by Box Set
This book is dedicated to Todd—my hero
and the one who holds my heart.
Rule #2: If you love her, don’t let her go.
Chapter 1
Pulling out of the hospital parking lot, Trip Turner swore as he slammed on his brakes, narrowly missing a car coming in the opposite direction.
Where the hell did he come from?
He eased out onto the road, trying to focus on the traffic and the fact that he was going to be late getting to the Saddle Creek Ranch, but all he could think about was the sight of John Stone lying in that hospital bed, tubes and needles working to keep him alive.
John had looked so frail, his tanned and weathered face peaceful in sleep. But frail was the last word that he would ever imagine using to describe John Stone—strong, tall, honest, father figure, and an ornery son of a bitch were words that came to mind, but never anything that sounded weak or fragile.
He’d been shocked when he received the call earlier today telling him that John had suffered a stroke. The older man was the closest thing to a father he’d ever known, and he’d sounded fine a few days ago when they talked on the phone and confirmed Trip’s arrival at the ranch.
Trip had two weeks before closing on his own new place in Wyoming, so he’d committed to helping out at Saddle Creek during that time. It was the least he could do for John, the man who’d pulled him out of a juvenile detention center as a teenager and changed the course of his life.
The lines of the highway flew by in a blur as his mind filled with memories of John and the things that he’d taught him. Taught all of them—there’d been twelve teens that summer, all from different places and backgrounds, but they’d been bound together by one man who took them all out of the juvenile system and gave them a home on the ranch while they served out their individual sentences.
He’d taught them to ride horses, to rope cows, to muck stalls, and the value of an honest day’s work. And he had worked them—hard. Worked them until their hands blistered, their muscles burned, and their bodies ached down to their bones, but he’d also taught them to be men, men of honor and integrity—gentlemen.
Every lesson John doled out involved a rule. A rule about manners, or courage, or respect, even love. He’d given them all the rules to becoming men.
And Trip lived his life by those rules. He’d followed them all. Except one.
The one that mattered the most.
He tried to keep the images of Bre Wilson from flooding his mind, but they were there—hell, they were always there, under the surface, like the ache in a sore tooth. A reminder of the woman he’d never been able to forget.
She’d been a girl then, a gorgeous girl with long blond hair, a mischievous grin, and the spirit of an unbroken stallion. They’d been seniors in high school that year, and had both grown up in a town less than thirty miles from Saddle Creek Ranch. Bre was as smart as a whip—had already been accepted into the veterinarian program at Colorado State University. She had a future, her whole life ahead of her, and he’d truly believed that he’d done the right thing that summer when he’d set her free.
The price of that freedom was close to a year in juvenile detention, losing the best thing that had ever happened to him, and breaking her heart.
But he would have paid any price if it meant she would be able to have the life she deserved. Even if it meant losing her.
John had later taught him the one rule that he’d failed to follow.
If you love her, don’t let her go.
But he had let her go, and there was no sense stewing about it now. He had work to do, especially now that John was in the hospital.
He mentally went through the checklist of tasks for the week as he turned his pickup into the long driveway of Saddle Creek Ranch. The fields on either side of the driveway were a vibrant green against the weathered fences that lined them.
The tightness in his chest eased a little as he parked the truck and stepped out, the dust already clinging to his boots.
Even though he’d kept in touch with John, he hadn’t been back in over ten years, and he was surprised at how little had changed. The white two-story farmhouse still stood in the center of the ranch, with its dark green shutters and the weather-beaten rockers sitting on the front porch.
The bunkhouses where the boys had slept were to the left of the big barn, its red exterior looking like it had recently seen a fresh coat of paint.
He took a deep breath. It still smelled the same—like grass and freshly cut hay, like warm dirt and cows, and there was the faint scent of honeysuckle in the air.
And being here felt like coming home.
Damn. All these memories were messing with his head. He was getting sentimental. And he didn’t have time for sentiment. He needed to make sure that things on Saddle Creek stayed on track. It didn’t matter that it had been over a decade since he’d been here—it still mattered that he made John proud.
The ranch was fairly quiet. John had only taken on a few boys this summer. The last time they’d talked, John had mentioned that he was worried about one of his prize mares getting ready to foal. The horse mattered to him, and he’d arranged for a top vet to be on hand that week to keep an eye on her.
Trip knew there was already one vet for the ranch, so John must have wanted that horse to have the deluxe special treatment if he was bringing in another veterinarian just for her.
That seemed a little excessive to Trip, but hell, he’d seen John go to more trouble for a horse than he ever had for a woman.
Making the mare his first priority, he stepped into the barn. Pulling off his sunglasses, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light as he took in the familiar interior. Only a few horses were in the stalls, but they were all mucked with fresh hay, and the sweet scent of the straw brought back a multitude of memories.
Memories of aching muscles from shoveling manure and blistered hands from putting up hundreds of bales of hay. But also sweet memories of the first time he’d saddled a horse, and the connection he’d felt with the huge beast that had big brown eyes and a gentle soul.
And memories of Bre.
Bre’s family had lived on a farm, nothing as big as this one, but they’d had a couple of horses and a few hundred head of cattle. He could see her every time he stepped into a barn, could imagine the way she looked and how she sounded—laughing as she sat astride a horse, or the way her tight jeans hugged her figure, and her worn boots tucked into the slats as she hung over a pasture fence watching the cows graze.
Or the sweet soft sounds she’d made as they’d lain naked on a blanket in the back corner stall with only the moonlight and a few horses to witness their time spent together—time spent discovering each other’s bodies in the frantic, all-consuming ways that teenagers delved into everything.
His shook his head to clear the memories, and headed for the middle stall, where a dark-haired kid was brushing down the swollen sides of a pregnant mare.
“This must be the Duchess,” he said, opening the gate and stepping into stall. He held out a hand. “I’m Trip Turner, a friend of John’s. He asked me to look in on her.”
The boy looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. He had a light, patchy growth of dark whiskers on his cheeks and too-long bangs falling across his forehead. His lean arms were muscular and covered in tattoos, sticking out of a faded blue T-shirt that had a picture of a Pokemon on the front. The kid was almost as tall as his own six foot two, but Trip guessed he’d recently had a growth spurt, because he didn’t seem quite comfortable with his height yet.
“Hey.” The kid ducked his head, keeping his focus on the horse, but the chip on his shoulder was obvious. Trip recognized it because he’d been there, had a similar chip taking up space on his own shoulder. “What kind of name is Trip? Were your parents going somewhere when they named you?”
He was used to this, so the lame insult rolled off his back. “It’s a nickname. My name is actually Franklin Dodge Turner III.”
The kid snort
ed. “Eww. Fancy pants.”
“Not really. More like unoriginal.” He’d sometimes wondered if he hadn’t been worth the effort or time it took to come up with an original name for. He certainly hadn’t been named after his father because he inspired respect or was any kind of man of honor. Trip hadn’t even known what that looked like until he’d met John Stone. “My dad was Dodge, and my grandpa was Frank, so they didn’t know what to call me. And since I’m the third and my dad is an asshole, he started calling me Trip, which is cleverly short for Triple.”
The kid offered a grudging smirk. “My dad was an asshole, too. I’m Spencer. I’m just here for the summer.”
“Yeah, I spent a summer here when I was about your age.” Trip left the statement hang, not explaining the details of his sentence. “John’s a good man.”
The boy nodded, the set of his jaw easing a little. “Do you know how he’s doing?”
“I just came from the hospital. No change. We’re still waiting for him to regain consciousness.” Trip eased up next to the horse, laying a hand gently on her heaving sides. Her eyes were a little wild, and she appeared to be in distress. “Has the vet checked her out yet?”
“No, not as far as I know. And I’ve been with her for the last hour or so.”
Great. John must have hired some big-shot vet who thought their time was more important than the distress of this animal. Irritation flared in his gut. He hated to see any animal hurting. “Well, she’s struggling, so the vet needs to get their ass out here.”
“The vet’s ass is here,” a female said from behind him, and he froze, unable to turn around.
It couldn’t be. He hadn’t heard her voice in over ten years. It was all the memories and being in this place, conjuring up ghosts from the past.
He turned, and his heart stopped in his chest.
It was her.
But it wasn’t.
The last time he’d seen Bre Wilson, she was a teenager. A feisty girl with a thick mane of wavy blond hair. This woman—this Bre—still had long blond hair, but it was plaited in a braid that curled around her slender neck and rested on her chest. And what a chest.
Lord, she took his breath away. He couldn’t grasp that it was really her as he tried to drink in the sight of her. She had the curves of a woman, filling out her jeans in all the right places, and the snug pink T-shirt she wore hugged her chest, and a simple silver chain rested in the V-neck.
Her smile was the same, the way it turned up at the corners. Or did, until she realized it was him, then her smile faltered. Only for a beat, then it seemed she caught herself, and her green eyes narrowed with uncertainty.
“Trip?” She hesitated, as if catching her breath.
“Hey, Bre.”
Wow, great opening line, buddy. Really knock her dead with your cleverness and witty banter.
He didn’t feel witty. Or clever.
He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Last he’d heard, she was still in Colorado. How could she be here? At Saddle Creek of all places.
Evidently he wasn’t the only one wondering that very thing.
She carried a black vinyl bag slung over one shoulder, and she leaned forward to set down a black rubber bucket. Water sloshed over the sides as she stood and pressed her now free hand to her hip in a defiant stance. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 2
Bre ground her fist into her hip, trying to control the tremble in her hand, as she silently commanded her breath to slow and her heart to start beating again.
Her world felt like it had tilted, and she struggled to keep from sliding off.
Trip Turner. As I live and breathe. Standing right in front of me looking as handsome as the devil himself.
How could he be here?
Did John call him?
Trip cleared his throat and shifted to his other foot. “John needed some help on the ranch, and I’d promised him that if he ever needed me, I’d be here.”
“Oh, so now you keep your promises?” The words popped out before she had a chance to think, to hold them in.
A pained look crossed his face. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. He nodded. “I had the time, so I told him I’d help out for a couple of weeks.”
A couple of weeks? He was going to be on the ranch for a couple of weeks? At the same time she was scheduled to be here? They were going to have to be in the same proximity as each other? Walking the same paths and breathing the same air?
She didn’t know if she could do it. Didn’t know if she could bear to look at the man who’d broken her heart. Not just broken, but crushed into tiny pieces and left it in the gravel on the side of the road.
Fury and humiliation built in her stomach as the memories came flooding back.
She couldn’t do this—could barely breathe.
She loved John, but he was going to have to find another vet. One that could be around Trip Turner and still keep their shit together. Because that vet was not her.
Holding it together right now was taking everything she had.
And why did the bastard have to look so damn good? He’d grown taller and had filled out, his arms and legs ripped with muscle. He’d been cute as a boy, but he was drop-dead hot as hell as a man.
A blond scruff of whiskers covered his strong jaw, and his eyes were still the same navy blue. He was all cowboy, from his brown felt hat to his thick leather belt, and he looked at home in jeans and dusty square-toed boots.
No, she couldn’t do this.
Couldn’t look at him, knowing that they could have been together, knowing that the stupid decisions they’d made twelve years earlier had changed their lives in an instant.
She also couldn’t stand here staring at him like a dope. She willed her lips to move. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I can talk to John and tell him to get a different vet.”
Even though she needed this job.
Her practice was in the next town over, the town where she and Trip had grown up, but it was new, and she was still building clientele. There was a local vet here in Saddle Creek. A good one. Being the only women veterinarians in the area, she and Rayne McCoy knew and had a mutual respect for one another. She knew that Rayne lived at the ranch, but John had insisted that he wanted another vet on site to give round-the-clock care and attention to his favorite mare.
She’d told John she’d come out and stay at Saddle Creek for the full two weeks to be on hand for the foaling and to give the mare all of her attention. She’d even planned the renovation of her kitchen while she was gone, and the demo was scheduled to start today, so she couldn’t go back home.
It didn’t matter. Screw her debt. She’d stay in a hotel for the next two weeks and just put it on her credit card. Anything to not have to be here. With him.
Another look of pain crossed Trip’s face, but this one wasn’t shame, it was closer to grief. “Didn’t anyone tell you? John had a stroke. He’s in a coma in the hospital. I just came from there.”
“What?” Her knees threatened to buckle, and she held out a hand to steady herself.
Trip stepped forward, grabbing her by the elbow and propping her up. Her skin flamed where he touched her, his callused hands gentle on her arm.
She pulled her arm away and reached for the side of the stall for support. “What happened? I just saw him a few days ago, and he seemed fine.”
“Same here. I couldn’t believe it when Rayne called me. I just talked to him on the phone last weekend and he was the same old ornery cuss that he’s always been, full of spit and vinegar. I guess it happened suddenly. We’re still waiting on some tests to come back. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not worried about that. I’m just worried about him.” She hadn’t known John as long as Trip had. She’d met him when she took over the vet practice a few years back. Not everyone around there had been thrilled to have another woman veterinarian, but John had treated her with respect and praised her know
ledge and skill to the other ranchers in the area. She didn’t know if her practice would have made it without him.
She owed him. And she wouldn’t let him down. Not when he needed her.
Even if it meant putting up with Trip Turner for the next few weeks.
She could do that. Saddle Creek was a big ranch. She’d just stay out of his way.
Anger flared in her belly as she thought of the way he’d left. Without a note or even telling her goodbye. Yeah, she could stay out of this guy’s way.
It didn’t matter how hot he looked in boots and a pair of Wranglers or how big his muscled arms were (oh Lord, his arms). He was an Asshole with a capital A, and she needed to remind herself of that fact if her resolve started to fade.
Once an asshole, always an asshole.
She felt sorry for his wife or his girlfriend. Although he wasn’t currently wearing a ring. Not that she’d noticed. Not really.
Damn it. Pull yourself together. He’s just a man.
“Hey, I think something’s wrong.”
Her focus shifted to the mare as she registered the alarm in the teenager’s voice, and, stepping around Trip, she pushed through the gate into the stall.
“Hey, Duchess. What’s going on, girl?” Running her hands over the horse’s swollen sides, she did a cursory exam. “She’s going into labor. Her flanks are sweating, and she keeps trying to crouch then stand back up.”
The horse looked back toward her flanks and stamped her feet restlessly.
“Has she had anything to drink, Spence?” Bre had met the teenager when she’d been out at the farm to check on the horse the week before. It didn’t surprise her to see him here; he seemed to have taken a special interest in the horses.
He seemed so tough with his tattoos and the scowl that usually rested on his face, but she’d seen a different side to him when he’d been with the horses, a gentler side.
Maybe he’d just never had anything to care about before.
“No, not for a while,” he said. “I remember you telling me the signs of labor, and I’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on her. I haven’t seen her take a drink in over an hour.”
