“How could you not?” he asked, grinning. “I know I sure as hell fell for you. One small glimpse wasn’t enough. And I’m not sure a lifetime of them will be either. But I plan on finding out.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from TEXAS OUTLAWS: COLE by Kimberly Raye.
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Prologue
“HERE’S THE LAST of it.” Cole Unger Chisholm stood in the four-foot-deep hole and pulled the small metal coffee can from the freshly turned dirt before handing it to his brother.
“We don’t know that for sure.” Jesse Chisholm was the oldest Chisholm and the only reason Cole had spent nearly every night for the past three months digging up a storm. When he wasn’t busting his ass on the pro rodeo circuit, that is.
At twenty-eight, Cole was pro rodeo’s reigning saddle-bronc star with a record-setting five championships under his belt. He was also the favorite to take home a sixth in just a few short weeks in Vegas.
If he could finish up with this mess and get back to his normal practice schedule. As it was, he’d been spending every free moment in his hometown of Lost Gun, Texas, helping his two brothers dig up an entire fifty-acre pasture to find the money that their criminal father had stolen from a local bank over fifteen years ago. Before the old man had set himself on fire and gone up in a blaze of glory.
They’d hit the mother lode approximately three months ago when Billy had unearthed a small metal box. They’d all been convinced they’d found the missing one hundred thousand dollars, until they’d counted the contents to find only a measly one thousand. Since then, they’d unearthed ninety-eight more containers—everything from a metal lock box, to rusted-out coffee cans, to a dozen shoe boxes—each containing exactly one grand.
“This is the hundredth container,” Cole said, taking a swig from a water bottle. “This has to be it.”
“Most likely,” Jesse agreed, but he wasn’t placing any bets, not until he went through the contents.
“Just count it so we can get out of here.” Cole took another swig before chucking the bottle to a nearby trash pile. “I’d like to get out of here sometime before my next rodeo.”
“Tired, big brother?” Billy, Cole’s youngest brother, gave him a knowing glance. “Or are you just anxious to get back home so you can lick your wounds since Jake and Jimmy beat you to the punch and took the Barbie sisters off the market?”
“There’s still one left.” Not that Cole had his sights set on sister number three. Nicole Barbie had been just a kid when they were growing up, a good six years younger than Cole, and so he’d never paid her no nevermind. Rather, he’d been fixated on her two older sisters. He’d dated them both off and on over the years. Nothing serious, but then the Barbie sisters didn’t do serious. They were the baddest bad girls in town.
Once upon a time, that is.
Until last month when his best buds Jimmy and Jake Barber had popped the question and the girls had actually said yes.
Cole still couldn’t believe it. Out of all the women he knew, Crystal and April didn’t seem like the marrying type.
And Cole Chisholm knew the marrying kind. Since both of his brothers had recently settled down, Cole was now the only single Chisholm left. He’d had a slew of women after him over the past few months, particularly since he’d been spending so much time hanging around Lost Gun, helping Billy and Jesse dig up the money.
Susie Carlisle had baked him three dozen brownies and Jenny Farmer had brought him fresh canned preserves. Delilah Martin had even made her prize-winning meatloaf. And while Cole had nothing against a good hunk of meat, he was smart enough to know that enjoying even one bite would send the wrong message—namely that he was ready to slow down and settle down.
Like hell.
“Well? How much is there?” he asked Jesse.
“Yeah,” Billy chimed in. He was the youngest Chisholm, and just as anxious to be done with the digging as Cole. Albeit for different reasons. Like Jesse who’d found the love of his life, Billy had recently traded in his bachelor status to play house with his one and only. Both men were set to tie the knot after the finals in Vegas. “What’s the verdict?”
“Hold your horses.” Jesse peeled off bills one after the other. “I’m counting.”
Cole leaned on the edge of the shovel and stared over the top of the hole at the pastureland surrounding them. It was just a few minutes shy of sunrise and a faint orange glow lit the horizon. They usually started digging late at night, under the cover of darkness, but it was Saturday. The Saturday, and so Jesse had said to hell with caution.
Cole eyed the rutted ground. They’d tried to fill in the holes so as not to raise any red flags. The people of Lost Gun, along with a mess of fortune hunters, had been looking for Silas Chisholm’s missing fortune for years now. If word got out that his three sons had actually found the money, the place would be crawling with people.
But Cole, Jesse and Billy intended to be the only ones to dig up their father’s past. Once they had every penny present and accounted for, they intended to give it back to the town and kill the rumors that had been circulating about them once and for all.
That they’d been in on it. That they’d secretly been spending the cash over the years. That they were every bit as worthless as their father.
They hadn’t even known about the money until a few months ago when Jesse had uncovered a connection between Silas and the town’s most notorious moonshiner. Unfortunately, Big Earl Jessup wasn’t the man he used to be. In his nineties now, his old-timer’s had set in. He could no longer whip up his infamous White Lightning moonshine any more than he could remember where he’d buried the money from the bank heist committed by his good friend and partner in crime, Silas Chisholm.
The plan had been for Silas to hand off the money to Big Earl, who would then bury it until the fuss died down. Then they would both dig it back up at a later time and enjoy the spoils. But then Silas had set himself on fire and drawn a wave of media attention to their small Texas town. The story had attracted tons of reporters and earned a spot on a Discovery Channel documentary called Famous Texas Outlaws. Most recently, a “Where Are They Now?” episode had aired on the documentary’s tenth anniversary.
Bottom line, Big Earl had sat on the money for so long that he’d eventually forgotten where he’d buried it all. And so Cole and his brothers, along with Big Earl’s great granddaughter, Casey, had been digging up the old man’s pasture for the past three months.
“This is it,” Jesse announced, stashing the rolls of cash back inside the coffee can. “One hundred thousand dollars.”
“Finally,” Cole muttered.
While he was glad they’d recovered the money and he wanted to see the Chisholm name cleared, he wasn’t as haunted by it as his oldest brother. No, he’d killed himself shoveling dirt for Jesse. So that his oldest brother could make peace with the past.
> Cole wasn’t half as anxious to make peace as he was just to forget. To leave the memories where they belonged—way, way behind him—and focus on the future. His RV was packed and waiting back at the prime stretch of land he’d purchased on the outskirts of town. The perfect spot to breed some prime, Grade A horseflesh if he ever got the notion.
A slim possibility because Cole liked moving around, traveling, living.
He’d spent his entire childhood barely existing. Food had been in short supply. Money had been practically nonexistent. And love? He’d had his brothers, but Silas had been a piss-poor excuse for a father. There’d been too much misery, too many days spent feeling like he was being suffocated by his situation, snuffed out, beaten down. He’d been so close to giving up.
But then legendary bull rider Pete Gunner had taken him and his brothers in and helped them become rodeo’s best and most notorious. Cole was now one of the infamous Lost Boys—the hottest group of riders on the circuit, so named because they all hailed from the same small town.
For him, it was all about living life now rather than merely enduring it. About feeling the rush of adrenaline when he climbed onto the back of a bronc, smelling the fresh dirt that kicked up around him, hearing the thunder of his own heart, seeing the whites of his knuckles as he held tight to the reins and gave the ride everything he had.
He felt alive then. Free.
All the more reason to get back out on the road.
“Move your ass.” Billy reached out a hand to Cole and helped him out of the hole. “We’ve got an hour to get back to town and get cleaned up before we head over to the church. Jimmy and Jake will kill us if we’re late.”
Yep, he was leaving, all right.
After he stuffed himself into a tuxedo and walked some blushing bridesmaid down the aisle.
“I’ll put in a call to the sheriff and see if I can set up a meeting for tomorrow morning so we can get this money back to its rightful owner.” Jesse started gathering up their tools. “In the meantime, we’ve got a wedding to get to.”
1
IT WAS THE SECOND biggest wedding the small town of Lost Gun, Texas, had ever seen. Next in line only to the marriage of pro bull-riding legend Pete Gunner who’d married his one and only earlier that year.
Nikki Barbie hadn’t been in attendance at that particular event because she’d been home nursing a bad case of strep.
Thankfully.
Weddings were definitely not her thing.
The truth struck as she stood to the right of the minister of the Lost Gun First Baptist Church and listened to her two oldest sisters vow to “love, honor and cherish.”
Crystal and April were marrying the Barber twins in a massive double-wedding ceremony, complete with a fairy-tale theme that translated in the form of castle-shaped sugar-cookie favors and a live butterfly release. Jimmy and Jake Barber were the hottest team ropers on the rodeo circuit and members of the Lost Boys, which meant that in addition to the few hundred guests, there were at least a dozen reporters crowded inside the sanctuary. Snapping pictures. Documenting memories.
This was definitely the worst day of her life.
And not just because she was wearing a floor-length, pink satin dress, complete with parasol and matching sandals.
Raylene Barbie—Nikki’s mother and owner of The Giddyup, Lost Gun’s oldest and most popular honky-tonk—was the culprit behind the tragic state of Nikki’s life. Raylene was a card-carrying, ball-busting Southern bad girl who would sooner guzzle a lukewarm beer than narrow down her options and give up her freedom to just one man.
Not that she didn’t like men. Quite the opposite. She appreciated a good hunk of beefcake as much as the next red-blooded woman. More so, in fact. Raylene Barbie went through men faster than the members of the ladies’ auxiliary went through panty hose.
Men were good for one thing, and it had nothing to do with any sort of happily ever after. They were fun. Exciting. And very, very temporary.
Which explained why she sat in the front row and stared at her youngest daughter as if she were the last beer in the cooler at a Fourth of July picnic.
Nikki was so screwed.
She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and tried to focus on the positive. At least her mother had shown up for the wedding, which had made Crystal and April two happy campers. The woman had been giving them both the silent treatment since they’d announced their engagement six weeks ago, and so there had been speculation about her putting in an appearance on the most important day in their lives. But she’d come through, even if only out of desperate hope that they would both back out at the last minute.
Nikki drew a much-needed breath and tried to settle the gymnastics routine currently going on in her stomach. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her hands went damp and she had to readjust her grip on the heavy bridesmaid’s bouquet.
Tulips, of all things. And baby’s breath. And while the entire thing looked sweet and delicate, that was the point entirely. The Barbie sisters didn’t do sweet and delicate. Crystal and April lived in hot-pink cowboy boots, itty-bitty tank tops and black leather miniskirts. They were bold. Beautiful. Bad.
Once upon a time.
They’d traded in their racy clothing for two of the biggest, most poofiest white dresses this side of the Rio Grande. They were giving up their old ways. Getting married. Settling down.
Nikki sucked in a much-needed breath. Geez, it was hot. And stuffy. And bright.
Daytime weddings should be outlawed. Particularly when they took place at a church where the reverend prided himself on locking in the temperature at an economy-saving seventy-five degrees.
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the sanctuary, temporarily blinding her. She blinked and swallowed against a rising wave of nausea and the crazy urge to call a halt to the entire ceremony.
I object!
If Crystal and April weren’t sane enough to do it themselves, then she needed to step up. To preserve her own sanity.
Her lips parted. Her tongue moved. Her voice box squeaked—
The sound of a throat clearing cut her off before she could blurt out the first word. Her gaze snapped up and collided with the best man who stood directly across from her.
Cole Unger Chisholm, pro rodeo’s biggest and best saddle-bronc rider, narrowed his gaze as if to say “Stay out of it,” and her own gaze narrowed.
She clamped her lips shut and frowned. He had a lot of nerve. He was the crazy one. The impulsive wild card who prided himself on doing the outlandish. From standing upright on a bucking bronc during the last few seconds of his ride, to flipping off reporters when they got a little too close, Cole was the quintessential bad boy. The last one left now that the rest of the infamous Lost Boys were officially off the market.
He was the one more likely to make a scene and blow the ceremony. He was outlandish. Unpredictable.
And damned good-looking.
He wore a black tuxedo jacket that outlined his broad shoulders. A crisp white shirt, starched Wranglers and spit-polished black cowboy boots completed the outfit. His usually long and unkempt brown hair had been pulled back to tone down the bad boy look, but the shadow covering his jaw killed the effort. He still looked like every woman’s wet dream. The perfect man for a one-night stand.
If Nikki had been into one-night stands.
She wasn’t, even if she had entertained a few choice fantasies about Mr. Saddle-bronc champion. But those
were her own most private thoughts. It wasn’t as if she meant to act on them. Ever. Which was the main reason she was about to freak fifty ways to Sunday.
Despite her own reputation as a bona fide bad girl, she wasn’t the real deal like her two older sisters. She hated late nights and loud music and too much booze. Three very important truths she’d managed to hide from her mother up to this point because Raylene’s attention had always been fixated on the older girls. They’d been her pride and joy. Two chips off the old block.
Until now.
“...marriage is a joyous union between two souls that marks the beginning of a new life together...” the minister went on, and reality weighed down on Nikki.
Crystal, her oldest sister and the one everyone had expected to follow in Raylene’s footsteps and take over the honky-tonk, was getting married, of all things. Ditto for April. They’d both given up their wild and wicked ways, and their jobs as head bartender and chief bar maid, to pledge their undying devotion. Even more, they were packing up and moving to a ranch over an hour away, and Nikki would be the only one left to help Raylene.
No more hiding out in the kitchen, plotting her culinary future while she whipped up the typical bar food—everything from chicken wings to nachos. No more studying her butt off in the back room while her mom and sisters kept the party going out front. No more applying for sous-chef positions with a handful of Houston’s top restaurants.
She was the only daughter left now. Her mother’s last hope.
She swallowed again and tried to ignore the churning in the pit of her stomach. A drop of sweat tickled its way down Nikki’s right temple. The razor burn on her legs prickled.
“...take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband...”
She blew out a deep breath and inhaled again. Her nostrils burned with the sickeningly sweet scent of flowers coupled with the half gallon of sickly sweet eau de gag me Margie Waltrip, Lost Gun’s one and only wedding coordinator, had sprayed her with prior to the walk down the church aisle. Her stomach pitched and rolled.
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