Wyoming Brave. Diana Palmer

pursed, but he seemed to find nothing enticing in the woman with the long, platinum hair in a braid down her back, her pale blue eyes trained on him like spotlights. She was pretty enough, but Ren had had enough of pretty women. Her figure wasn’t easily discernible in what she was wearing. She had on jeans and a sweatshirt, both loose on her slender body, and she wore no makeup. Odd, he thought, for one of Randall’s women not to show up in a tight and trashy outfit, batting her eyelashes at Ren and flirting with him. Randall’s women were experienced and aggressive. Ren hated having them around. Of course, Randall was usually around to entertain them. But here he was, bringing in an odd female and leaving her while he traveled around the world for Ren, lauding their ranch’s prize bulls. Randall was a born salesman. Ren was more introverted, withdrawn. He didn’t really like people much. He hated their mother and had no contact with her. But he loved his brother.

      He avoided women like the plague since his fiancée, Angie, had been caught with not one, but two other men, only two weeks before they were supposed to be married. Ren called off the ceremony and left Angie to deal with the aftermath. She’d been Randall’s girl first, until she realized that he wasn’t about to marry anyone. She set her cap at Ren instead, and teased him out of his mind for the three months of their engagement. To Randall’s credit, he’d tried to warn his brother. Ren had been in love for the first time in his life, and wouldn’t listen.

      Angie, meanwhile, had been looking forward to living a life of luxury. Ren chaired a mining company that was Fortune 500. That was in addition to the very profitable purebred Black Angus herd that graced the thousand acres of his ranch, and the champion seed bulls that commanded millions in sales of both young bulls and semen straws (which held bull semen) that were sold internationally. The bloodlines of his cattle were impeccable.

      The worst part of their broken engagement was that Ren had read all about himself on Angie’s Facebook page. He’d had to buy a new laptop afterward, since he’d thrown the damned thing clear through a window out into the yard. One of the kindest things she’d said about him was that he was a clumsy, boring lover, and his hick ranch was a joke.

      Attorneys had taken care of Angie’s lies online. He hadn’t heard from her again. He hoped he never did. He was never letting another woman get close to him. Once burned, twice shy.

      Now he was being stuck with another one of Randall’s women. It didn’t put him in a sparkling mood. She wasn’t going to find much fun here. He’d make sure of that. He was tired of Randall’s parade of women.

      “She won’t cause any trouble,” Randall was saying.

      Merrie nodded. She didn’t say anything. The tall rancher didn’t like her. He didn’t even try to hide that.

      “Delsey!” Ren called.

      An older woman came out of the kitchen with a harassed look on her face. She was small and plump, with gray hair in a bun and dark, beautiful brown eyes. She looked at Merrie with faint surprise, then she smiled.

      “This is Merrie Grayling,” Randall announced to her, putting a comforting arm around Merrie, who was almost trembling from Ren’s open hostility. “She’s from a small town in Texas.”

      Delsey shook Merrie’s hand. “You’ll be welcome here, dear,” she said with a wary glance at Ren. She smiled at Randall. “You off again?”

      “Yes. To England, to talk to a baron,” he added with a grin. “He runs purebred Black Angus and we have some champion bulls we’d like to sell him. He’s interested, but the personal touch is what makes sales.”

      “It does,” Ren agreed. His mouth pulled to one side. “I don’t have it.”

      “His idea of the personal touch is a cattle prod,” Randall told Merrie with sparkling eyes.

      “Only with people,” Ren replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. He stared at Merrie. “I don’t use cruelty as a tool. My cattle are used to gentle handling. I like cattle.”

      “Me, too,” Merrie said softly, flushing when Ren stared at her. “But I like horses best.” She searched his hard face. “Do you have one...that I could ride, maybe?”

      “We’ll talk about it later.” He glanced at his watch. “Vet’s coming over to inoculate some replacement heifers. I have to go.”

      Randall started to hug him, but was met with ice-cold eyes, and put out a hand to shake instead. He gave a wry smile to his brother. “Don’t stand in the cold too long,” he advised. “Snow’s coming, they say.”

      “It’s Wyoming,” Ren replied. “We always have snow.”

      “That must be nice,” Merrie said hesitantly. “We hardly ever have even a flurry where I come from.”

      Ren didn’t reply. He glanced at Delsey. “I’ll be in late. Just leave me some cold cuts in the fridge.”

      “I’ll do that. You be careful with that horse,” she added with affectionate concern. “He bit Davey yesterday.”

      “What horse?” Randall asked.

      Ren’s face tensed. “We had a new cowboy, one I took on faith because Tubbs hired him and said he was a good hand. He was out at the line cabin, where we didn’t see him much. When I rode out there to ask him about some of the bred heifers, I found him passed out dead drunk, and the horse we’d given him as a saddle mount was bleeding from deep cuts he’d put in him, God knows with what. I beat the hell out of him before I called the authorities and they took him away. He’s being prosecuted for cruelty to animals. I told them I’d be happy to testify,” he added coldly.

      Merrie wrapped her arms tightly around herself and shivered. That brought back painful memories of what she’d endured from her father. Lashings, beatings, all her young life. She was only twenty-two and she’d never been on a date, never been kissed, never had any friends...

      Her father was so rich that everyone in the area was afraid of him, so the girls—Merrie and her older sister, Sari—had never told anyone what went on in the beautiful mansion in Comanche Wells, Texas.

      “Cold?” Randall asked softly as she shivered.

      She shook her head. “My father...hurt a horse like that once.”

      “Did you turn him in?” Ren asked curtly.

      She swallowed. Hard. “People were too scared of him. It wouldn’t have done any good. The trainer just made sure the horses were never out when he went to the stables.”

      “You live on a ranch?” Ren asked.

      She nodded. “Not nearly as big as this one. We just had...have...horses.”

      “Well, you won’t go near this one. Hurricane is the most dangerous animal on the place. He took a hunk out of one cowboy’s arm and barely missed killing another who tried to get a bridle off him. He won’t let anybody touch him.”

      “The bridle’s still on?” Randall asked worriedly.

      “Yes.” Ren grimaced. “His head’s rubbed raw by it. The cowboy probably dragged him around with it. We’ll try again to get the vet to sedate him.” He shook his head. “Can’t hold him still long enough for the man to get a needle in him. He knows a guy at the forest service who has a tranquilizer gun. He’s trying to borrow one.”

      “Poor thing,” Merrie said softly. “A man who’ll do that to a horse will do it to people,” she added, her eyes lowered as she remembered her father.

      Ren studied her curiously. “In fact, the sheriff thinks he had a poster on the man Tubbs hired.” He looked at Randall. “Next time, I’ll do the hiring,” he said with a faint upturn of his mouth. “Tubbs has no judgment about people.”

      “She does,” Randall said, hugging Merrie close to his side. “She paints.”

      “A lot of people paint,” Ren said dismissively. He checked his watch again. “Have a safe flight,” he told his brother.