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  The Cowboy's Promise

  Macie St. James

  THE COWBOY’S PROMISE

  Last Chance Ranch, Book 1

  Copyright © 2020 Macie St. James

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Some research courtesy of KansasBeef.org.

  Cover Design by Danielle Doolittle | DoElle Designs | www.doelledesigns.wix.com

  Copyediting by Sara Burgess | Telltail Editing | https://telltailediting.com/

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

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  1

  You always knew a ranch was a ranch by its entrance.

  That was the first thought that flew through Harley Jenkins’ mind as she approached Cedar Tree Ranch. The ranch’s name was marked in big, bold letters on an arch above the entrance. It came in handy for finding an address. You couldn’t even accidentally pass this one, the lettering was so large and bold.

  Harley Jenkins steered her small red convertible under the arch and found herself on a straight, dirt drive. She hadn’t seen a road like this since childhood. Just three days ago, she would have said there were no dirt roads left. But here she was, in the middle of Montana, on one longer than the street in front of her condo.

  It was all worth it when she pulled up to the house and stepped out of the sports car. She took a deep breath, inhaling some of that fresh mountain air. She’d grown up in Colorado, so mountain air would always smell like home to her.

  Harley closed her eyes to savor the moment. That slightly chilly October air on her face. The distant sound of a dog barking. The weird, pungent odor of cow poop gradually wafting toward her.

  Wait… That smelled a little too strong.

  With a sinking feeling in her gut, Harley looked down. Just her luck. Her foot had solidly landed in cow poop.

  “That’s going to be tough to get off.”

  Harley turned and almost lost her balance, but somehow managed to grab onto her car just in time. A man stood on the porch of the house in front of her, witnessing all of this. He was definitely not the man in the photo her online research had unearthed. He was way too young. But she was renting a cabin on this property from a man who had introduced himself as one of Andrew Briscoe’s four sons, so this could very well be one of them.

  Pulling her ballet flat-clad foot out of the cow patty, she stepped on the grass next to it. A quick pass at wiping it off only seemed to make it worse.

  With a sigh, she pushed her tote bag strap back onto her shoulder and started toward the house. She’d figure out what to do about her shoe when she got there.

  “May I help you?” the voice called from the porch.

  She’d put off looking at him, instead opting to watch where she was going. But now that she was close to the steps, she had no choice but to address him directly.

  Her gaze moved from the short series of concrete steps to a pair of sneakers, then a pair of denim-clad legs. Above that was a plaid flannel shirt that clung to his body so tightly, every muscle was outlined in detail. As her roommate would say, he filled out his clothing spectacularly.

  Harley realized she was staring at his chest and quickly found her manners. Clearing her throat, she forced her stare up to his face—and suddenly became speechless.

  Those eyes. They were a particularly bright shade of blue, and his gaze seemed to bore right through her. He didn’t look angry as much as closed off. Like she was a door-to-door salesperson annoying him in the middle of dinner.

  “Harley Jenkins,” she said. “Is Andrew Briscoe around?”

  She wasn’t good at this sales stuff, but it was a necessary part of getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was this prime piece of land.

  Scratch that. This prime piece of land was what she needed. Her job—not to mention her general financial survival—depended on it.

  “Who’s asking?” Blue Eyes asked.

  She’d prepared for this. But she’d prepared for facing Andrew Briscoe with these questions, not this dude in tight denim.

  Harley took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m a land consultant. This property is for sale, correct?”

  “Nope.”

  Nope?

  She definitely hadn’t prepared for that answer. She should have, considering landowners out here near the mountains were very protective. He probably saw her as a city girl in her skinny jeans and lace-and-flannel shirt. Not to mention her poop-covered right shoe.

  “You may be aware that the new bypass will run past this property,” Harley said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “It’s four miles that way.” He lifted his right arm, pointing west. “Won’t affect this property but thank you for your concern.”

  He backed up a step, like he was preparing to go back into his house. Harley took that as her cue to move.

  But first, she had to remove her nasty shoe.

  Slipping out of her flats, she climbed his steps, barefoot. He was already pushing the front door open before she got to the top step.

  “Wait!” she called out.

  She had a feeling it would be harder to get through to him once he’d slammed that front door behind him. Getting back in would be impossible.

  He turned to face her, and she finally got a glimpse of him up close. She’d been right about those eyes. They were something else. But that wasn’t what made him so attractive. It was the set of the jaw, the way his smirk set off the dimple on his right cheek. She had a hard time staying focused, but she didn’t want to break eye contact. Breaking eye contact would be like backing down.

  “This property is very valuable,” she said. “I’m here to help you make the most of it.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you think I want to make the most of it?”

  She didn’t have a good answer for that. She didn’t even know what his connection to this place was. For all she knew, he’d moved in here without Andrew Briscoe’s permission. Maybe he was a squatter.

  “I happen to know this ranch is operating in the red,” she said. “You can’t possibly continue this way. I don’t know if you’re entertaining offers—”

  “The property is not for sale,” h
e interrupted.

  “The county records state otherwise.”

  Now he really looked amused. He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. Somehow when he did it, though, it didn’t seem creepy. It felt like he was assessing her.

  “My parents transferred the property to me and my brothers,” he told her. “They moved. We’ll make it profitable.”

  Everything was starting to make sense now. She hadn’t dug into the records herself. She was going on her boss’s word. Unfortunately, that meant trusting he’d done the work of making sure this property was actually available before sending her on a day-long road trip to make an offer.

  And now she’d wasted time and money traveling here. Not to mention the money she’d spent on a home rental.

  Harley bridged the distance between them a little more. “Just hear me out. I drove more than nine hours to meet you.”

  “It’s a little late in the day for door-to-door sales,” he commented.

  The smirk attached to that comment bugged her to no end. She pushed past the annoyance, admitted she was arriving far later than she’d planned thanks to a few accidental detours, and addressed the part of his comment that needed her correction immediately.

  “I’m not a door-to-door salesperson,” she said. “My boss is one of the top investors in the northwest. His deal can change your life.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “My father isn’t here.”

  “So you aren’t the owner of this land now? I thought you said he transferred the property to you.”

  “And my three brothers. We make decisions equally.”

  “I’d like to talk to you first,” she said. “If you’re interested, we’ll loop your brothers in. Does that sound fair?”

  Harley was winging this whole sales pitch thing, and she had no idea how she’d keep winging it once they got inside. This had seemed like a slam-dunk to her when she was sitting in her condo, rehearsing what she’d say. Of course, it was funny what you could convince yourself when you were desperate to avoid the unemployment line.

  He was assessing her again. She bit her lip, wishing he’d stop doing that. Not that it was making her uncomfortable or anything. She just felt like he was amusing himself at her expense. It probably had to do with that smirk of his.

  “Come on in.” He gestured for her to follow.

  She wasn’t sure whether that was a victory or not. All she knew was that he wasn’t slamming the door in her face, so it had to be progress.

  Following him through the living room, she couldn’t help but look around. The place was far more charming than she’d expected. It had the farmhouse decorating style that was popular even in the big city, complete with big signs bearing messages like, ‘Love’ and ‘Family.’

  The kitchen was even more impressive. Signs and pictures filled every wall, expertly arranged in a way that was classy without overdoing it. The home seemed like something out of a magazine. Unfortunately for her, that communicated that the owner of this property had no plans to sell in the foreseeable future.

  “I have some soup if you’re hungry,” he said as she stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure if she should take a seat or continue to stand there.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I ate in the car. I was trying to get here, so I had to run through a drive-thru to avoid being later than I already was.”

  Why had she told him that? Talk about TMI. She clamped her lips shut as she contemplated her next move.

  “Name’s Clay,” he said, walking toward her and extending his hand. “Clay Briscoe.”

  She would have inferred the last name from his mention of Andrew as his father. But it was nice to finally have a first name to put with the face.

  “Harley Jenkins. From Seattle.”

  When she thrust her arm out to accept his handshake offer, his large, rough hand engulfed hers. She was all too aware of just how smooth her hand likely was. It gave away the fact that she’d spent most of her life at a keyboard rather than working hard on a five thousand-acre ranch.

  “Seattle, huh,” he commented. “Yeah, I figured.”

  Harley frowned. “What does that mean?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  He shrugged. “Just figured you for a big-city girl. You did step straight from your car into a cow patty.”

  “I grew up in a rural area,” she said. “We didn’t have a ranch, but I rode horses. I know how to navigate cow patties, but sometimes you have to stop and smell the roses.”

  “Or the cow feces.”

  Harley blinked in surprise. Cow feces? Something about the way he said it made her want to smile. She resisted the urge.

  “It’s not like Canyon Falls is country living, anyway,” she pointed out. “At least, not anymore.”

  Clay sighed. “Have a seat.”

  He gestured toward the table next to a window with a view of the mountains. They were off in the distance, but still, it was a far better view than the one at her condo. The best view in her place was of the parking lot.

  “Yeah, we’re not too excited about the citification of our town,” Clay said.

  Harley nodded. “Urban sprawl. It’s happening outside Seattle, too. People can’t find an affordable place in the city, so the population spreads farther and farther and farther out. But it’s actually good news for landowners. They stand to make a lot of money.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” Clay muttered.

  Harley sat back in her chair. Yeah, money wasn’t everything…until you didn’t have it. Until your boss threatened to fire you and you were living paycheck to paycheck and rent was due in just two weeks, but you only had two hundred dollars in savings. Clay wouldn’t understand that.

  Or would he?

  “As long as you have the basics, it isn’t,” she finally said. “There’s nothing worse than facing eviction. But I’m sure you’ve never had to worry about that.”

  He said nothing, just stared at her. His eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise, he didn’t move an inch. She felt the scrutiny behind his gaze, the way he was watching—studying—her.

  “Nothing wrong with working to survive,” he said after several long moments. “As long as it’s survival, not greed.”

  His statement took her breath. Even though she worked for someone else, she was pretty sure she’d fall solidly under the definition of ’workaholic.’ While she didn’t exactly love her job, getting up every morning and tackling some big challenge gave her life purpose. Her goal was to find a way to excel at this job and parlay the experience into a position doing what she really wanted to do—event management.

  Yes, her goal was financial survival. Or so she’d told herself. But he seemed to see right past that. This man she’d just met appeared to immediately recognize her tendency to hide behind her work.

  She’d never been as fascinated—or as terrified—in her life.

  2

  It took one to know one.

  Clay thought of that saying from childhood. Very wise words. The gorgeous redhead seated across from him was all too familiar to him. She was hiding behind work. He’d done exactly that since returning home a year ago after having his heart handed to him on a platter by a corporate attorney named Savannah.

  Thankfully, running this ranch had given him more than enough to do, helping him quickly put Savannah in his past. The family ranch needed his help after a couple of bad years. He got here just in time for his parents to announce they were giving it all up to move to one of those retirement communities in Florida.

  The good news? He and his brothers would eventually inherit the whole property. The bad news? His parents wanted the land to remain a working ranch. It was his responsibility, as the oldest sibling, to make sure that happened.

  “It’s not work if it’s something you enjoy,” Harley said.

  “You enjoy telling others how to make money on their land?”

  He had a feeling she would somehow benefit from his land sale. But he figured he’d g
o along with her saying she was there to help him until she was ready to ‘fess up.

  “Think of me as a business consultant,” she said. “I’m that person who comes in and tells you how to make boatloads of money. This just happens to be a real estate transaction.”

  Had this been any other door-to-door salesperson—which was essentially what he’d decided she was—he would have questioned her on her credentials. Once she’d stated them, he would have looked her up online to verify she was telling the truth. He wasn’t entertaining what she was selling, don’t get him wrong. It was simply a tried-and-true method for getting rid of people who came along peddling things he didn’t need.

  Clay leaned forward, looking her dead in the eye to show he was serious. “I assume you have formed some sort of preconceived notion about this property. We had a couple of tough seasons, true, but we’re turning things around. Besides, I’m under strict instructions not to sell. So, as much as I’ve enjoyed this—”

  “Strict instructions?” she interrupted. “From whom?”

  “My parents.” He sat back in his chair, taking his usual relaxed posture. “This is to remain a working ranch.”

  Harley smiled. That wasn’t a good sign, despite the fact that the way her smile lit up her eyes stirred a warmth he hadn’t felt in a while. It was a feeling he’d been pretty sure he’d left far behind until now.

  “Do I need to point out that only part of your land is used for ranching?” she asked. “What if I told you that you could keep your cattle?”