The Bull Rider's Bride

by Vickie McDonough

  What could make a city girl fall for a country boy? Debut author Denice Christensen invites you to find out!

  After her big-city relationship goes sour, Tory Thompson is looking for a new career, a new location, and a fresh start. The last place she expected to land–or find love–was back in tiny Wheaton, Oklahoma. Without the windfall her grandmother left her, Tory would have nowhere to go when her life in the big city goes wrong. But the will stipulates that Tory has to work with her childhood crush, Dane. And that's a disaster waiting to happen…

  Dane Eckland has a new landlord for his leased farmland—but Tory's not what he was expecting. He's already had his heart broken by one Thompson woman. All he wants is to keep his head down and work the land. But working with Tory stirs up emotions he'd thought long buried, and he can't resist the city girl's brand of charm.

  Then Tory's past comes calling, and she has a new goal: prove she's a small-town girl, after all.

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  Here's a sample…

  #

  Tory Thompson stepped out of the church doors on trembling legs. Her hands shook, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She stared straight ahead and took several steps down the sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot. Not that she intended to leave, but the crush of people in the church left her feeling claustrophobic and exhausted. The late March sunshine bathed her in its warmth, and a soft breeze brushed a dark curl across her cheek, but she batted it away.

  The day of her grandmother's funeral turned out to be lovely. Tory paused and lifted her face to the sweeping Oklahoma sky. Through her sadness, she still appreciated that. Grandma Tunie would have loved a day like this.

  Her hands dropped to her hips, and she smoothed the material of her dark silk skirt. She tapped the sidewalk with the toe of her sleek black heel. Blinked away fresh tears. She knew she'd already cried her makeup off. At least she'd been smart enough not to wear mascara.

  And she was stalling.

  She had to go back inside. The church had provided lunch for family and friends after the services, and she needed to return.

  Her head rolled back again, and she stared at the puffy white clouds drifting through the azure sky.

  She couldn't do it.

  How could she face her family? Those people who nodded in sympathy and accepted the condolences of the town after they'd left Grandma Tunie in the nursing home to die alone?

  If she hadn't been there—

  "Tory?"

  She jumped at the low voice behind her and spun to find a tall man in a charcoal gray suit leaning against the brick wall of the church.

  "I'm sorry. Do I know you?" She stared at the man's face, but his eyes were hidden by sunglasses. He removed the shades, and her breath caught in her throat.

  "It's Dane Eckland. Don't you remember me?" he asked.

  Tory stared into the smoky gray eyes that had starred in her romantic dreams when she was a young girl, and her pulse quickened in an old, familiar way. Oh, my.

  Her mouth fell open, but she snapped it shut as he pushed away from the building and approached her.

  Tory's hands trembled, and she struggled not to fidget. Dane Eckland. Her knight in shining armor, saving her from the evil kings of her imagination and from her real-life wicked cousins when she stayed with her grandmother every summer as a child.

  What was he doing here? And why did she suddenly feel like a twelve-year-old blushing over her first crush?

  Unsure what was the right thing to do, Tory cleared her throat, thrust out her hand, and pumped Dane's arm. "Hi, Dane. Wow. It's great to see you. Wow. How long has it been? Eleven, twelve years? Wow. You look great."

  Stop saying wow, idiot! She clamped her lips together.

  Dane smiled. "Yeah, it's been a while. The last time I saw you was...the night of the rodeo dance." He pulled his hand free, and Tory wanted to smack her forehead when she realized she'd been shaking it the whole time.

  What is wrong with me? This was her grandmother's funeral, not a party. And she was a grown woman, perfectly capable of carrying on an adult conversation and not babbling like a moron.

  But then she added, "Well, unless you count your engagement party, but I didn't actually get a chance to talk to you then."

  Dane grimaced, and Tory stifled a groan for bringing the subject up. He recovered quickly, and a rueful smile twisted his handsome face. "Yes, that was certainly a spectacle. Jennifer wouldn't have had it any other way."

  At a loss for words, Tory only nodded. She wouldn't have gone to the party at all if Mom hadn't insisted she be there, as a representative for her father, if nothing else.

  But she hadn't stayed long, disgusted that a great guy like Dane planned to marry Tory's spoiled older cousin. Their on-again, off-again relationship had lasted for years, and Tory never understood why Dane hadn't simply cut his losses and moved on.

  Grandma Tunie later told Tory the lavish barn dance had ended up a disaster, and the bride-to-be had gotten so drunk, she'd thrown up on herself and one of the guests before Dane dragged her away.

  "I'm sorry things didn't work out between you two."

  Dane shrugged, but pain flashed in his eyes. "It happens."

  Before she could say anything else, the doors of the church opened. Jennifer and a skulking companion stumbled out of the building and down the sidewalk, but halted when they saw Dane and Tory.

  Her cousin's heavily made-up eyes, which didn't look like they had shed a single tear, narrowed to slits. She pierced Dane with her gaze. "What are you two doin' out here? Alone?"

  Tory glanced at Dane, whose features morphed into a mask of rigid control. "We're talking," he growled.

  The greasy-haired goon tugged on Jennifer's arm, but she shook him off. "Just get the car," she snapped.

  The guy glared at her but stomped away. Jennifer traipsed forward on six-inch spiked heels.

  "You looked awfully cozy when I came out the door. Did I catch you in the middle of something?"

  Tory squirmed at the tension crackling in the air, but Dane stepped forward. At six feet, four inches, he towered over his ex-fiancée. "Not every conversation between a man and a woman means there's anything going on. At least not for most people. I guess you wouldn't understand that."

  Jennifer sucked in a sharp breath, and Tory thought her cousin might spill out of the low-cut dress as her chest puffed out.

  But Jennifer's retaliation was cut off by a battered Trans Am pulling up next to them. The rock-star reject leaned on the horn. The window rolled down and a loud, blaring excuse for music assaulted their eardrums.

  "Babe, let's move it," he shouted. "I've got places to go." He rolled the window up, but Tory could feel the bass vibrating through her ribcage.

  How rude! This was a funeral, not a nightclub.

  Jennifer flicked her bleached-blond hair over her shoulder and glowered at her former fiancé. Then she turned her livid stare on Tory, who jerked in surprise.

  What had she done? If anyone had the right to be angry, it was Tory. Jennifer lived in Wheaton, just a few blocks away. She could have visited their grandmother every day. And any old rivalry between them was ridiculous now. They were grown women, not children fighting over the same doll.

  Jennifer gave her one final scowl before opening the door and displaying an indecent amount of skin while settling into the passenger seat.

  "Later." Her cousin's haughty tone was unmistakable.

  The metalhead barely waited until the door was closed before peeling out of the parking lot. He careened around the hearse and missed another vehicle by mere inches, but made it to the road without damaging anything.

  Tory stared after the disappearing car, watching the dust settle on the street. She should say something to break the silence. Perhaps something about how she'd been in love with Dane since she was six and he'd helped her up after a nasty spill on her bicycle. Or she could tell him how sorry she was her terminally stupid cousin broke his heart.


  Tory shook her head. Yeah, that would go over great.

  "I'm sorry about your grandmother," Dane said. "She was a good lady."

  She glanced at Dane and found him staring at her. "Yes, she was." Another rush of tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  "So, what have you been up to over the years?" he asked.

  "Um, I was working for an advertising company in Oklahoma City for the last four years," she said.

  "But you're not anymore?"

  Hmm, how should she answer? "I'm between jobs."

  Not bad. The truth, but a prettier version. Fired from her job by an enraged boss, unable to find work in the last three months, and on the verge of being kicked out of her fabulous apartment because her savings were depleted and she could no longer afford the rent. She would either be homeless in a month, or forced to move in with her mother, something she hadn't done since she'd left for college.

  Not exactly where she thought her life would be by the time she was twenty-six.

  "Well, I hope you find something soon." Dane's smile caused Tory's heart to tap a wild rhythm against her ribs. Oh, my.

  She tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace as she shook his hand. "Thanks. It was nice seeing you again, but I'd better go find my mom. And I promised Bree we'd catch up later today. You remember her, right?" She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent more rambling thoughts from escaping.

  Dane grinned. "Yeah, she cuts my hair."

  Tory was saved from saying anything else foolish when the doors of the church swung open again. Instead of a member of her family, a mostly bald man who looked ready for his own funeral marched toward them.

  "Victoria, there you are. I've been searching for you." The man patted her shoulder with a heavy hand.

  "Call me Tory, please." She studied his face and tried to remember his name. He was the only lawyer in town, and he'd been handling Grandma Tunie's legal affairs for the last sixty years. Which put the man in his early nineties, at least.

  "Fine. Tory it is. I'm Randal Crandal, your grandma's attorney."

  She shook his hand.

  "I've been trying to track down your family most of the day. I just spoke with your Uncle Ron, and his son, Adam, but Jennifer seems to have vanished. And for the life of me, I can't find your father."

  Tory swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. "Jennifer left moments ago, and Dad wasn't able to make the funeral."

  "Couldn't make it?" The lawyer's droopy eyes widened behind thick, black-rimmed glasses. "How odd."

  She flicked her gaze to Dane, who also looked surprised by her father's absence at his own mother's funeral.

  "Dad's an engineer and does contract work for the government. He's in a remote part of Africa and had trouble making arrangements." She refrained from mentioning that her father hadn't returned to his hometown of Wheaton in thirty-five years.

  "I see. Well, are you going to be busy around ten o'clock tomorrow morning, dear?"

  "Let me check with my mother to make sure she doesn't have any plans or need me for anything."

  "Good, good. I'll expect you at my office downtown at ten."

  Tory barely refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of downtown. She could count on both hands the number of businesses comprising the thriving metropolis of Wheaton, Oklahoma.

  Tory nodded, and the attorney had turned to go when her brain finally caught up with the conversation. "Sir, Mr. Crandal?"

  He stopped and swiveled to face her.

  "I'm sorry, but why exactly did you want to meet with me tomorrow?"

  "To discuss what your grandmother left you in her will, of course."

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  Copyright © 2016 Vickie McDonough

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means - photocopied, shared electronically, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or other - without the express permission of the publisher. Exceptions will be made for brief quotations used in critical reviews or articles promoting this work.

  The characters and events in this fictional work are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is coincidental.