Socialite Melissa Brody is beyond livid when she
discovers the trust she's been waiting for is tied to a Texas dude ranch. In order to inherit,
she has to prove herself worthy—she has to work at the ranch for six months! Colton Adams has
helped his father manage the Double-Trouble Dude Ranch for years. Now comes his biggest
challenge—make sure the granddaughter is ready to take the reins. It's apparent from the get-go
Melissa is in sore need of something, and Colton is just the man to give it to her.
EXCERPT
Melissa Brody drummed her long, red nails against the cherry wood table beside her. What the hell was taking so damn long? She'd been waiting for the attorney for over an hour. And where the hell were her parents? They claimed they wanted to be here for this "momentous" occasion.
With a deep sigh born of frustration, Melissa slid one leg over the other. The receptionist, a busty matron with blue-gray hair, glanced up at her from under her brows. Melissa was half tempted to flash the biddy--that would knock the prim and proper off her face. She propped her chin on her palm and stared at the anemic watercolor paintings around the room.
No music. Boring magazines. How much more mind numbing could this get? She should have brought one of her friends with her. At least then she'd have someone to talk to.
Melissa sighed and switched legs again. She stared at a spot on the wall over the receptionist's head. The last thing she needed was a friend here. Melissa wasn't stupid. She knew what half of them wanted. Hell, maybe they all wanted it. It was a fact of life for her social group. She'd accepted that long ago. She didn't much like money-grubbers, but what could a girl do when that's all that came around? She couldn't lock herself away in a monastery.
She'd looked forward to this day for a long time--her twenty-fifth birthday, the day the trust fund from her grandfather kicked in. Everyone in her crowd had a trust fund of some kind. Like vultures they hovered around waiting for that magic day. Melissa was no better, but she'd be damned if she'd squander her money on those scavengers. Anyone who would have come along today would be just a pipeline of information to the rest of the group. Before Melissa could have gotten home, everyone would have known her account balance.
Shoving her hand inside her Louis Vuitton handbag, Melissa fingered her cell phone. Maybe she should call her parents. Maybe the receptionist was waiting until they were all here before she was granted access to Edgar Cromwell.
Or maybe this was a test of her patience. No patience, no money. Melissa resumed her former position. Time was money, so it seemed.
She tapped her nails against the mirror-like wood surface, swinging her leg as she did so. The receptionist stared at her leg, seemingly mesmerized by the action. Didn't the woman have any work to do? Obviously not since she couldn't pull her gaze away from Melissa's leg.
Maybe she's a lesbian and I make her hot. Melissa dismissed that thought immediately. The woman looked like she should be someone's grandmother. Chances were she knew exactly who Melissa was and was sizing her up, trying to figure out if all the rumors were true.
Melissa fought a smile. Contrary to popular belief, she didn't sleep around. As much as she liked sex, she preferred a relationship went with it. That made for some very long dry spells; like the one she was presently in. So she did herself every night while waiting for the handsome prince to sweep her off her feet. It was better than being used. But the rumor mill still cranked out the stories.
If she did half the things people said, she'd never have time to sleep. And Melissa loved her bedtime. It'd just about killed her getting up at seven this morning to make the nine o'clock appointment. Of course, she hadn't gotten to bed until two. It was her birthday; she had a right to celebrate, even if it was a day early.
Come on. What am I supposed to do? Wait until my next birthday?
"If my parents arrive, please tell them I went to the ladies room."
The receptionist watched her stand. "Your father is already here and in with Mr. Cromwell."
Melissa shot a glance to the closed door. Daddy was here, but not Mom? That couldn't be good. Mom was never late for anything. Now she could add true worry to her list. Had something happened to her youngest brother and sister?
She slung her handbag strap over her shoulder and started for the ladies room. The door to Cromwell's office opened before she could leave.
"Melissa, sorry to have kept you waiting." The lawyer motioned her inside with a wave of his arm.
She stared at him, not knowing quite what to do. Her mom wasn't here. Edgar Cromwell just stood there, smile frozen on his face. His dark suit didn't have a wrinkle in it. His white hair enhanced his deep tan. The last time she'd seen him had been the previous summer when their families vacationed on Martha's Vineyard. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in a business environment. Now that she had, Melissa felt uneasy. She wrapped both hands around her handbag strap and hurried through the door.
The office was how she'd envisioned an attorney's office--cases stuffed with law books behind a huge cherry wood desk, deep red leather sofa and chairs in front of it, soft lighting in the corners, and a floor-length mirror to check one's appearance before meeting with clients. Melissa gave herself the once-over. Her cream-colored, silk suit had wrinkled while she waited. All the makeup in the world couldn't cover the puffy cheeks from lack of sleep. At least her hair wasn't mussed; mahogany waves still curled past her shoulders. Of course, unless the wind tore her apart, that was never a problem.
She shifted her attention away from herself. Her father stared out the window watching the New York City traffic crawl below him. He'd chosen a gray suit today, too. She was beginning to wonder if this was a funeral.
Hearing the door close, he turned a smile her way. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
"Thank you, Daddy. Where's Mom?"
Hands shoved into pockets, he strolled to one of the leather chairs, gesturing for her to take the other. "She's not coming. This doesn't concern her."
Melissa stared up at him with open-mouthed surprise as she eased into the cushion. Not coming? Not her concern? It felt like a knife had been plunged into her chest. Her own mother had died when Melissa was two. A year later, her father had met Carol. Carol was the only mother she'd ever known. She loved her and thought Carol felt the same. There'd been no yours and mine in their family even with four other children. Melissa had never been excluded or set aside...until now.
Don't cry. Don't cry. She pulled in a sharp breath. "I'd like to get this over with, please."
"So would I," Daddy said. "Edgar?"
Cromwell peeled back the folder centered on his desk. For a busy man, she expected more work on his desk. What had Mom always said? "It's all in the presentation." One folder made it seem like the Brodys were the most important client he possessed.
"Melissa, it's no surprise to you that your maternal grandfather, Asher Teems, left a sizeable trust to you. Combined with the monies added from your mother's estate, that amount has grown substantially over the years."
Yeah, yeah, yeah. So just sign it over, put it in my bank account, and let me go.
"Do you know where the money came from?"
Melissa blinked. Stupid question. "He had a ranch of some kind somewhere, didn't he?"
Cromwell sighed and closed the folder. Her father rubbed at his temple. Neither man looked at her.
Cromwell folded his hands before him. "There were conditions placed on your inheritance. The major condition was that of responsibility. Asher Teems worked hard for his money. He didn't want to put it in the hands of someone who would fritter it away. I've spoken to your parents about if they think you're ready to handle this. They are divided on the issue. It is felt you have displayed a decided lack in certain...virtues."
Melissa snapped to her feet and glared at each of them. "What the hell--"
Her father matched her anger. "Sit down or I'll see you don't get this money until you're fifty."
It'd been a long time since she'd seen him that angry. Odd that she was twenty-five and he could still intimidate the hell out of her. Melissa sank into the chair.
"I told you. Carol has spoiled her unmercifully," he told Cromwell. "She wouldn't know a hard day's work if it hit her in the ass."
Cromwell nodded. Melissa wanted to cry. So, that's why Mom wasn't here. They didn't want her to have the money and Mom did. Unfortunately, Carol didn't have a say in the matter. But Melissa knew that wouldn't have stopped her from voicing her opinion.
The attorney fixed a stare on her once more. "Your grandfather wanted assurances his money would be handled wisely. As a condition of you inheriting this trust, you must successfully work at the Double-Trouble Ranch for six months as well as prove yourself worthy of the money."
Melissa clenched her teeth. "And if I don't?"
"From this point on, you'll receive no more money from the trust until you prove you are responsible enough to handle it."
Melissa clenched a fist. "And who makes that determination?"
"Malcolm Adams, your grandfather's partner in the ranch. The Adamses have been managing the place since your grandfather's death."
Punch to the gut, uppercut to the jaw. And a very happy birthday to you.
"When?"
"Immediately," he replied.
There went her plans to summer on the Riviera. Still, she'd managed quite well on the allowance her father had given her all these years. She'd bet that was going to be cut off, too.
Melissa glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You're cutting me off, aren't you?"
"For your own good. And if your brothers and sisters don't shape up, they're next. It's time my adult children learned the value of a dollar. It might make the younger two shape up before it's too late. I don't want all my family worked hard for going down the drain either. I'm following your grandfather's example. I've had it up to here." He sliced the air above his head.
Melissa swallowed. Big shake up in the Brody house for sure. She wondered if she could get back to the loft in SoHo that she shared with Tammy and Jerry to warn them in time. Thankfully, her two younger siblings would be spared for the moment.
"No more free rides," he added. "I expect to see work out of all of you."
Sounded like she was going to have it better than them. All she had to do was six months.
"All right. I can do six months. I'm not afraid of work. I'll pack tonight and be on the plane tomorrow. And where is this lovely place? Something tells me it's not on the island of Hawaii."
Cromwell eased back in his chair. "On the outskirts of Austin, Texas. I'll let Mr. Adams know to expect you. He'll see you're met at the airport."
Melissa kept her smile to herself. Unless she missed her bet, the Adamses wouldn't want her mixing up in their business. This was going to be an easy six months. She'd just play along, do as they asked, and be a nice little hired hand. She could do six months standing on her head. She felt for her brother and sister.
* * * *
Colton Adams crushed his empty Pepsi can in his fist. The glorious day they'd all been waiting for was here--Melissa Brody was twenty-five. Whoop-de-do. Little did he realize he was the one who was going to be assigned to babysit her. His father and grandfather stared at him over the supper table. He'd been tag-teamed and he damn sure didn't like that. Where the hell were his brothers? And the women--they had scurried out of the dining room like rats deserting a sinking ship.
"Fine," he finally said. "I'll pick Miss Priss-Ass up at the airport and bring her here. She can stay out of our way for the next six months, then pick up her prize money and be on her way."
Granddad dusted his fingers through his sparse, white hair. At least he still had hair. Dad lost his long ago and it didn't look hopeful for Colt either. It was just as well. Getting it cut regularly was nothing but a hassle. He'd often thought of just shaving himself bald and being done with it.
"I understand how you feel, Colt," Granddad said. "But I have an obligation to Asher. He and I worked hard to build this place. He didn't want to just give it away to someone who wouldn't appreciate what it took to earn it."
"Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?"
Pick that time for Mom to walk in. She tsked and patted his shoulder. "Such language. And here I thought I'd raised gentlemen." She put a slice of hot apple pie in front each of them, then left.
Colt pushed his aside. His stomach was too soured now to enjoy it. He turned to his father, hoping to get him to see some sense. "Dad, she's going to get in the way. We've got a business to run. I don't have time to--"
"We're always needing an extra hand around here. From what Dan says, it isn't going to hurt Melissa to work for a change. While he and her mother understood the value of hard work, her stepmother has spoiled her from the start. Dan felt so guilty over the child losing her mother he let it go. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late."
"So, we're supposed to help him fix it."
"Don't raise your voice, dear," his grandmother said from behind him. "It's unbecoming." She scooped vanilla ice cream onto the pie slices and left.
They were in cahoots, all of them. He couldn't even get a good mad going without someone yanking him to a stop. "Why me? Why can't Wes do it?"
"With a baby on the way, he's got enough to worry about."
"If he'd kept it in his pants, he wouldn't have that problem," Colt grumbled. Sure enough Wes swung through the door and plopped down in the chair beside him. Even had the nerve to steal his apple pie!
"You're one to talk," his brother said around a mouthful of food. "Although, maybe if you took it out of your pants more often, you wouldn't be so damned grouchy."
He was on the verge of telling Wes to fuck off when his mother placed another piece of pie before him. Grandma was right behind her with the ice cream. Colt threw up his hands and pushed away from the table.
"Will you all just--"
Five sets of brown eyes stared at him, waiting for him to finish. It was no use; he was surrounded. A good man knew when to quit.
"All right. You win. I'll pick her up at the airport. But--" He lifted his finger. "--we've got a group going out and another coming in the next morning. I'm not making two trips."
Dad smacked the table. "Perfect time for her to start learning the ropes."
Colt swallowed a mumbled complaint, grabbed his pie, and stomped out to the porch swing.
The bunkhouse was just settling down. One by one lights clicked off in the guestrooms. His brother, Trent, would be just about done cleaning up the community room where they gathered for meals and other events. After a warm day, a breeze now kicked the stars around. He could hear the horses' slow gaits in the pasture beyond as they found their places to graze and rest. When it was warm, they let the horses stay out. In the winter, they'd all be in the barn, safe and cozy.
Business boomed at the Double-Trouble Ranch. Tourists couldn't get enough of playing cowboy. The Adamses gave them what they wanted, and they still kept coming--some from as far away as Japan and Germany. That seemed to be where they got the most out of country visitors. From time to time, they'd also host a group from whatever conference was going on in Austin. Most of those were just for the Friday night hay rides or the Saturday night barbecue and dancing. The Adams family ran this place with a precision the military would envy. They had to or it would all go to hell.
Working a ranch was rough enough; opening it to tourists doubled the work. Adding the oil drilling concession helped fill the coffers. They'd done so well, they could easily hand it over to a staff and the family could sit back in style. But where was the fun in that?
Colt loved the thrill of rounding up the herd, of seeing the birth of a new calf or any of the other animals for that matter. And nothing tickled him more than to hear the squeal of a child as they rode a horse for the first time. Or the unrepressed giggle of one of the tourists as they roped their dummy bull. Hand it over to someone else? Over his dead body.
And now the princess herself was coming. As far as he was concerned, she could take her money and leave. Obviously, he wasn't going to get his way on that. It had always frosted him that a portion of the ranch earnings always wound up in her trust account. She'd never had to do a thing for it, except be born. There might be some sweet justice here in seeing her dirty her lily-white hands.
The screen door squeaked open. Granddad joined him on the swing. They sat there watching the stars while Colt finished his pie. Then he set the plate aside and leaned back.
"You're too quiet, Granddad. You got something on your mind. Pissed about her coming?"
"Nope," he said with a sigh. "Just praying I can live up to my word to do right by her. I don't want her leaving here without us having done everything we can to make her live up to her potential. If there's going to be a failure, let it be hers, not ours."
"Why?"
"Because I gave my word."
Noble to a fault, but then weren't all the Adamses?
"What if she doesn't make the cut?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "Guess we just keep trying until she does. She won't get that trust or any further money from it until she can prove herself. Guess it'll be up to her to decide when she comes back."
And operations would be interrupted each time she did. It was best to get this over with now. "I'll do everything I can, Granddad."
"Going to have to do more than that, Colt." He rubbed his knees as he leaned forward. "I know it's not your nature, but I want you to ride her hard. I want you dogging her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I want her broke and tamed. I don't want anyone saying we didn't do everything in our power to bring her around to understand there's nothing more rewarding than a good day's work."
"And you're willing to sacrifice your first-born grandson to do so." Colt feigned hurt.
His grandfather chuckled and clapped him on the back. "Wes and Andrea have the baby coming. Trent is too swayed by a pretty face. So, yes, the vote for you was unanimous. Just remember to guard your jewels. Some of them fillies kick pretty hard."
