Fake Fiance, Real Revenge: A Three River Ranch Novel (Entangled Bliss) Read online

  She pulled the minimalist first-aid kit she always traveled with from the other side of her saddle pack and ventured behind the screen of shrubbery, where Della squatted on a fallen log, her jeans bunched around her ankles. Fortunately, her granny panties were securely in place, a fact for which Sabrina sent a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever deities protected women with questionable decision-making abilities.

  “Nice, huh?” Della said, looking down with disgust. On her inner thighs was a matched pair of reddened, angry-looking saddle sores. “Like beard-burn. But without the fun.”

  “Ouch,” Sabrina said. She pulled out a tube of zinc oxide and some gauze patches. “I’ve got some cream that’ll help.”

  “Heard that before too.” Della leaned back morosely. “Give me that. I might as well do it myself. I’m a widow four times over. I’m used to handling things on my own.”

  By the time she and Della hobbled out of the bush, Della was laughing. The atmosphere lightened all around as they fell on the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate as though they were starving. Della, determined to take whatever Bliss threw at her, tore into the jerky like a coyote on a jackrabbit, but Sabrina noticed her massaging her jaw afterward.

  Conversation flowed easily and before they knew it, it was time to head out on the second half of their ride.

  Getting Della on top of Samson yet again proved more challenging than the first time, complete with sound effects and some highly creative language. Sabrina had heard all manner of raunchy comments in the delivery room, but they usually didn’t come from the crones in the crowd. Della was unusual. A little weird. And, as she’d told Mitch, highly entertaining.

  Sabrina didn’t embarrass easily, thank goodness. And Paris, despite her shy first impression, didn’t seem to be at all uncomfortable with her stepmother’s version of full disclosure.

  Mitch, on the other hand, appeared mortified.

  “Is she…okay?” he whispered behind his hand.

  “Ain’t the first time I’ve been walking funny after a stretch in the saddle, my boy,” she hollered to him. Samson twitched his ears but kept pace, unperturbed by the woman on his back. “You should see your face! As if you and Sabrina haven’t been burning up the sheets. Even though you played it Mr. Cool I’m-Saving-Myself-for-an-Imaginary-Angel this whole time. What were you thinking? Sabrina, you’re a good woman to put up with that kind of crap.”

  “Oh, I know,” Sabrina said. She and Monty moved close enough to Della that she could nudge the older woman with her knee. “Don’t you worry, Della. He’s making up for it.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Della sent Mitch a positively evil, filthy look. Sabrina could see Mitch squirm, pulling in on himself as if he wished he could teleport to another dimension. “Make-up sex is the best. You being a midwife and all, I hope you let him know exactly what to do. Too many women don’t even know what’s down there.”

  That was it for Mitch. He’d been riding as far ahead of them as he could without splitting up the group but Della’s voice carried and Sabrina knew she was deliberately antagonizing him.

  “Time for a shortcut. Follow me. We’ll get a glimpse of our neighbor Hard Tack around this ridge.”

  One touch to Maya’s flank and he was off.

  Sabrina laughed. Della’s graphic comments were funny to her, but for Mitch, they were clearly too much.

  Poor guy.

  “Hard Tack,” Della said, her voice bumping and jumping with Samson’s step. “Now that’s a creative name.”

  Poor guy? Sabrina nudged Monty into a trot, mentally kicking herself for thinking of young, sweet Mitch, instead of…whoever he was now.

  “That handle have a story behind it?”

  Sabrina glanced back, surprised that Della could talk. Samson’s long stride let him keep up at a walk but it was still a bumpy ride.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said. “Owner’s name is Harding. And you know that bread cowboys used to take with them on long treks? Lasts forever, keeps you alive, tastes like cardboard—that’s hard tack.”

  “Was the owner being ironic or psychic?” This came from Paris, who rarely joined in. Della, finally, was past talking, but Sabrina noticed that she was listening closely.

  “Neither, probably. Gus Harding was friends with Mitch and Carson’s dad so I’m guessing he’s a plainspoken kind of guy. We’d better catch up, okay?”

  Della clutched the horn with both hands as Samson finally broke into a trot. Sabrina guided them to where Mitch and Maya waited, silhouetted against the wide sky. As they drew near, Mitch’s gaze met hers and she suddenly recognized how his posture had changed since his arrival. Was it just here, on horseback? He sat his mount easily, naturally, as if the saddle were an extension of his body. His right arm rested on his hard thigh, the reins held loosely. As he turned to face her, he touched his hat, an old-fashioned gesture that sent a rush of warmth through her.

  “I hope I’m not broken for good,” Della gasped. “I’m not used to that kind of pounding, not like you two.”

  Instantly Mitch stiffened. A muscle twitched in his jaw and Sabrina saw a flush creep over the tanned skin at his open collar.

  “Let’s get you straight home, then,” he said, reining Maya away from Della and Samson.

  Sabrina bit back a smile. Unintentionally, Della was adding her own special twist to Sabrina’s torture of Mitch. But what was the saying? All’s fair in love and war?

  No!

  Her hand jerked on the rein and Monty twitched beneath her. “Sorry, bud,” she whispered, over the pounding of her heart.

  What was she thinking? When this was over, he was walking away, again. On to the next big thing. Oh, he’d be back to work on her clinic, but it would be business only. Well, he wouldn’t walk away unscathed this time. This time, he’d be the one broken. And if, on the off chance she had to use sex, well, she was a big girl now. She knew sex and love didn’t always go hand in hand. She hoped seduction wouldn’t be necessary, but she was perfectly willing to use that weapon if she had to.

  And if she happened to enjoy it, what was the problem in that? Della’s raunchy talk had put ideas in her head, she had to admit, even making her squirm in the saddle a time or two. It indicated nothing more than normal adult libido.

  She was a big proponent of good, healthy sex. She talked frankly about it in her pre- and postnatal classes, for heaven’s sake.

  She just hadn’t thought about her own sexual needs in a long, long while. And damn it if her body wasn’t trying to make up for lost time.

  …

  The ride yesterday had left Mitch with a few sore muscles of his own. He wondered if Sabrina was sore too, after that little fit she’d had on Monty, after their kiss. He couldn’t ask her, of course. She’d gone back to town alone, claiming she had a patient nearing her due date and needed to be close to the clinic.

  No one, however, was as sore as Della, who’d hobbled off straight to the guesthouse clutching a bag of Bliss’s Epsom salts and hadn’t been seen since. Paris reported at breakfast that Della was spending the day in bed and then asked Carson if she could take the palomino out again on her own.

  Carson gave her some suggestions and she left, her face glowing, while the men were still enjoying their coffee.

  “Where’s Sabrina?” Rory asked. She and Bliss were at the counter, cutting up vegetables.

  “I don’t know,” Mitch replied. As soon as the words were out, he knew he’d made a mistake. “I mean, she can’t come out until later. She said she’ll text me when she’s done.”

  “Wedding stuff?” Rory asked.

  “Work, I think.” Mitch shrugged. “But maybe.”

  “You could at least pretend to be interested,” Bliss snapped, giving him the stink-eye. “Men. They think a wedding comes together all by itself, like magic or something. All they have to do is show up.”

  “Worked for me,” Carson said, grinning roguishly at his wife.

  Rory snapped a towel at him. “You’r
e lucky I let you live, cowboy. Now, why don’t you take your brother out with you to check the horses, since he’s got time on his hands? I know you don’t like to spook them, but we don’t want him hanging around here. He’ll only get in the way.”

  “I’ve got my own work to keep me busy,” Mitch said, getting to his feet. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Rory was just trying to help, he knew that. But would it kill Carson to ask himself? Mitch had no interest in being an unwelcome tagalong. And no way was he begging for scraps of his brother’s attention.

  Carson, however, surprised him again. He pushed his chair away from the table and reached for his hat. “You want to see the mustangs?”

  Mitch eyed him carefully, looking for signs of reluctance. “I don’t want to disrupt your routine.”

  Carson rolled his eyes. “We’ll be back when we’re back, ladies. Come on, bro. Prepare to be amazed.”

  “You play nice now, you hear?” Bliss scolded. “Two of you go out, I want to see two of you come back. Both in one piece. Got it?”

  “We’re getting along just fine, Bliss. Water under the bridge,” Mitch said.

  “Yeah,” Bliss muttered darkly. “I wish I could believe that.”

  Mitch sat in the passenger seat of Carson’s pickup truck as it bounced over the rutted path that Carson said would lead to a likely viewing place. Carson looked excited at the opportunity to show off his mustangs. He spent the first few miles explaining the work he did and Mitch had to admit, he was impressed. There had always been mustangs around, when they were kids, but he hadn’t realized the controversy that surrounded them, or the extent of Carson’s conservation effort.

  He began to realize how much he’d missed by staying away. He’d been braced for hurt, and instead, it felt like rain on dry, cracked earth, renewing things he thought were dead.

  “What’s the deal with Hard Tack?” The view from the ridge overlooking Gus Harding’s ranch had revealed a disturbing sight. If he hadn’t known otherwise, he’d have thought the place was abandoned.

  “Ah.” Carson sighed. “You’ve seen it, then.”

  “Only from a distance,” Mitch responded. “But the place has really gone downhill, by the look of it.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Only thing between them and disaster is a buyer with deep pockets and zero business sense.”

  Inwardly, Mitch sighed as the missing piece fell into place. Della. Her idea was even worse than he thought.

  “Or,” Carson said with a laugh, “you could buy it.”

  “Right.” Mitch snorted.

  “You and Sabrina don’t intend to live in town, do you? And you can afford it, from what I’ve heard.”

  Why were people so concerned with his business? His future? Where he lived, who he married. This was his life and not anyone else’s concern.

  Then something Carson had said struck home.

  “What do you mean I can afford it? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Well, you can, can’t you? I’ve read about Granger-Ellis. Everyone knows you’ve done some amazing things with that company. Impressive, bro. Very impressive.”

  Carson said it so matter-of-factly that Mitch was dumbstruck. There it was, everything he’d been waiting for, the approval, the admiration, the acceptance. It was just…there.

  It was too easy.

  Men might jaw with any old guy about women and weather and sports, but money talk? That required trust.

  Although, strangely, that didn’t seem like such an impossibility now.

  He cleared his throat. “So what’s Harding’s story? Why’d he let Hard Tack go so badly?”

  Carson shrugged. “Tough times. Wife died.”

  Carson pulled the wheel sharply to avoid a rock and Mitch braced himself against the door. There was something exhilarating about driving rough, out in the wilderness. He loved his little BMW, no doubt about it, but suddenly he was glad he’d hung on to his own ancient pickup. Maybe he’d pull it out of storage when he got back to Seattle, get it fixed up and roadworthy again. Give it a fresh coat of paint.

  “There.” Carson cut the engine and quietly pushed his door open. “Don’t close your door. Don’t talk. They know we’re here already but they’re nervous. They don’t see many strangers. They trust me, so don’t screw it up.”

  Mitch followed his brother to a small stand of trees at the edge of the meadow, wondering if his brother had changed even more than he’d realized. Carson had made it his life’s work to protect his horses. And he was sharing it, looking almost as if he wanted Mitch to care about the horses as much as he did. As if he wanted Mitch’s approval.

  His throat suddenly felt tight. Carson had found a way through the pain of their childhood, and now he lived on the other side, with a good woman, a family, doing the work he’d always dreamed of.

  You had to respect that.

  Carson nudged him, jolting him back to the present.

  “You see that black one, standing a little apart from the others?”

  Carson kept his voice low. He pointed, using slow movements, to a rangy-looking stallion with a bent back leg.

  “What’s with that hock?”

  “Near as I can figure,” Carson answered, “he broke it in a fight with another stallion.”

  “But he still leads his band?”

  Carson nodded his head admiringly. “Yeah, but he’s got a good partner. His lead mare is that little dun, above him, on that bluff. I call her Stormy. She’s the one I rescued from Canada. A true Spanish mustang. She and her baby joined this band and I don’t know, maybe that was what triggered the territorial battle that got Blackie injured.”

  “Who’s the other stud?”

  Carson sighed. “There are a couple of bachelor bands hanging around, you know, the colts that get kicked once they start sniffing around the mares. They usually coexist pretty well, but there was one big buckskin that kept hassling Blackie. Big stupid hothead who didn’t know when to back down. They all want their own harem.”

  An undercurrent sizzled beneath Carson’s words like a live wire in a puddle. Memories of brotherly love? Their own rivalry had been savage, nurtured by their father, who’d always wanted to award the ranch to the son most willing to dance to his commands.

  “Blackie kill him?” Mitch asked, pulling his thoughts back to Carson’s story. “Or just drive him away?”

  Territory. Every species wanted it, craved it on a cellular level. A place to belong, a place to rule, instead of being ruled. A place to be free.

  Three River Ranch hadn’t been that place for either of them, so they’d both left, in opposite directions.

  Leaving their father to die alone, unmourned. Leaving Three River Ranch to the ravages of time and decay.

  Until Carson had returned to claim the prize. And make peace with his past.

  “The buckskin? Don’t know. I haven’t seen him with the bachelors. I figure Blackie must have killed him, or injured him badly enough that predators took him down. But I’ve been watching for his body. Nothing’s turned up.”

  “Maybe his pride was hurt and he just needed to start over somewhere else where nobody knew he’d had his ass handed to him.” Mitch said the words jokingly, but the instant he heard them, he knew he’d unintentionally revealed too much.

  Carson shot him a glance beneath the brim of his hat but thankfully said nothing. Mitch had left voluntarily, willingly, desperately. And it had little or nothing to do with the ranch.

  He’d have stayed for Sabrina, once.

  He pushed the thought away. No, it was good he left. It all worked out. Carson was welcome to the ranch. He’d earned it, after all. It wasn’t Carson’s fault he’d been born second in line. Mitch had walked away. And Mitch had built his own fortune, without any conditional inheritance. He didn’t need Daddy’s land any more than he’d needed his approval. Once his deal with Della went through—although please God, not on Hard Tack, that was too close for comfort—everyone, including Carson, would see th
at he was worth more than all of them put together.

  He looked at the black stud now tossing his head, his tangled mane flowing like a cape around his muscular neck.

  “It’s a shame about that leg. Can he run?”

  “He can now, sort of. I tell you, Mitch, when I first saw him, I had my sights on him, my finger on the trigger. Broke my heart, but he’d either starve to death or be ripped apart by coyotes. I couldn’t let him suffer.”

  He paused.

  “You gave him a second chance, even though he was dying?”

  “I saw Stormy.” Carson cleared his throat.

  Mitch looked at his brother in shock. Was he about to tear up?

  “I’ll tell you the rest in the truck.”

  Quietly they made their way back through the golden alpine grasses. Once they were inside the truck again, Carson swallowed and continued. “It’s the damnedest thing. When he went down, exhausted or hurting, I don’t know, she watched over him, guarded him. Then, when she figured he’d had enough, she bullied and pestered and tormented him until he got up again. You could tell he was in pain, but she wouldn’t quit. She forced him to heal. And she kept the rest of them in line while she did it. It was as if the other mares understood what she was doing.”

  “You’re saying it was intentional.”

  “I know, I know, it’s ridiculous, from a scientific perspective. But Mitch, when I let Stormy and her foal go, I knew they might have a tough time. So I watched them closely. I saw what happened with my own eyes. My little Stormy, the one who’d escaped death once already, she took over that band. That was last summer. Blackie should never have lived through the winter. I brought them feed, during the coldest weather, like I always do and each time, I expected to find his body. But every time I came out, there he was, proud as ever, Stormy watching him like a hawk. She’s the reason he survived.”

  “Wow. Marriage has turned you into quite the romantic.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible? I saw what I saw.”

  “Maybe that mare was waiting for a chance to end him herself, so a new stud could take over. Maybe that’s why he survived.” Mitch forced himself to smile. “But what do I know? You’re the expert. You’re the brain of the family.”