorted hells that they’d escaped from. The group of runaways had taken the same last name in an attempt to make it more difficult for anyone to pry them apart. They’d trusted no one but themselves…and Wyatt, eventually. Wyatt wasn’t a Hart, but the time he’d spent living under that bridge with them, fighting for food and survival, had created a bond that would last forever.

  And now Brody was giving him that same look he’d given Wyatt the day he’d said he wanted to ride bulls in the first place, the look that said he was such a stupid ass that it wasn’t even worth talking to him.

  Man, he loved Brody.

  Wyatt grinned. “Shut the hell up, bro.” Shaking out the aches from hitting the dirt, Wyatt straightened up, and finished climbing the rails. “I’m fine.”

  “That bull has been retired for three years,” Brody said, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Even I could ride that senior citizen with no hands and blindfolded, but he dumped you on your ass. How’s that fine, exactly? Because I’m a little unclear on that logic.”

  “Just lost my grip on the rope.” Wyatt pulled off his helmet. “You know I step up in competition. I’m just feeling my seat.”

  Brody stared at him. “You were paralyzed less than two months ago. There’s no way you should be on a bull already.”

  Wyatt tensed. “I was paralyzed for only a few hours. I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t have your rhythm. I can tell your neck still hurts, and you can’t breathe half the time from those damn broken ribs that aren’t completely healed. And how’s that head? Bet you’re seeing stars after that hit you just took.”

  “My head’s fine.” Yeah, he’d gotten a slight concussion during his last ride a couple months ago, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He would have been back on the circuit the next weekend if he hadn’t been suspended. Suspended. Damn.

  Brody narrowed his eyes, seeing more than Wyatt was telling him, as he always did. Growing up on the streets, you either got fucked over, or you learned to be the smartest, most observant badass that ever lived. Brody was the latter, and although it had protected the others that had come to him for aid, it was also annoying as hell at times.

  “You’re riding like shit.” Brody clearly decided stating the blatantly obvious was worth his time. It wasn’t. “If it’s not your head, what’s going on?”

  “Just rusty.” Wyatt had started riding a couple days ago when he’d gotten the news that his appeal was going to be heard this week, determined to be ready if he were reinstated.
He’d been pumped to get back on, but it had been ugly. He wasn’t going to admit it, but Brody was right. He had no feel for the bull at all. It was like he was no longer connected to the animals that had been a part of his life since he was a teenager. He couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong, and he was running out of time to get his shit together. Three days, to be exact…assuming the committee ruled in his favor.

  Which they had to. He was innocent, and they’d see it.

  Except he knew damn well that they might not. Innocent people didn’t always get cleared, especially when they were the son of the most notorious bull rider who had ever tarnished the sport.

  Brody studied him intensely. “The docs say you could die if you get hit like that again.”

  Yeah, he knew that, and it didn’t matter. “Every bull rider could die any time they go out there. It’s better to die doing what you love, than spend a life hiding in a cave.”

  Brody whistled softly. “Hang it up, man. You’ve had the career. It’s not worth it.”

  Shit. It was so much more complicated than that. “Yeah? You think I should retire? And then what? What the hell else would I do if I walked away?”

  “Take Bunny up on her offer to buy this ranch. Turn it into what it’s supposed to be.” Brody grinned. “Ranch life is good, bro. You’d like it. This place has potential, and if her nephew buys the place, he’s going to turn it into some glitzy resort for Hollywood celebs who want to get away from LA. All this will be lost.”

  Wyatt instinctively glanced at the white ranch house at the top of the hill, the one owned by Bunny Hickerson. He’d known Bunny almost his entire life, and he lived in her bunk house in exchange for running the place since her husband had died a few years back. She was the one who’d given him the chance that had gotten him off the streets, and he’d taken care of her ever since.

  But things were changing. Now that her husband was gone, Bunny was ready to retire to Cape Cod, a place she’d always loved. She was putting Sleeping Bull Ranch on the market at the end of the month…which both pissed him off and relieved him.

  Once she sold the ranch, Wyatt would no longer be tethered to it. He’d be free to go wherever he wanted and ride bulls until it killed him…which was good. But at the same time, the Hickerson ranch called to him. It felt like the home he’d never had. Shuffled around from relative to relative while his dad was on the WRC tour or in jail, Wyatt had never lived more than a few months in one place as a kid, except the year he’d spent with the Harts. Bunny’s place was the first place he’d lived for any length of time, and it had been his anchor ever since.

  He liked coming back here after a competition. He liked making sure things ran smoothly. He took pride in the bulls they bred, in seeing Hickerson bulls on the circuit and knowing he had a hand in it. Yeah, it was a small operation, but the baseline was solid. But to own it? To get up in the same place, from the same bed, every damn day for the rest of his life? To be responsible for the ranch? No chance. He knew it wasn’t his thing. Never would be. He simply wasn’t cut out for it. “I don’t want it.”

  Brody sighed. “You want Nathan to get it? Turn it into a resort?”

  Wyatt grimaced at the mention of Bunny’s relentless nephew. “She won’t sell it to him.”

  “He’ll find a way to get it, if for no other reason than to make sure you don’t get it. He hates that you’re the one she likes.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I’m not going to buy the ranch just to block him. Bunny will handle him. She’s smart. I’m going back on the tour.”

  Brody shook his head. “Don’t be an ass. Take a lesson from your dad and know when to stop.”

  Wyatt tensed at Brody’s comment, at the reminder of the legacy that haunted him, the one he’d been trying to outrun for twenty years. The one that had come back to bite him in the ass two months ago. His dad, who had cheated, refused to accept his lifetime ban, and then drank himself to death in misery. “Screw that. No way. I’m getting back on the tour.”

  He couldn’t walk away now. He’d fought against his dad’s reputation his whole life, and he’d nearly gotten people to forget about it…until two months ago. His bull in the finals had been an absolute beast, giving Wyatt the highest score in history, and a wreck that had nearly broken his body for good. That ride had made him a legend…until it had been discovered that his bull had been drugged into a rage that had resulted in that high score.

  The blame had instantly landed on Wyatt’s shoulders, as a cheat, just like his old man, and the suspension had come down the next day, while he’d been lying in the hospital.

  And now, he needed to prove that he wasn’t a cheater, and the only way to do that was to win clean. “I’m going back on the tour, Brody. Drop it. Let’s bring another bull in.” He swung his leg over the fence and dropped down to the parched earth that was so starved for rain. He glanced at the dark clouds rolling in the distance, calculating how much time they had before the bad weather took over. “I want to get a couple more rides in before the storm hits.”

  “No.”

  Wyatt glanced at his friend as he reached the gate. “No, what?”

  “No.” Brody walked over. “No, I’m not going to help you ride. I’ve been your friend for too long, Wyatt. I’ve been watching you ride for two days now, and you’re out of sync. You’re still hurting from your crash, and your game is off. You don’t have it right, and you’re gonna get hurt. Bad hurt. Just to prove to a bunch of assholes that you’re not a cheat? Well, screw them. It’s not worth your life. I can’t stop you from riding, but I’ll be damned if I’ll help you write your own death ticket.” He looked at Wyatt. “Brothers tell each other when they’re being stupid, so I’m telling you now. You’re being stupid.”

  Wyatt’s chest tightened at the brother reference, as it always did. He wasn’t a Hart, but he loved that clan as his own family. But that didn’t mean they didn’t piss him off sometimes. “Brody, I can’t practice without you–”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not helping. See ya, bro.” Brody turned to walk toward his truck, then paused, looking toward the left, toward the ranch house.

  At the same moment, Wyatt heard the crunch of boots, and he glanced in the same direction Brody was looking. A tall, lean cowboy in a black cowboy hat and jeans was striding down toward the ring from the main house. He recognized him immediately as Jesse Knight, one of the Knight brothers. Jesse’s grandfather had founded the World Rodeo Championships circuit, and he and a couple of his brothers owned a detective agency that often assisted the circuit.

  Wyatt tensed at the sight of Jesse approaching. Why was he there? Was this about his suspension? There was only one reason he could think of for one of the Knight brothers to be coming here, and that was if there was something out of the ordinary with the ruling on his suspension.

  Shit. Wyatt had been so certain he’d be cleared. The presence of Jesse Knight meant he was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  And he was about to find out why.

  Chapter 2

  Swearing, Wyatt headed toward the fence, meeting Jesse as he walked up. “Jesse.”

  “Wyatt.” The two men shook hands.

  Wyatt stepped back restlessly, not in the mood for meaningless platitudes. “What’s up?” He didn’t bother with preambles. Only one thing mattered, and that was getting back in the ring. “You’re here about the suspension? My appeal didn’t go through?”

  Jesse tipped his hat back. “Someone juiced that bull you rode.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I know. It wasn’t me.” He was aware of Brody walking up to stand beside him, covering his back. Always loyal, even when he was irritated with him. Wyatt fucking loved the Harts. They’d taught him about loyalty when he hadn’t even had the first clue what it meant. He’d go through hell and back for every single one of them.

  Jesse studied him. “The chemical in the bull’s system wasn’t designed to give you a ride tough enough to give you a high score. It was meant to get you killed.”


  Wyatt blinked, startled by the announcement. “What? Kill me? What are you talking about?”

  “My brother’s a vet. He researched the drug. The only possible use of that drug in the quantities found in that bull’s body was to make it uncontrollable, and insanely aggressive. To make its mind snap. It wasn’t a fluke he went after you when you were down. If it hadn’t been for the clowns, you’d be dead.” Jesse cocked an eyebrow. “We also found someone had doctored the coffee of both the clowns working your ride. Neither of them had had time to drink it, but if they had, they both would have been half-asleep and too slow to help you when the bull went after you. It was a setup, Wyatt. An assassination.”

  Sudden tension gripped Wyatt’s shoulders. He could tell from Jesse’s face that he was dead serious. “What the hell?”

  Beside him, Brody shifted, and Wyatt could feel the tension rolling off him. “Someone tried to murder Wyatt? You think Wyatt was the specific target, or did he just happen to be in the wrong place?”

  Jesse glanced at him, his face solemn. “The bull was drugged after Wyatt was announced as his rider. Wyatt was the target.”

  Shit. “That makes no sense. Who the hell would want to kill me?” And why? But even as he asked, a name popped into his head. He swore. Shit. No. It was impossible.

  He glanced at Brody, who looked as stunned as Wyatt felt. Murder? What the hell?

  Jesse shrugged. “I don’t know who did it, but that’s why I’m here. You got any ideas?”

  “No–”

  “Yes, you do.” Brody interrupted. “You’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

  “Who?” Jesse asked.

  Wyatt looked at Brody. “She would never try to kill me–”

  “Who?” Jesse repeated the question.

  Wyatt looked at Brody for a long moment, then Brody turned to Jesse. “Octavia Kincaid. Wyatt’s former fiancée.”