His Enemy's Daughter. Sarah M. Anderson

the weirdest thing happened. Pete Wellington—a man who had never bothered to hide his hatred of her—lowered his chin and, from under the brim of his hat where no one else could see it, winked at her. Before she could figure what the hell that was supposed to mean, he stepped back.

      “You’re right,” he said to Dustin in particular and the crowd of cowboys in general. “I happen to know firsthand that, because we don’t have mixed competitions, no one has ever been injured in the All-Stars rodeo.”

      Chloe blinked. Was that...sarcasm?

      In her defense?

      What the hell was going on?

      There was a three-second pause while Pete’s words settled over the crowd before the first chuckle started. Another joined it and soon, all the guys who’d ridden in rodeos, past or present, began to laugh.

      “Face it, boys,” Pete went on, “we’ve all been stepped on by a bull or thrown by a bronco.” Heads nodded in agreement. It was practically a sea of bobbing cowboy hats. “Women have nothing to do with the bones I’ve broken or the bruises I’ve suffered—no offense to my momma, who tried to keep me out of the arena. I say, if women want to compete on our teams and they can help a team win, why wouldn’t we want that to happen?”

      The bobbing stopped and Dustin pounced. “Are you serious, Wellington?”

      “Have you ever seen my sister rope a steer?” Pete shot back. “She could give any man in this arena a run for his money.”

      Chloe stared almost helplessly up at Pete. He hadn’t gone in for the kill. He really was defending her.

      When he looked down at her, an electric shock skated over her skin. Then he completely blew her mind by saying, “If Chloe says it’s a good idea to open up the team competitions to women, then it’s a good idea.”

      “You can’t seriously think she’s had a good idea.” Dustin spat into the dirt.

      “Do I look like I’m joking?” Pete shot back.

      Chloe gaped at the man.

      Who the hell was this Pete damned Wellington?

       Two

      Pete couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. Chloe Lawrence looked exactly like a fish stunned to find itself in the bottom of a boat instead of the bottom of a lake. By God, it was good to get the upper hand on the woman, for once. Everything was going according to plan.

      Pete cut a glance back at Chloe. If he weren’t enjoying himself quite so much, he’d be tempted to feel sorry for her. She was normally so high and mighty, the kind of smugly self-assured woman who thought she was better than everyone else, especially him. She never missed the opportunity to rub his face in the fact that the All-Stars wasn’t his rodeo anymore.

      Now he’d turned the tables and he was going to enjoy rubbing her face in it. These men didn’t owe her any particular allegiance and they all knew it.

      But that fleeting moment when Dustin took a swipe at her, where pain etched her delicate features, didn’t make him feel like he was winning. It made him feel like an ass. He felt like he’d seen that look before, a long time ago. Probably when he’d said something cruel. He couldn’t remember what and besides, Chloe always gave as good as she got, so he wouldn’t bother to feel bad about past insults.

      He pushed back against that wisp of guilt because it was small and easily ignored. Hey, he was not the bad guy here, never had been. All he wanted was what was rightfully his. It had nothing to do with Chloe personally. It had everything to do with her lying, cheating family.

      But even as he repeated that familiar truth, his gaze was drawn to her again. The fact that she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever had the displeasure of butting heads with only made it worse. In another lifetime, the one where his family still owned the All-Stars, he and Chloe wouldn’t be on opposite sides of a never-ending war. She would’ve been just another gorgeous face and Pete would’ve been free to...

      Well, he would’ve had his rodeo back.

      The rodeo was his, dammit. The Lawrence Oil All-Around All-Stars Pro Rodeo circuit was comprised of individual rodeos that were hosted from small towns to big cities. Most of the rodeos, like the Bootheel Rodeo in Missouri, predated the All-Stars by decades.

      When Pete’s father Davey had started the All-Stars back in the eighties with a group of his friends, he’d had big plans. More than just a bunch of individual rodeos—with individual winners—Davey Wellington had seen a way to crown the world’s best All-Around Cowboy. It’d been a crazy idea but then, Davey had been just crazy enough to make it work.

      Every rodeo that wanted to count toward the world rankings had to be approved by the All-Around All-Stars. The summers of Pete’s childhood had been spent with his dad, driving from rodeo to rodeo to see if that local rodeo was worthy of being counted as an All-Star rodeo.

      God, those had been good days, just the two of them in Dad’s truck, sending postcards back to Mom. As far as he could recall, those summers had been the only time Pete had ever had his father’s undivided attention. Pete might not have been there when Davey decided to settle the matter of who the best cowboy was forever, but by his father’s side, Pete had literally worked to build the All-Stars from the ground up.

      Rodeo was family. The All-Stars was his family, his father’s legacy. It was his legacy, by God. Except for that damned poker game. Milt Lawrence had all but stolen the All-Stars from Davey when the man was deep into his whiskey and nothing Pete did could change that. And God knew he’d tried.

      When Armstrong Oil—Lawrence Oil’s main competitor—had tapped oil on his ranch and Pete had suddenly become quite rich, he’d tried to buy the All-Stars back from Milt Lawrence. Hadn’t worked. Neither had any of the lawsuits that had followed.

      The Lawrences were like leeches. Once they’d latched on, they weren’t letting go until they’d drained the All-Stars of all its history, meaning and money. It was time to try a new line of attack.

      One that relied on grumpy old farts. “You can’t be serious,” Yardley snarled. “We had a deal.”

      Pete glared at the man. He should’ve known better than to trust Dustin Yardley with something like this.

      “What deal?” Chloe snapped. Any trace of confusion was gone from her face. She jammed her hands on the sweet curve of her hips and glared at Pete. Because of course she suspected the truth.

      It was no accident that Pete was in Missouri today and it was no accident that he’d come upon the scene with Chloe being browbeaten by a bunch of old cowboys.

      “What deal?” Pete echoed, trying to sound innocent and hoping that Dustin would get the damned hint to shut his trap.

      Chloe had been running the rodeo by herself for a few months now and the buck stopped with her. She couldn’t hide behind her daddy’s boots anymore, and her brother Oliver? He’d been useless from the get-go, relying on Chloe as his liaison. In theory, the decisions had come from Oliver but Chloe had been the show manager.

      When Oliver had officially stepped away from managing the rodeo earlier this year, Chloe hadn’t hired anyone else to help run the show. She should have, though. She had to be drowning in work. They were a long way from Dallas and Chloe had no backup.

      Managing the All-Stars was a full-time job and she’d also started that Princess clothing line. His sister, Marie, had bought a couple of shirts, ostensibly so she and Pete could make fun of the latest tacky venture from the tacky Lawrences. But Marie—the traitor—had actually liked the clothing so much she’d bought a few more pieces.

      Chloe could have her little fashion show—Pete didn’t care about that at all. But she was going to ruin his rodeo and he wasn’t going to stand for