by AC Arthur
For Always
A Donovans Friends Novel
AC Arthur
An Artistry Publishing Book
FOR ALWAYS, First Edition: 2018
Copyright © 2018 by A.C. Arthur
All rights reserved.
Cover Art Design © 2018 by Croco Designs
All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and incidents (in either a contemporary and/or historical setting) are products of the author’s imagination and are being used in an imaginative manner as a part of this work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, settings or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.acarthur.net
Contents
For Always
Foreword
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Will the Ice Queen turn into Bridezilla?
The Donovan Family Tree
The Donovan Series
Also by AC Arthur
About the Author
For Always
A Donovans Friends Novel
Opposites attract…for better and for worse.
Fitness guru, Tyler West’s life comes crashing to a halt with the news of his parents’ death. Now, he’ll be reunited with his brother on his family’s land as they debate the fate of the ranch. And when the charming interior designer arrives to update the home before sale, the former stress of returning to his hometown takes a back seat to the passion he finds in her arms.
Gabriella Bennett’s first career assignment has her nervous and excited. As the youngest of the prestigious Bennett family she’s determined to succeed in spite of her family’s doubts. But the moment the sexy cowboy hat-wearing owner kisses her, she knows that all is lost.
Desire sparks quickly and burns fiercely between them, so much so, that neither of them notice the threat to their lives…until it’s too late.
Dear Reader,
It has taken me a while to get to Gabriella Bennett’s story because I needed to find just the right time and place for her. As the youngest of the Bennett family, Gabriella has been through a lot beginning with her family’s fight against jealous and vindictive people determined to bring them down (GUARDING HIS BODY) and leading up to when Adriana’s relationship with Parker Donovan put her in the midst of yet another dangerous family situation (EMBRACED BY A DONOVAN).
Gabriella first began showing that she was ready to find love in her brother Rico’s story (ALWAYS IN MY HEART). It was then that I started to feel like their might be someone out there for her. Tyler West living on a ranch in Hobbs Creek, Texas was the farthest thing from Gabriella’s imagination. But once I had a clear picture of who Tyler was and where his story was going, I knew he was the one for Gabriella.
I truly hope you enjoy this next step into the Donovan Friends world. There is so much more to come!
Happy Reading,
AC
Chapter 1
She dreamed of him. His arms held her close in a circle of warmth and comfort. His breath whispered over her neck as he dropped a kiss there and then moved slightly so that the next kiss brushed along the line of her jaw. She closed her eyes and let her head loll back, enjoying the streaks of desire shooting through her at his touch.
He pulled away, with a quick jerk as if she’d slapped him. She stumbled back in an attempt to keep herself from falling, but it didn’t work. Her feet caught on something and she felt her body going down. Slamming onto the floor hurt worse than she imagined it would. Sharp, shooting pains ricocheted from her lower back to her abdomen. She cried out, but even that sounded more distressing than it should. But it was when she held her hands up to him that she received the shock of her life.
He didn’t take her hands. He didn’t do anything to help her up. And she couldn’t get up on her own. The lower half of her body was still while she dropped her arms, flattening her palms on the floor, in an attempt to push herself up. Her legs did not move and her hands slipped on something warm. When she looked down, a strangled cry caught in her throat and she blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. It was futile, the tears came anyway. In steady streams down her cheeks as she realized her hands were in a puddle of blood.
With a jerk of her neck she looked up at him once more. This time she opened her mouth to speak, to call his name, curse him for not helping her, something. Anything. Nothing. There was no sound. And he was gone.
Gabriella awoke with a start, sitting up in her bed, her eyes scanned the dark room for a sign. Of what, she didn’t know. Or she did know, but didn’t want to acknowledge her digression.
It was over between her and Austin. It had been for a while now. With a hand touching her chest where her heart still pounded, Gabriella closed her eyes and sighed. She was happy about the break-up and proud of herself for walking away and never looking back.
Even if the dreams continued to haunt her.
* * *
Two Days Later
Hobbs Creek, Texas
Westwind Ranch & Resort
Tyler grit his teeth and held back a curse. He was not in the mood for another one today. Or this month. Why couldn’t they accept that he hadn’t made up his mind yet and when he did, he would call them? This was beyond unprofessional.
And she was woefully overdressed. Westwind was a horse ranch and resort. If she wanted to book a room, she was in the wrong place. The resort was down the winding path, closer to the road. It was a little after one so Dessie would probably be at the front desk right now. She would gladly book this woman—with the white painted toenails—a room. Or a weekend package, Tyler thought wryly. Her pedicure and the sky-high Manalo heels she wore looked expensive.
“Excuse me?”
And she speaks, Tyler thought with another sigh.
He made one last scrape against Golden Glory’s hoof, holding the pick tightly in his right hand and her foot in the other. He was bent over in the stall with his back facing the entrance, that’s how he’d glimpsed the woman’s shoes before she spoke. He wasn’t in a hurry to change his position or answer her.
“I’m looking for Tyler West,” she continued.
Persistent.
GG whined and Tyler frowned up at the horse. Traitor. He didn’t want to answer the woman and he didn’t care if he was being rude. He was grieving and trying to take care of ranch business. He did not have time for another real estate agent poking their nosy little head into his business. When he decided whether or not he wanted to sell his father’s ranch, he would contact an agent to do so. It was that simple.
When Tyler noted he’d been raised better, he eased GG’s foot down and turned slowly toward the voice. Damn. This might not be as simple as he thought.
“I’m Tyler West.”
Her smile was slow and as potent as three fingers of whiskey straight.
“I’m Gabriella Bennett. I’m the designer from The Proctor Group. Dessie Gwynne said I should come out to talk to you to
day. Is now a good time?”
“Dessie’s down at the resort,” he replied. “If you get back into your car and make a left instead of a right at the end of the driveway, you’ll run right into the back parking lot.”
She was tall, somewhere around five feet eleven inches in those heels. He was six feet four and a half inches, his height being a big part of the reason that fashion scout had approached him twenty years ago. The slim fingers of one hand clutched the straps of a Noe Saint Laurent tote, while the other rested confidently at her side.
“I’ve already met with Dessie and her husband Clyde, who I believe is the West family attorney.” She stopped and lifted her free hand to tuck dark hair behind her ear.
Tyler followed each movement and took in each detail and then frowned because he couldn’t figure out why.
“I was told to speak to you about a tour of the ranch house and how best to stage the place before the listing goes public.”
“I haven’t decided whether or not I’m selling the ranch,” he snapped and turned back to his horse.
The horse he’d inherited three weeks ago when his parents were found dead in a burning truck. His fingers tightened on the pick as he struggled for composure.
“He’s a beautiful Appaloosa. Do you get the chance to ride him often or is he part of the shows that take place at the resort?”
In response to her question Tyler looked back at GG’s chestnut blanket coat. It wasn’t strange that he knew what type of horse GG was without a second thought because he’d grown up on a ranch. As for the woman with the perfectly manicured nails and silky hair, well, she didn’t look like the type to get dirty riding horses, let alone hanging out in stalls long enough to learn the names of the breed.
“They have quarter horses down at the resort. Nevil Snyder is the new head wrangler, he handles all the horses and other animals for the show. This is Golden Glory. He was my dad’s horse.”
“Oh.”
The one quick reply wiped the smile from her face and simultaneously increased Tyler’s irritation.
“Look, I’m kind of busy right now.”
She nodded. “That’s fine. Is there a better time for me to come back? Dessie and Clyde stated that they’d like to have the ranch on the market in the next month. Considering I’ll be working on the staging of the main house, employee residences and the resort, I’ll need to get started pretty quickly.”
“What?”
She’d just said a lot, most of which he hadn’t deciphered because he’d been stuck on the part where the ranch would go on the market for sale in the next month. That decision was his, and well, Jagger’s. But who knew when, or if, his younger brother would decide to make an appearance. He hadn’t been able to pull himself away from his “important business deal” three weeks ago when Tyler called to let him know about their parents’ death. So Tyler had returned to Hobbs Creek to handle everything himself, just as he used to do when they were kids.
“No,” he said when she looked like she was about to speak again. “I can’t do this right now. Come back later.”
“If you’d like to give me a specific time so I’ll be sure to not interrupt you again,” she said.
“Right,” he replied with a curt nod. “Tomorrow. In the evening, around six I guess.”
“That will work. In the meantime, I can draft some ideas for the resort and visit the employee residences. So when we meet, all I’ll need to do is tour the ranch house. Then we can schedule another time to go over my thoughts and hopefully get started.”
Again, she was saying a lot and Tyler just did not want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear anything but the sounds of the ranch, the periodic whine of horses, the bleat of Spanish goats, squeal and grunts of the pigs. The Longhorn cattle would be out to pasture, releasing an occasional bellow or snort. And at night, after dinner when he sat on the porch, staring up to the starry sky the memories came. The ones he loved and would forever miss and the ones that still brought fresh pain.
“Fine. Tomorrow at six. We’ll have some dinner and sit on the porch to talk about your plans,” he said and waited for her to walk away.
She didn’t and he wanted to frown or possibly yell. He did neither. Instead, Tyler did what he always did instead of asking the next question or waiting for uncomfortable conversations to run their course. He returned to the work at hand as if he’d never been interrupted.
At some point he suspected she’d left because by the time he finished all four of GG’s hooves, had brushed him down and offered the gelding his favorite treat—apple slices—she was gone.
That was a relief. Tyler didn’t want to be bothered with people right now. Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to be bothered with anyone or anything since hearing of his parents’ deaths.
Their bodies were found three weeks ago, each with an execution style gunshot to the back of their head, seated inside their F-350 while it burned to a crisp. A family on their way to the resort to check-in had stopped at the sight. They immediately called 911 and just four hours later, Sheriff Fred Alvarez called Tyler. It had been almost three o’clock in the afternoon for Tyler in Los Angeles that day, and he’d just finished a meeting with the marketing team for his new sportswear line. He didn’t know how long he’d stood in the hallway of the office building trying to digest the news. But Bez, one of the guards Tyler’s agent insisted he needed, had eventually led him to the SUV parked at the back of the building. A while later Tyler arrived at his apartment. He’d been texting his assistant Mellie, during the drive, so by the time he made it home, all he’d had to do was pack a bag and then he was back in the truck heading to the airport.
That’s when he called Jagger.
“It’s Mom and Dad,” Tyler had said, his voice gruff with all the emotion he was trying to contain. “There’s been an accident. The truck was on fire and they’re…dead.”
He hadn’t known any other way to put it. George and Verna West, life-long residents of Hobbs Creek, Texas; owners of the Westwind Ranch & Resort; and, parents to Tyler and Jagger West departed this world on June 12th. That’s how it read in the Hobbs Gazette and the obituary that had been distributed to the more than two hundred people who attended the funeral one week later. Jagger hadn’t said much on the phone when Tyler called, just that he was in Paris about to close a big deal and would be unable to return to help Tyler with the funeral plans, or anything else.
Though this had been no surprise, Tyler was still disappointed and angry with his younger brother. For as long as he could remember, Jagger had left everything to Tyler. From the time Tyler was five years old he’d had chores on the ranch. They’d started with simple things like assisting the ranch hands with feeding the pigs and goats. By the time he was eight he’d been bumped up to feeding the chickens by himself and cleaning the horse stalls. Jagger was six by that time and was supposed to assist Tyler. But the first time George pulled one of his surprise check-ups and yelled at his youngest son for not closing the door to the chicken coop, set the stage for Jagger’s life on the ranch. Nothing the younger West son did was right in George’s eyes, which for Jagger meant, he never had to do anything. Tyler, who watched the ranch hands like a hawk because he didn’t want to incur his father’s wrath, did everything to George’s satisfaction. So Tyler was the worker while Jagger became the playful West brother. The prankster and the star of the football team, Jagger was voted most likely to succeed in his graduating class. His brother went on to do just that after obtaining an MBA in marketing and landing a job at one of New York’s most prestigious PR firms.
Tyler had achieved success as well, although if anyone from L.A. saw him walking out of the stable three hours after he’d gone in, they might not recognize him. His jeans were dusty in some places, caked with mud in others. The white t-shirt he wore looked more gray at this point, while the boots he’d just purchased a couple days after arriving in Texas, were now scuffed and splattered with a variety of animal fluids, dirt, mud and grass. He slapped the worn
Dodgers cap he kept stuffed in his back pocket, down over his head as the late afternoon sun blazed as high and hot as it had early this morning.
This Tyler West was a far cry from the easy-smiling, charismatic model turned fitness guru that lived in a three bedroom townhouse in Chatsworth, California and had earned millions of dollars over the last twenty years. That Tyler wasn’t a rancher by any stretch of the imagination, because he’d left everything about his childhood in Hobbs Creek the day after his eighteenth birthday when he’d packed a bag and flew to New York at the urging of Lorinna Holt, an agent at the KMC Modeling Agency that he’d met one day at the local mall.
Tyler hadn’t fallen in love with modeling the way Lorrina had promised all those years ago, but he had enjoyed the money that he made doing the job. To stay in shape he’d spent a lot of time at the gym. Not ready to go back to Texas, his overbearing father and the ranch, he’d used the proceeds from modeling and everything he’d learned at the gym to fund his own workout video. That was when he was twenty-five years old. Now, thirteen years later, Ty-Fitness Inc. was a nationally recognized brand producing workout videos, meal plans and exercise apps, and in a few weeks a full brand of fitness wear for men, women and children.
Tyler was now a brand. He was not a rancher.
Yet, here he was, walking up the steps to the front porch where he’d broken his finger while wrestling with Jagger and Noah Windmyr, the former ranch manager’s son. He was going to walk through those massive oak front doors and into the main foyer of the house and remove his hat and dust his feet on the rug just inside the doorway before moving any further. Because old habits die hard, if they ever died at all.
