6-Pack Wrangler (Six-Pack Cowboys Book 2)

by Em Petrova

  He couldn’t remain in the stands another minute. He jumped the barricade, landed on both boots and took off across the arena for her. A cheer went up as the viewers looked on at him throwing his arms around his wife and the horse both.

  “Oh my God, Wheeler!”

  “You did it, honey. You achieved what you set out to do, and you won!” He kissed her soundly. Applause increased, and Aria’s salty tears were on his lips.

  When they broke apart, she turned to the crowd and thrust a fist into the air. They went wild. Not only was she loved for her role on Redemption Falls, but she was admired for her choice to leave the show and follow her heart. This past year had been a dream for them both—the small wedding that took place in Montana on her family ranch.

  After that, a whirlwind of a honeymoon in Texas to scout out some new stock, and for a simple wrangler like him, it was a trip of a lifetime. Finally, back to the ranch and gutting that bathroom as he’d promised her. The blue was gone, but she’d insisted on framing a bit of the wallpaper—a single goose and heart pattern—and hanging it on the wall above the door.

  They’d had some setbacks in the horse training, and she hadn’t believed in herself at times, but he’d pushed her to go with her gut and follow her heart.

  And here she stood. The winner.

  He let out a shaky breath, burning with pride and love.

  After the award ceremony, and about a gazillion photos of both of them and many with the mare as well, Aria turned to him.

  “Wheeler. Thank you.”

  He straightened. “What are you thanking me for? You did all of it. These past two years felt like a blink of time to me, but you busted your butt.”

  She shook her head. Tears began to fall. “Thank you for taking me in, then showing me that I needed to change my life in order to find the happiness I craved in the things I love.”

  Sliding an arm around her back, he pulled her close. Their hats bumped as they drew together. Her eyes were shiny, and happiness etched all over her beautiful face. “Aria, it’s me who should be thanking you for tossing me out of my boring life and giving me so much more.”

  She caught his hand. Turning his palm downward, she pressed it to her stomach, low.

  “Wheeler…”

  It took him less than two heartbeats to understand what she was telling him. She’d gone off her birth control. And now they were going to embark on the next journey of their life together.

  A choked cry left him. He snatched her up into his arms and whirled her, his mouth on hers as they shared a gleeful laugh.

  “You’re happy then?”

  He set her down gently. “Happy? Holy hell, woman, if I don’t burst and explode all over this arena, it will be a shock. I love you so damn much, and there’s already a spot in my heart for this little bean growing inside you.” He covered her stomach again with his hand.

  She rested hers atop his. “We’re both in for a ride.”

  “With you, I’m ready for anything, honey.” He leaned in for another kiss.

  THE END

  Em Petrova

  Em Petrova was raised by hippies in the wilds of Pennsylvania but told her parents at the age of four she wanted to be a gypsy when she grew up. She has a soft spot for babies, puppies and 90s Grunge music and believes in Bigfoot and aliens. She started writing at the age of twelve and prides herself on making her characters larger than life and her sex scenes hotter than hot.

  She burst into the world of publishing in 2010 after having five beautiful bambinos and figuring they were old enough to get their own snacks while she pounds away at the keys. In her not-so-spare time, she is fur-mommy to a Labradoodle named Daisy Hasselhoff.

  Find Em Petrova:

  Website

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  Other Indie Titles by Em Petrova

  Knight Ops Series

  ALL KNIGHTER

  HEAT OF THE KNIGHT

  HOT LOUISIANA KNIGHT

  AFTER MIDKNIGHT

  KNIGHT SHIFT

  O’ CHRISTMAS KNIGHT

  ANGEL OF THE KNIGHT

  6-Pack Cowboys Series

  6-PACK RANCHER

  6-PACK WRANGLER

  Wild West Series

  SOMETHING ABOUT A LAWMAN

  SOMETHING ABOUT A SHERIFF

  SOMETHING ABOUT A BOUNTY HUNTER

  SOMETHING ABOUT A MOUNTAIN MAN

  Operation Cowboy Series

  KICKIN’ UP DUST

  SPURS & SURRENDER

  The Boot Knockers Ranch Series

  PUSHIN’ BUTTONS

  BODY LANGUAGE

  REINING MEN

  ROPIN’ HEARTS

  ROPE BURN

  COWBOY NOT INCLUDED

  CUPID COWBOYS

  The Boot Knockers Ranch Montana

  COWBOY BY CANDLELIGHT

  THE BOOT KNOCKER’S BABY

  ROPIN’ A ROMEO

  Country Fever Series

  HARD RIDIN’

  LIP LOCK

  UNBROKEN

  SOMETHIN’ DIRTY

  Rope ‘n Ride Series

  BUCK

  RYDER

  RIDGE

  WEST

  LANE

  WYNONNA

  Rope ‘n Ride On Series

  JINGLE BOOTS

  DOUBLE DIPPIN’

  LICKS AND PROMISES

  A COWBOY FOR CHRISTMAS

  LIPSTICK ‘N LEAD

  The Dalton Boys

  COWBOY CRAZY Hank’s story

  COWBOY BARGAIN Cash’s story

  COWBOY CRUSHIN’ Witt’s story

  COWBOY SECRET Beck’s story

  COWBOY RUSH Kade’s Story

  COWBOY MISTLETOE a Christmas novella

  COWBOY FLIRTATION Ford’s Story

  COWBOY TEMPTATION Easton’s Story

  COWBOY SURPRISE Justus’s Story

  Single Titles and Boxes

  STRANDED AND STRADDLED

  LASSO MY HEART

  SINFUL HEARTS

  BLOWN DOWN

  FALLEN

  FEVERED HEARTS

  WRONG SIDE OF LOVE

  Firehouse 5 Series

  ONE FIERY NIGHT

  CONTROLLED BURN

  SMOLDERING HEARTS

  Club Ties Series

  LOVE TIES

  HEART TIES

  MARKED AS HIS

  SOUL TIES

  ACE’S WILD

  The Quick and the Hot Series

  DALLAS NIGHTS

  SLICK RIDER

  SPURRED ON

  READ ON for a sneak peek of KICKIN’ UP DUST, book 1 of the Operation Cowboy Series…

  Chapter One

  “First thing I’m going to do is hug my momma and ask if she’s made any biscuits.” Brodie rubbed a hand over his stomach, sliding his Marine Corps T-shirt over his hard abs. “My gut’s been growling for three tours.”

  In his early years as a Marine, he’d dreamt of Momma’s light, fluffy biscuits going down with homemade peach jam. It was one of the only things from his past that hadn’t faded. He couldn’t quite remember how his momma’s face looked, but he did recall the stern lines between his father’s brows. He’d seen those twin creases enough growing up. They were etched into his brain.

  “I haven’t been dreaming about biscuits for three tours,” Wydell drawled.

  “He’s been dreamin’ about your momma,” Garrett quipped.

  “You should hear how loud he is,” Boyd added.

  The laughter of his three childhood buddies filled the car. They’d crawled alongside him in the desert sands of Afghanistan, and then through two more tours in Iraq. But the car had a hole where Matt would have sat.

  While they fired off more jokes about who was noisiest in his bunk, Brodie stared at the gray ribbon of road stretching ahead. All four windows of the old Ford were rolled down, and he dragged in a huge breath of
Texas air. Home was near. He could smell it.

  Garrett, in shotgun, nudged Brodie with his elbow. “The old Ford’s gotten us here.”

  “Yeah, she’s done well.” Brodie swiped his fingers through the dust on the dashboard. The plastic was cracked after being baked in the Texas sun for the past eighteen years. Yeah, she was nothing to look at but would get them to the end of the line—Los Vista, Texas. And on their pooled budget of $998.

  As astute as always, Garrett picked up on Brodie’s mood. Brodie forced a smile. He felt his eyes crinkle with it, but his chest was devoid of happiness. “I don’t know why they’re talking about my momma. It’s yours we all dreamed of as teens.”

  Garrett groaned. “God, don’t talk about my mother.”

  Brodie laughed, this time for real. They’d all discussed Mrs. Gentry’s toned figure enough times to know Garrett didn’t appreciate it. Eventually he’d taken to tackling whoever mentioned her tits.

  Brodie’s amusement faded as they passed a road sign for a town just outside of Los Vista. His homecoming was darkened by what he was bringing back with him—the belongings of one Sergeant Matt Pope. Best friend, platoon leader.

  The familiar knot clogged Brodie’s throat at the thought of all the townsfolk who’d waved them off with a parade years ago. He’d only returned as often as he could in the first year or two, but Matt had come more often to see his family between tours of duty.

  Now Matt wouldn’t come back at all, and Brodie was the most logical person to deliver the folded flag and dog tags to his family.

  “Damn,” he murmured, but nobody heard. The wind carried his curse away, though the whole car seemed to take on Brodie’s state of mind. In the back, the guys settled. Garrett looked out his window.

  Even the enormous Texas sky seemed too low right then. It didn’t leave Brodie a lot of breathing room, and his chest started to burn.

  He counted to fifty. Then backward. By fives and tens. His method of dealing with panic attacks hardly worked, but at least it distracted him for the last twenty miles of their drive.

  By the time they reached the county line, his anxiety transformed to a lurch of excitement. Home. Miles of fields dotted with cattle. The familiar gates of the ranch that had been in his family for two generations.

  Garrett leaned forward and moved his face closer to the windshield. “Where the hell is it? We shoulda been passing DeLoe’s Farm Supply by now.”

  Brodie swung his head left and right, searching for landmarks, but the sides of the road were empty, save for some paved lots.

  Then he saw it—a wooden structure caved in on itself. He blinked as he drove past, and the guys stretched their necks to see too.

  “What the fuck was that?” Brodie asked.

  “I think it was…Marley’s Insurance office?”

  “Nah, couldn’t be. It’s up the road a ways.” Brodie strained to see farther ahead. Strange how the road was empty too. They hadn’t passed a single car coming out of Los Vista. Their hometown wasn’t exactly big, but it was always busy. There wasn’t a lazy or idle person in Los Vista.

  “No, man, I saw the sign,” Garrett said.

  Brodie threw a look in the side mirror but couldn’t make out what Garrett meant. All he saw was a heap of fallen wood.

  Realization slammed him smack in the forehead. The place was just…gone. “Holy. Fuck.” The words came out of Brodie like a prayer—a prayer for him to be hallucinating. Surely what he was seeing wasn’t real.

  Their town—leveled. The school a jumble of bricks and glass. Cars twisted and upside down. Trees snapped off like toothpicks. The few restaurants in ruins.

  Beyond that, nothing. He couldn’t see a barn or silo for miles.

  “Jesus Christ, what happened?” he breathed. He’d been in range of a couple grenade blasts during his time as a Marine, and the concussions had rattled him though they had done no damage. He felt the same way now—as if he’d been thrown by a blast.

  “It’s fucking gone. The town’s gone. Either there was a war here or a tornado.”

  “But…nobody said anything to me. My parents didn’t say anything about a tornado,” Garrett said.

  Brodie slowed the car and stopped in the middle of the road. There was no risk—they were totally alone.

  For long seconds, nobody spoke. He had a crawling sensation that he was back in combat, looking at the devastation their team had wrought. But no, this was definitely natural. The trees weren’t lopped off from bombs. They were snapped and twisted from high winds.

  “Where the fuck’s my barn?” Garrett’s voice raised as he thrust a finger toward the place his ranch should be in the distance. “It should be there.”

  Brodie exchanged a glance with him and then stomped on the gas. As they thundered up the road at eighty miles an hour, he had a distinct feeling of being in an apocalypse movie. The wild birds of panic flapped in his chest again, but no amount of counting would distract him this time.

  * * * * *

  “Garrett’s family’s living in a lean-to on their property. Their cattle are all gone with the rest of the ranch.” Brodie’s father eyed him from the head of the table. Between them were roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, and those light, fluffy biscuits he’d been dreaming of.

  But now they were untouched.

  Brodie shook his head. “How’d the tornado miss us?”

  His momma lifted a shoulder in a depressed shrug. Guilt reflected in her deep brown eyes. Their four walls were still standing, if a little battered. They hadn’t lost many head of cattle, while their neighbors and friends had lost everything. Momma had survivor’s guilt.

  Boy, did he know all about that.

  “The only other property that didn’t take a big hit is the Pope Ranch.”

  Brodie’s head snapped up at his father’s words. Suddenly, there was no way he could eat those biscuits or anything else on the table.

  He felt himself nod. “That’s good. They’ve…lost enough.”

  Of course the family had been informed of Matt’s death. They hadn’t traveled to Arlington Cemetery to see him buried, which was how Brodie came to possess the flag that had covered his coffin. The coffin he and his buddies had carried.

  He shook himself and snagged a biscuit. The sooner he visited the Popes, the better. Then he could let his past go, stop being a Marine and start being a cowboy. They all shared this dream, but it looked as though his friends would have a harder time, seeing how they no longer had ranches.

  “And the people just lost heart,” Momma said, pushing the crock of jam in his direction.

  “They left?”

  “Almost all moved to surrounding towns.”

  “But the ranches…their land. How can they just leave it?”

  “Many are taking insurance payouts and putting their acreage up for sale. Rebuilding is a huge undertaking. Many aren’t up to the challenge. The Popes still have their place, though.” His pa forked potatoes into his mouth.

  What a fucked-up mess. Coming home to find they didn’t have a town? And only Brodie had a home—the other guys were camping out in Garrett’s family lean-to.

  “How much cattle you running?” Brodie looked at his father. Now that he was back, he realized his memories of his pa’s face weren’t really perfect. Either that or his father had changed. Aged.

  Hell, I have too. What were his parents seeing on his face? Lines from squinting into a scope all day, waiting to snipe some general before their whole platoon was killed. Brodie’s skin had been tanned to leather, and he bore a jagged scar down the side of his face.

  But all these changes might have taken place if he’d stayed in Los Vista and cowboy’d. The lines and tan naturally occurring from the sun, the scar from being kicked by a bull. It happened.

  “Just a hundred.” His father said the word like hunnerd.

  Brodie gaped. A hundred head of cattle? Back in the day, they ran triple that. “I guess that means you don’t have any ranch hands.”

  “N
ope. And the bulls? Gone. I had them separated in the west pasture when the storm came through.”

  Shhhit. No bulls? What kind of ranch survived without bulls? And why hadn’t Pa bought more at auction?

  “Times have changed, son. The money’s stretched so thin we can’t rescue the ranch. We’re clinging on here. Don’t rightly know for how long.”

  Brodie set his fork and knife down with a clatter and stared between his parents. “Are you thinking about pulling out too?”

  Momma reached across the table and rested a hand on his forearm. The touch felt foreign as hell—when was the last time he’d had a woman’s touch, even his mother’s?

  “It’s hard, honey. We never realized how much support we had from the neighbors. And your pa and I aren’t getting any younger. We can’t use what little savings we have to buy more cattle.”

  “What about calves? It’s time to breed so we have calves.” Brodie’s appetite was gone, even though he stared longingly at his plate. The home-cooked meal should have topped off a wonderful homecoming. But he still had to visit the Popes.

  His father polished off a biscuit. “I don’t see us having any calves, Brodie.”

  “Shit.” He pushed away from the table.

  “Brodie, where are you going?” His mother’s voice pitched higher as he strode from the kitchen.

  “Over to the Popes’. I’ll be back by dark.” He grabbed the paper bag and headed out on foot. Garrett and the other guys had the car because Boyd and Wydell had tracked down their parents to the neighboring town. Tomorrow they’d drive over and have their reunion. Brodie didn’t mind walking. Besides, the Popes’ place bordered theirs.

  Tall grasses swished against his legs as he crossed the field. It was high time to make hay. Why hadn’t his pa cut it at least? And surely there was a guy or two left in Los Vista to hire for a couple days’ work.

  As he crested the hill and set eyes on the Popes’ ranch house, a knife of regret sliced through his chest. He issued a ragged breath and fought the memory of Matt’s final moments. Cradled in Brodie’s arms, blood trickling from his mouth.