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Overview
Rancher and single father Tripp Montgomery is a master at French braiding and princess tea parties. He's also the most eligible bachelor in Cheyenne, Wyoming. So when he stumbles upon a flashy, sexy city girl, he knows two things: 1) she's a walking disaster, and 2) he needs to stay far, far away.
But she needs him more than he wants to admit…
Charlotte Gram knows what it's like not to be wanted. She's in Cheyenne for the summer to help her grandmother heal after surgery, but the farmhouse "chores" are proving much harder than she thought. If her day couldn't get any worse, the sexiest man she's ever seen strolls up to save the day...
...and he definitely doesn't seem happy about it.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781640631069 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Entangled Publishing, LLC |
| Publication date: | 06/12/2017 |
| Series: | Temping the Rancher , #1 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 200 |
| Sales rank: | 241,562 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Rancher and the City Girl
Tempting the Rancher Series
By Joya Ryan, Heather Howland
Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2017 Joya RyanAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-64063-106-9
CHAPTER 1
"I'm home!" Tripp Montgomery called out to the quiet ranch house. He hustled inside, only to get smacked in the face by the screen door. "God damn it," he muttered under his breath and adjusted his Stetson.
Added to his endless to do list: fix screen door so it doesn't bounce back in my face every time I try to walk through the damn thing.
"Daddy!" Gracie's little voice echoed from deep in the house, followed by the patter of tiny footsteps running from her bedroom, through the kitchen, and into the open area of the family room where Tripp was kicking dust off his boots in the doorway.
It never ceased to amaze him how the sound brought an instant joy to his heart because he knew she was running his way.
A head of bouncing blond curls and open arms came into view. He scooped up his six-year-old daughter and kissed her cheek. "Sorry I'm running a bit behind, baby girl," he said. Story of his life as the cow rancher–slash–single dad.
"It's okay. Uncle Cash played Twister with me. I won." Gracie grinned and whispered, "Uncle Cash isn't very good at bending."
"Got that right," Tripp said with a smile.
"I heard that," Cash said, walking into the room. His blond hair was messed up and his jeans were wrinkled like he really had been losing at Twister.
"And I'm not rigid, I'm responsible," he said.
"Uh-huh." Cash was one of the two friends who lived with Tripp, helping run the ranch and raising his daughter. He was the best friend a guy could have, but the man was more "responsibly rigid" than Tripp — and that was saying something. But the man had a past and a reckless twin brother that made him the way he was. Just like Tripp's past and the woman who left him and their baby girl with no word made Tripp the man he was.
Neither scenario was discussed.
Tripp turned his attention to Gracie in his arms. "Sorry, the cows were stubborn today. Are you ready for your troop meeting?"
Gracie nodded enthusiastically. She was head-to-toe dressed in her Girl Scout uniform, except for a pair of girlie sandals she'd insisted he buy her.
"Go take your sandals off and get those shiny, strappy shoes on," Tripp said and put her down.
She hustled out toward her room.
The sound of the fridge, then the pantry cupboard, opening and shutting came from the kitchen. Followed by heavy footsteps.
"You're about out of cookies," Bo said, coming to lean against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from living room. He bit into an apple and grimaced at Tripp. "And you smell like the back forty pasture."
"I'm also about to kick your ass," Tripp said to his other best friend and ranch hand. "I smell because I was out there moving cattle all day. Which was where you should have been. You said you had the west forty covered."
"I did. Then I came back to watch Gracie while Cash ran the horses."
"What happened to the sitter?" Tripp asked. Because even with the three of them juggling, the nice babysitter he'd found was a lifesaver in summer. No way could they make it through their busiest season without her.
"The sitter had to take off," Bo said, looking anywhere but at Tripp and running his free hand through his black hair.
Fuck.
Tripp pinched his nose. "Please tell me you didn't run off another babysitter. You keep sleeping with them and I swear to God I'll kick your ass."
Bo gave that smile that he'd given since they were all in high school. The "I may have" smile that the town playboy was notorious for. But he was also a good guy, and the three of them had been best friends since birth.
Didn't mean Tripp didn't want to kill Bo sometimes.
"Yeah, the woman was all huffy when I showed up," Cash said. "Poor thing running out the door talking about Bo never calling."
"You're such a snitch," Bo grumbled and took a bite of his apple.
"Just telling it like it is," Cash said.
"Look, women run out all the time, doesn't mean —" Bo cut his words short, and Cash gave him a nasty glare.
Tripp just stood there. After Shania took off and left him with Gracie, it was like some switch was flipped, because they never, ever talked about women leaving. Why, he didn't know. He was fine. Totally fine.
"You're right, women do run out all the time," Tripp said. "But you run off another babysitter and you'll be sleeping in the barn."
Bo held up his hands, one still with his apple. "I get it. But why do we even need a sitter? I'm the best around and I love my little niece."
"You eat cookies and watch Frozen with her all day," Cash said.
"Hey." Bo dug an Oreo out of his jeans pocket and looked between it and the apple, then tossed the cookie in his mouth. "Cookies are fantastic and the ice queen is hot. There are a lot worse ways to spend the days."
"Yeah, like herding cattle," Tripp said.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll cover the south forty." Bo looked Tripp over. "You heading to her Girl Scout meeting?"
Tripp lifted his Stetson to run a hand through his hair and put it back on. "Yeah. Going to drop her off and head into town for about an hour."
"You may want to change," Bo said, returning to his apple.
Cash nodded in agreement.
"For fuck's sake ..." Tripp grumbled and headed toward his master bedroom. Bo and Cash followed, shooting the shit as if he weren't right there getting ready. Still grumbling, he grabbed a clean T-shirt, washed his face, and dusted off his jeans. Good enough.
"Between the Girl Scout troop and cows, your social life is getting pretty sad," Bo said.
He gave his friend an incredulous look. "You might have noticed I have a few things going on this summer. Like running cows and raising a daughter."
"Really? Because I thought you were just afraid of women."
"Your balls must be feeling pretty damn big today for you to say that shit to me."
Bo adjusted himself and grinned. Dramatic prick.
"You do everything you can to avoid women," his friend pushed. "Looks like fear to me."
"I'm trying to raise a woman. I'm not afraid of them."
As if on cue, Gracie came running through the house, ready to go. He never knew his entire world would be puttering around on such small feet.
"That's why I'm here to help," Bo said.
"Me, too," Cash said.
"Yeah, we're just a house full of rednecks."
"Lot worse things to be," Bo said, taking another bite of apple.
Tripp rolled his eyes.
"Well ..." Bo slapped Tripp's back. "Have a great day. By the way, you still have cow shit on your boot and glitter in your hair."
Tripp took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. The shit was an occupational hazard and the glitter was from Gracie demonstrating her questionable hairstyling techniques on him with sparkly hair spray.
Forget it. He'd shower later.
"You're not staying?" Tammy Jones said loudly from her perch behind the refreshments table. She was nice enough. Divorced, had a daughter the same age as Gracie, and was always helping out with the troop, just like several of the other women there. All of whom gave Tripp casseroles, cookies, and flirty gestures from fairly regularly.
Not that he was interested.
"Yes, ma'am, gotta run a couple errands." He shifted his focus to Gracie, who was settling in to the troop meeting. "See you in an hour, baby."
Gracie waved and went back to chatting with her friends.
Tammy must have hustled, because she headed Tripp off at the exit, batting her lashes and flicking her hair. Tripp knew what was coming next. Not because he thought he was hot shit, but because he was aware he was a single man with a child, and that often put him into settings full of women. Women who were, more often than not, sadly, also single parents.
"You have plans for this weekend?" Tammy asked. "There's that new movie playing at the drive-in."
The drive-in at the edge of town was the place where teenagers used to escape and make out. He looked at Tammy. Tammy looked right back at him, and he knew what that kind of look meant. Didn't matter, though. He wouldn't risk falling in love with a woman and watching her walk out on him and Gracie. They didn't need that shit. If her own mama could leave them, anyone could. He'd never let that happen to his daughter again. Even if it made Bo right, and Tripp was doomed to the saddest social life in town.
"Summer is my busiest time on the ranch. I'm afraid I won't be getting to many movies."
"But you're still going to be part of the nut fry later this summer, right?" There was a hint of a whine in her voice.
"Did you say nut fry?" Lucy France said, coming over to stand on Tripp's other side.
He shifted away and cursed under his breath. They had him sandwiched and blocked from leaving.
Lucy pushed her breasts out a little. "I look forward to that party every year, you know?"
The Montgomery family had been hosting the town "nut fry" for the past ten years. Hosted on the part of Montgomery land that butted up against the local bar in town, ranches pitched in the food, and local vendors sold their wares.
Tripp took over the ranch, and everything that went with running it, a few years ago when his dad passed away. Including the nut fry.
"Still a couple weeks off yet, ladies, but yes, the nut fry is in the works." He gave his best smile and tried to subtly reach for the door handle.
"You work so hard out on that ranch," Tammy said with a bit of a pout. "You should really take a break. Like a weekend day."
"Wish I could, ma'am, but cows don't know weekends from weekdays."
He touched the tip of his hat with one hand and made blessed contact with the door handle with the other.
"You ladies have a good day." Feeling both Tammy's and Lucy's eyes bore into his back, he adjusted his Stetson and stepped out into the summer sunshine of Cheyenne, Wyoming. His home. Gracie's home. Their life was just fine as it stood.
Although ... Tripp did the mental math of the last time he'd brought a woman into his bed and ran a hand over his scruffy jaw.
Too long.
He glanced back at the Girl Scout hall and shook his head. He couldn't do anything about his personal life because either way, he was screwed, and not in the good way. Getting involved in any way with a woman around here was trouble. Cheyenne might be the biggest city in Wyoming, but that was a relative thing. With only a few thousand people, word spread fast, everyone knew everyone, and kids went to school together. If Tripp hooked up with someone, there'd be rumors and Gracie's friends would ask questions and ... just ... nope. Bad idea all around.
That didn't make Bo right about him being scared of women, but he may have had a point about him avoiding them.
Despite the good reasons behind that avoidance, Tripp still loved women. It wasn't just about him anymore, though. If keeping his daughter in a secure environment meant he lived more celibate than a priest and worked even harder on the ranch, it was enough.
At least, that was what he was telling himself. Until he reached his truck and his thoughts got interrupted by the sweetest voice he'd ever heard, spitting the nastiest curse words known to man.
* * *
"You are the worst car in this hellhole town and I swear — to — God ..." Charlotte Gram kicked the driver-side tire of her rental car with her favorite stiletto. The dry summer air blew hot against her skin, and a small film of dust settled on her neck.
Gross.
Was dust a thing out here?
She was used to the Los Angeles smog and clutters of asshole people. She'd never thought she'd step foot in Wyoming. Ever. But this was the prairie state her grandmother had chosen to retire in, so that's where Charlotte needed to be.
Wilma Gram had moved to Cheyenne five years ago when she'd inherited her family farm. Something about a great-uncle who had died and left it to her. Apparently Grammy took really well to the country life, because even at seventy-plus years old, she was thriving. Up until this summer, at least. She'd needed ankle surgery that would leave her in a cast.
With Charlotte the only one left who stayed in touch with Grammy, it was up to her to see the older woman through her recovery. Which meant several weeks of summer in this tiny town, working remotely from the house, and attempting to help Grammy run the farm and all the chores that went with it.
Not Charlotte's specialty.
Still, a simple enough plan.
She could continue building websites, earn a living, and get back to her life in L.A. in no time. Besides, it wasn't like her grandma had a massive farm operation ... she didn't think. Charlotte hadn't gotten out to visit the great state of Wyoming since Grammy had settled in. Between building her career and surviving a string of bad relationships, Charlotte was happy just keeping her head above water and being the forever bachelorette.
Every time she got past date number three, she started to feel like the man she was with never wanted her in the first place. And it wasn't just romantic relationships, either. Charlotte never seemed to fit anywhere or into anyone's ideals. She wasn't successful enough — yet — to be "accomplished," and wasn't creative enough to be "small-business hipster woman." She was also too blunt to be ladylike, and too prudish to be a vixen. It wasn't like she could help it. Her mother had done a shit job raising her, and her father bailed when she was young. She sure as hell hadn't been able to count on anyone.
Basically, she'd spent her life in a constant state of unclassified and unwanted.
Commitment wasn't something she was interested in chasing. Ever. Doing so would mean trusting someone to want her completely, preferably long term, which wasn't likely. No, better to stick to her rules of no strings, no commitment, no family. Grammy was the only exception. No way would she have her own kids, no matter how many busybody women in Spin class told her that her eggs would dry up soon. She was only thirty, for Christ's sake.
So yeah. She worked alone, lived alone ... ... and would probably die alone.
It was kind of depressing, actually.
Charlotte blew a lock of dark hair out of her face and glanced around. The town was cute, at least. Downtown Cheyenne was basically sandwiched between an old-looking bank made of all brick and an antiques shop. There weren't many people milling about, let alone the floods of people she was used to.
Everything felt still. Calm.
Claustrophobic.
She shuddered. "I bet this place doesn't even have triple-A," she said, eyeing her newest enemy, the rental car she knew nothing about that was making a pained, gasping sound. A soft rise of smoke billowed out from under the hood. Charlotte frowned. Day one and she couldn't even get through this hillbilly town.
She kicked it again, letting another round of curses fly. She just needed this piece of crap rental to get to her grandma's. It couldn't be too much farther, could it?
"Piece of shhii —"
"Excuse me, ma'am?" a husky voice rumbled behind her.
Charlotte stalled midkick and looked up to see a very tall, very strong, very cowboy man staring at her.
"It — shit — I mean, yes?" Her skin went hot, even though Mr. Cowboy was shadowing her in his capable frame. Could she possibly sound more like an idiot who didn't know how to speak?
"I wonder if I could assist you?" he asked, pinching the tip of his Stetson and keeping those crystal blue eyes locked on her.
Mr. Cowboy was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that clung to chiseled abs and a broad, solid chest. The bits of dirty blond hair sticking out from under his hat matched the several-day-old stubble on his face.
She didn't know if it was the jet lag or the altitude that made it difficult to swallow.
She looked down, her gaze devouring him like a life-size Snickers bar, repeating the mantra in her head when she hit his narrow hips ...
Hungry? Why wait?
"Ma'am?" he asked again.
She snapped out of her ogling and grimaced when she realized her own mind and body had betrayed her. Sure, it had been a while since she'd had sex, but she needed to get a grip. Wasn't like she'd never seen a cowboy before. Because she had ... in the movies.
"I apologize," she said, harnessing all her assertive grace. "I'm a hot mess because of this car and I'm —"
"A city girl," he finished for her with a smile, then effortlessly rounded the car and popped open the hood.
"You say 'city girl' like it's a bad thing," she responded.
That smile stayed on his face as he shook his head and looked over the engine.
"Not a bad thing. Cities can be fun. Lots of flash." He glanced her way, only his eyes started at her feet and slowly slid up her legs. Her skirt felt tight against her thighs, her button-up top suddenly constricting. Or maybe Mr. Cowboy's eyes were making her flush.
"Nothing flashy around here, it seems," she said, breaking his gaze on her.
"That's not true. This place puts on a hell of a rodeo show every summer."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Rancher and the City Girl by Joya Ryan, Heather Howland. Copyright © 2017 Joya Ryan. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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