Racing Hearts: Bennett Boys Ranch Read online

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  “Oh, my God, tell me all about it,” Sophie squeals from across the table, clapping her hands, and from beneath the table, I hear her heeled booties stomping.

  I grin, excited to have something different to share today than my usual farm life update. Not that Sophie’s ever minded my chatter about goats since she’s an animal lover herself.

  I squirm in my seat, the vinyl making an awkward peeling sound against the bare flesh of my thighs. After my meeting at the resort, I’d changed at Sophie’s and she’d helped me add a bit of flirtiness to my barely-there makeup. I feel a bit like a rhinestone cowgirl now, but knowing that I could out ride, out rope, and out shoot most of the guys in this room helps me relax into the sexier-than-I’m-used-to getup.

  “Brianna and Gavin were so nice and even excited to carry my soaps. Bri read each and every label, set them up in a prime location right inside the door, and let me leave a bowl of sample slivers in the lobby restrooms with a sign that read, Tannen Goat Soap is for sale in the gift shop. And I saw your sis-in-law, Katelyn. They’re putting mini soap bars in the honeymoon suites!” I freeze, the full weight of the awesomeness hitting me at once. My jaw drops open and my hands lift to cover it as my eyebrows shoot high.

  “Oh, my Chee-sus and crackers, Soph! I’m doing it!”

  She grins, truly happy for me. She should be, especially since this whole thing was her idea. When we met, I was just excited to have another girl to talk to and had hoped for a friend for the summer while she was here. But she fell in love with a local boy and stayed.

  Okay, not quite just a local boy, but one of the neighbors, the youngest of the Bennett brothers. So that made it a lot easier to get together with Sophie on the regular. She was the one who suggested I sell my soaps other places besides the market, and here I am . . . actually doing it!

  “I’m not only a domestic goddess of the farm species. I’m an entrepreneur!” I proclaim, proud of both titles.

  “You sure are!” She does a happy dance in her seat that I copy until a deep chuckle comes from beside the table.

  “I take it this means the meeting went well?”

  I look up to see James Bennett, Sophie’s husband, standing beside the table. He’s a tall drink of water, a little thicker than he used to be, but still, all muscle these days since he’s not keeping lean for the rodeo, and he’s hopelessly smitten with Sophie. Which is only fair because that girl is ass over teakettle for James too. They’d be sickening if they weren’t so adorable.

  I don’t answer James in words, just a squeal and a nod.

  He smiles back, turning over his shoulder to call out to Hank. “Round of ‘special’ strawberry margaritas for the girls and a draft for me, please.” Hank nods but points a gnarled old finger at me, so I know I’ll be getting that ‘special’ version too. One sans alcohol.

  It makes sense for Sophie since she’s five months pregnant, but for me too?

  Come on, twenty-first birthday! It’s literally weeks away, and at home, I have beer and wine coolers when I want, and the good lord and Sheriff Downs know I’ve had more than my fair share at pasture parties. All of which Hank damn well knows. But neither he, nor I, will risk his liquor license and the only honkytonk in town for me to get a little José Cuervo in my margarita.

  Seconds later, the waitress drops off our celebratory drinks, ours with paper umbrellas and James’s in a frosty mug. We raise our glasses, toasting my victory.

  “To the goats,” I say, my cheeks flushing with joy.

  “To dreams coming true,” Sophie says, always one for pretty words.

  “To the goat soap girl,” James answers, laughing like he said something hilarious as he winks at me.

  “Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” I singsong back as we clink glasses and take sips of our respective drinks. “Besides, we know what you did with the goats during your younger days.”

  Even James has to laugh at that one. It’s not really a dirty joke. He used to practice riding on the backs of the goats and fell off more than a few times. Seeing him on his ass was good fun for the younger me, before everything between our families went so wrong.

  “Did you order yet?” James asks Sophie as we set our drinks down. At her nod, he guesses correctly. “Special of the day?”

  “Ham steak, potato salad, green beans, and a roll,” I say, a worry trying to worm its way into my head about the guys back home feeding themselves tonight. It’s not that they can’t or don’t do it when they need to, but it’s part of my daily checklist, and even though I know they’re fine and full of beef stew, I love them and worry whether they’ll get enough after a long day of work.

  Because make no mistake, I might work hard keeping the house running, but they work just as hard, sometimes even harder, keeping the farm and ranch running. It takes us all together.

  But I fight the urge to text our group chat to make sure they ate. They’re grown men. They don’t need me checking up on them. Besides, it’s a chance for me to lead by example. If I leave them alone, maybe they’ll occasionally leave me alone too. Let me have a bit of wild child freedom tonight.

  In my hometown . . . in a bar where the bartender remembers me in diapers . . . in a room full of people I’ve known my whole life. Sitting at a table with my literal next-door neighbor and his wife.

  Some rebel I am.

  But I only let a single bite of bitterness chase the margarita down, determined to celebrate tonight. After all, I’m here because I’m making my mark now.

  And I do . . . chowing down on delicious food I didn’t make and burning it off by dancing with every cowboy who’ll spin me around the floor. There’s quite a few, and while one of them looked like he might be wanting to push a few boundaries, one glance from James has every man in here on their best behavior.

  Nobody wants to piss off both the Tannens and the Bennetts.

  I might not be the rebel they write books about, but I’m a good country girl, and besides, no one sits out when the jukebox plays Cotton-Eyed Joe.

  I let the music take me away, kicking my worries to the curb, two-stepping away from the chains of rules I’m expected to follow and celebrating that today, I took a chance and it paid off big-time. James might’ve thought he was being funny, but I’m damn sure glad to wear that crown today.

  “Goat Soap Girl,” I whisper to myself, almost needing to pinch my arm at the dream come true.

  Chapter 2

  Luke

  A huge sigh works its way free when I see the lights of Great Falls. Just beyond that crest, way on the outskirts of the city in the surrounding rural area, is my destination.

  Home. Finally. After weeks away, I’ve missed this growing little mountain burg.

  But with as late as it is, I need to eat dinner before crashing into bed. It’s not like anyone’s expecting me at home, anyway. I come and go as I please, my brothers and me and an occasional seasonal ranch hand working the family ranch.

  As long as I’m there for chores bright and early in the morning, no one gives a shit what time I roll into town tonight.

  So I pull into the parking lot at Hank’s, ready for a bite to eat, a cold beer, and a minute to relax. But damn, the lot’s full. And as I go inside, the loud music and chatter of the crowd greet me. So much for relaxing. What day is it, anyway?

  I glance up at the specials board to see that it’s Friday. Huh. I would’ve guessed Wednesday at most, but the days on the road are long, and when I’m away from home, I usually work the entire week. So it’s no surprise I lost track.

  I sit down at the bar, and Hank, the owner, saunters over. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his hip-swinging gait was from years of horseback riding, but I know his secret that his ambling walk is from a bum hip that acts up sometimes, product of his time in the Marines and a river called the Hue. But he doesn’t tell that story to many folks, so I don’t share it either.

  “Usual?” he asks, his hands drying a freshly-washed glass with a white
towel.

  At my nod, he leans in, lowering his voice. “Your brother’s over there. Not sure if that makes you wanna go over or leave, but there ya go.”

  My lips twitch, appreciating the warning, but I’ve got no bad blood with my brothers. We get along well, aside from the usual Alpha-male shit from our teens. It was well established then, and continues to be the case now, that my older brother, Mark, is the boss of us all. Now that he’s the stand-in for Pops too, he’s even more the leader of the Bennett family. The only one with a hope and a prayer of making Mark do something he doesn’t want to is Mama. Or maybe his girl, Katelyn?

  Yeah, Kate’s got Mark wrapped around her pretty little finger.

  But it’s not Mark I see when I glance over my shoulder. It’s my younger brother, James, and his new wife, Sophie. She’s feeding him bits of her roll and he’s sucking at her fingers like it’s damn near foreplay in the middle of Hank’s.

  Never one to miss out on giving James shit, I lift my glass toward James’s table to let Hank know I’m moving over. He smirks knowingly, trusting that we Bennett boys won’t get too far gone. We’re a little crazy, my youngest brother most of all, but we’re not troublemakers.

  I slide into the round booth, sneaking up to lean in close to Sophie’s other side. “Now what’s a nice lady like you doing with a degenerate like this?”

  James sputters for a half-beat, bowing up instantly before seeing that it’s me and settling. Slightly. “Fucker, can’t you see you’re interrupting here?” he growls, but Sophie’s already got a hand on his arm, encouraging him to stand down with a sweet smile.

  I chuckle, cocking an eyebrow paired with a grin. “And that’s the point. You think Mama’s gonna be happy to hear about you and Soph mauling each other in the middle of Hank’s?”

  He bites his lip, looking at Sophie like she’s a steak and he’s a starving man. “I ain’t mauling her . . . yet. Just politely nibbling as she shares her dinner with me.” He’s got sex dripping from every rumbled word, and I don’t need to hear that shit from my brother. Hell, I hear enough when they visit the pond out on the ranch. Sophie ain’t . . . quiet.

  So I poke and tease, the way brothers do. “Oh, just sharing dinner, you say? Then you won’t mind if she shares a bit of her biscuit with me too?”

  Sophie is on to our brotherly games by now and holds out a bite for me, barely restraining her laughter. I chomp it from her hand, making sure to not get too personal and touch her with my teeth or lips, but it still devils the shit out of my brother, who’s watching with fire in his eyes though we all know I’m just joking around.

  “You leave her biscuit to me, Luke.”

  I laugh, chewing open-mouthed just to drive home the point that I already got a bite of her biscuit, even if it’s not the one he’s mouthing about.

  I sit back up straight, no longer invading Sophie’s space but still preening at getting one over on James. I can’t help it. He’s too easy, and Sophie’s so easygoing. It’s why their playfulness works, I guess, not that I’d know anything about what a relationship takes since my grand total of serious relationships is zero.

  Casual? Okay. Short-term? Sure thing. No strings? I’m your man. Because I’m gone next week, anyway.

  Not that I’m leaving a trail of women everywhere I go.

  No, most trips I take, it’s me and a couple of old guys watching and praying our work takes and another generation of racehorses is born. For a guy who spends the bulk of his time on procreation, I do very little of it myself.

  “You just getting into town?” James asks, pulling Sophie’s legs over his under the table. She leans back and relaxes, letting her stomach pooch out a bit.

  Even in the two weeks I’ve been gone, I can tell her baby bump has grown beneath her shirt. Give her a month, and she won’t be able to sit in a booth here but will have to use a chair.

  Speaking of the next generation, she’s got a Bennett growing in her belly. Never would’ve thought it’d be the youngest Bennett to hit that milestone first, but James has never done anything in small measures. It’s in for an ounce, in for a kilometric fuckton with that guy since he was a kid.

  Hell, Mark’s probably not far behind. I get the feeling he’d have his new wife, Katelyn, knocked up twenty-four seven if he could. Their relationship was a bit of shock to everyone since Mark had all but declared himself a perpetual bachelor in the town square, but Katelyn hadn’t taken no for an answer. And now, they’re living their happily ever after, to everyone’s surprise.

  I can’t help but think that if even grumpy, grunting Mark can find someone, surely, I can too.

  But not many women want a man who’s here and gone all the time. I’ve got roots, and they run deep, but I’ve got dreams that take me far and wide too. And that’s a lot to ask of a woman.

  But I’m here now.

  “Yeah, drove back from Tennessee,” I answer, knowing he probably didn’t keep up with where I disappeared to this time. “But things went well.”

  “You get that filly knocked up?” Sophie asks, knowing she sounds more frat bro than nice girl. I think that’s one of the reasons James likes her. She can keep up with our brotherhood of boy shit, though we might’ve corrupted her a little bit. “She’s young, right? Three?”

  And that’s one of the reasons I like Sophie. Other than she keeps my brother on his toes while somehow loving him, she can talk horses with me, cows with Mark, and bulls with James. She can carry on a conversation about ranch maximization, check your pigs’ health, and get dirty in the mud without a second thought before getting gussied up in heels and a dress. James is a lucky man. We’re a lucky family to have her as a sister.

  “Almost four,” I correct her. “So if it takes, she’ll be just shy of five for delivery. Should be good.”

  The waitress sets my plate down, and I basically hoover it into my mouth. I’ve got manners, and even use them occasionally, but right now, I just need food in my belly. Lunch was a few hundred miles and an Interstate rest stop ago.

  I tell Sophie and James about the ranch I visited, their horse stock, and how we’d decided on a particular stud for their filly, hopefully soon-to-be mare. They return the favor, telling me about what I’ve missed at home on our ranch.

  “What brought you two lovebirds out tonight? Planning on some dancing?” I ask as we wrap up our ranch business update.

  Sophie grins, shaking her head. “Shayanne got the soap deal at the resort. She put everything out today, so we’re celebrating.”

  I nod, pushing my empty plate forward a few inches. “Good for her,” I say.

  I know Shayanne more in name than in person these days. When we were kids, she was the annoying squirt who followed us boys around, demanding that we include her in our rough-housing play.

  Later, the families drifted apart, even though we’re technically neighbors. But lots of acres and well-tended fences mean that neighborly distance is pretty far, and the Hatfield-McCoy vibe our families maintain has kept us even further apart.

  I hadn’t seen Shayanne for years until she was a bridesmaid at Sophie’s wedding this past summer. My impression then had been that she’d grown into a stunning firecracker of a woman. In her bridesmaid dress, she was all curls and curves and bright eyes that dared a cowboy to fall under her sway.

  But she’s young and a Tannen, so I mostly just hear about her from Sophie since they’re best friends. We’ve struck somewhat of a tenuous truce with them, mostly because of Soph, but that doesn’t mean I want to poke that particular bear.

  Until . . . speak of the devil and she will appear.

  Shayanne herself plops down beside me, her tanned and toned bare thigh pressing up against mine as she leans in, breathlessly proclaiming, “Whew, that last one near did me in. I need a water, stat, before round two starts.”

  I can see a thin bead of sweat running from her collarbone down to her cleavage, and thankfully, her attention is on Sophie as I watch its winding trail. My mouth waters to chase it, tra
ck it like a hunter, and lick it up as I devour her lush tits.

  I inhale sharply. Where did that come from?

  But I can smell her. A sweet combination of sweat and sunshine, dirt and perfume. Nothing fancy, not this girl . . . just honest.

  Honestly sexy.

  I want to breathe her in, explore her every nook and cranny to see where her uniquely personal perfume originates.

  I clear my throat. Fuck, this trip must’ve hit me harder than I thought. I need to get laid. And not by the Tannen woman sitting next to me.

  Her cheeks are pink with exertion, her smile wide and dazzling. She looks pleased with herself, though I’m not sure if that’s from her achievement today with the soap or her spins on the floor. Maybe both.

  “Here, you can have my water,” I tell her, pushing the glass I haven’t touched her way. I purposefully pick up my beer and take a good pull on it so I don’t watch her throat work the cool liquid down. Instead, I scan the area behind her, wondering who she was dancing with.

  I see a guy in a dusty, curled ballcap eyeing our table like he’s trying to figure out the relations between us all. With Shayanne sitting by my side, I’m sure he’s hoping we’re kin so he’s not cockblocked for the night. I give him a glare over my beer bottle, and he spins in place, walking away.

  That’s right, buddy. Hands off the girl.

  Wait . . . what? Why?

  I’m not sure why I care. She’s certainly entitled to dance with anyone she damn well pleases, but I feel a bit protective of her for some reason. Not that she needs any sheltering. Everyone knows her daddy and brothers keep her on a short leash. Hell, she rarely even comes into town unless it’s to hang out with Sophie, and that’s usually for girls’ night in.

  But something about her makes me want to throw my arm over her shoulders, pull her to my side, and keep her safe. In realizing that she’s all grown up, I see that other guys are checking her out and it doesn’t seem right. She’s not innocent, but maybe unjaded? I don’t want anyone taking advantage.