Wrangling The Rich Rancher

This rancher can’t say no to a sexy single mom...

It’s the day of reckoning for Matt Clark, secret illegitimate son of a country superstar. Because journalist Libby Penn is on the doorstep of his sprawling ranch seeking an interview. He denies her request. But feisty Libby thrills him as no woman ever has. Soon they’re in his bed.

Despite their sizzling chemistry, Matt worries the stunning single mom is still vulnerable after losing her husband. And he resents her desire to reunite him with his father. But resistance to the sunny spitfire is proving futile...

Wrangling the Rich Rancher is part of the Sons of Country series.

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Libby said. “My cabin’s right over there.”

“Yes, but sometimes the coyotes come down from the hills at this hour,” Matt insisted.

“But they wouldn’t approach me, would they?”

“They might. I’ve heard they’re partial to blondes in short skirts and fancy boots.”

She broke into a smile. “I can fend them off. I’m tougher than I look.”

“That’s good. Because you look like a sugar cookie dipped in silver sprinkles.”

“You don’t like sugar cookies?”

“I never said I didn’t like them. I can eat dozens of them.” His amber eyes turned hungry. “I could even devour one whole.”

Libby fidgeted in her seat. “You’re making me nervous, Matt.”

He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”

“You probably shouldn’t be telling me this.”

“I’m not taking it back, either. I admitted how I feel, and it’s done and over now.”

* * *

Wrangling the Rich Rancher

is part of the Sons of Country series:

Three heirs to country-music royalty face

the music with three very special women...

Dear Reader,

When I suggested this series, focusing on a country star and his sons, I was thrilled that my editors liked the concept, too. I used to work for some famous musicians. Many years ago I painted the leather pick guards on the original Waylon Jennings signature guitars that the Fender Custom Shop produced. I painted the guitar straps that accompanied those guitars, too.

During that time I met Waylon backstage at a show, and he was just the nicest man. But by no means did I base this series on him. It doesn’t have anything to do with Waylon Jennings or his family. Nonetheless, I’ve been inspired by having known so many interesting people in the music profession.

Truthfully, I’m actually more of a rock ‘n’ roll girl than a country gal, but many a country star has influenced me. For a short time I lived in Bakersfield, California, and I enjoyed going to Buck Owens Crystal Palace and checking out the memorabilia on the walls. I enjoyed listening to the music they played there, too. Is it any wonder I plotted a Sons of Country series? I think not.

Love and hugs,

Sheri WhiteFeather

Wrangling the Rich Rancher

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children, who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

Extract

Copyright

One

He was gorgeous, Libby Penn thought, this cowboy she’d come to see. Yes, indeed: tall, dark and ruggedly appealing, with a long, lean body, straight short black hair and whiskey-colored eyes. All man, all denim and leather, all Western. If she were in the market for a lover, he would be darned hard to resist. But she hadn’t been with anyone since she’d lost her husband, and she wasn’t ready to sleep with Matt Clark or anyone else. Not that Matt was asking her to share his bed. She barely knew him. They’d only just met yesterday afternoon, and briefly at that. Besides, she was here for business, and she needed to keep her professional wits about her.

Still, from the moment they’d first laid eyes on each other, a strange sort of chemistry—the kind that zapped you when you least expected it—had risen up between them. Even now, she could sense his uneasy attraction to her, and he wasn’t even looking her way. Clearly, he didn’t like feeling something for one of his guests.

The thing was, she hadn’t even told him the real reason she was here, staying at his recreational ranch. As far as he knew, she was just another tourist visiting the Texas Hill Country.

She and some of the other guests were finishing up breakfast, and soon would be dispersing to engage in whatever activities interested them: horseback riding, hiking, swimming, fishing, skeet shooting, horseshoes, Ping-Pong. There was a playground and petting corral for the kids. On top of that, the ranch had a world-class champion quarter horse standing at stud. They also bred him to their mares, and during foaling season, guests could ooh and aah over their offspring. Of course, hayrides, barbecues, campfires and country hoedowns were part of the regular program. According to the schedule she’d been given, a boot-scooting dance and fried chicken dinner were on the calendar for tomorrow night, with all ages welcome.

The Flying Creek Ranch was highly successful, earning plenty of cold, hard cash. Libby knew because she’d researched it. And although it was designed for families and looked quite rustic, there were luxurious undertones. Amid its vast and stunning acreage, it offered private cabin accommodations with limestone fireplaces. There was a big, beautiful main lodge, too, which was where Libby was now, preparing to approach Matt. But from what she’d gathered so far, Matt didn’t live at the lodge. He lived in a cabin, the one next to hers, in fact. She’d spotted him last night, sitting quietly on his porch. She’d stayed inside, making notes to herself about Matt’s character and how she perceived him. Friendly when he needed to be, but withdrawn, too. An enigma, she thought, a chameleon, his moods shifting with the summer wind.

Her observations were hasty at best, and influenced, no doubt, by what his father had already told her about him. Matt was Kirby Talbot’s illegitimate son. The half-Cherokee boy the famous country singer had done wrong. Kirby had even written a yet-unpublished song about it.

Libby knew all sorts of personal details about Kirby. He’d hired her to write his biography. He’d handpicked her himself, based on a series of articles she’d crafted for Rolling Stone. For her, the book was a dream come true. Kirby was her idol, his rough-and-ready music complementing her willful personality and determined life.

Still studying Matt from across the room, she smoothed the front of her boho-inspired blouse, the silky fringe attached to it fluttering around her hips. The salesclerk at the store where she’d bought it called it cowgirl chic; it was bold, beautiful and sweetly feminine. Whatever the style, the blouse made her feel pretty. Libby was small in stature, with long, pale, wavy blond hair and a wholesome face. Sometimes she made cat eyes with her eyeliner just to doll herself up, giving her wide blue eyes a dramatic transformation.

Eager to learn more about Matt, she headed in his direction. Some of her research on him had come from his father and the rest from public records and the web. So far, she knew that he was thirty-one years old and had lived in the Hill Country his entire life. He appeared to be an unpretentious man, but his net worth was staggering, going far beyond the trust fund his father had set up for him.

As a youth, he’d excelled in junior rodeos. These days, he was divorced. His ex was a local girl, a widow when he’d married her, with two small children. That interested Libby, of course. But everything about him did.

He was Kirby’s secret son. No one except the family and a handful of lawyers knew about him. After her book was released, everyone would know. Kirby wanted to come clean, to acknowledge Matt’s paternity in a public way.

Initially, he’d kept Matt under wraps because he was married at the time and didn’t want his wife or other kids to find out. Eventually they learned the truth. But that hadn’t changed the dynamics of Matt and Kirby’s relationship. He saw Matt sporadically when he was growing up, visiting between road tours. At some point, he stopped seeing him at all, and now Kirby wanted to make amends. Just this year, he started reaching out to his son, but Matt refused to take his calls, let alone see him.

Libby approached Matt, who was standing near a painting of Indian ponies dancing in the dust. He adjusted his hat, fitting it lower on his head.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked.

He turned more fully toward her, the make-believe horses prancing at his shoulder. “For one of my guests? Always.”

“Is it okay if we take a walk?” She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. Some of the others were still milling around the lodge.

“Sure.” He gestured to a side door leading to a rustic garden, where flowers sprouted amid wagon wheels, old water pumps and wrought iron benches. Once they were outside, he asked, “Is everything all right? Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

She fell into step with him. “It’s a wonderful ranch, and I’m looking forward to the activities. I missed your Independence Day celebration.” The ranch was famous for hosting a huge fireworks display, drawing crowds from neighboring communities. “You were booked solid then.” She’d arrived just after July Fourth and would be staying until the beginning of August. “This is so different from where I live, so vast and rural.” Libby was from Southern California, where she’d been born and raised. Kirby, however, resided in Nashville, on an enormous compound he’d built. She’d already been there several times. “My son will be joining me in a few weeks. My mother is going to bring him. She’s going to stay with us, too.”

“How old is your son?”

“Six. This place is going to thrill him. He wants to be a cowboy when he grows up.”

He smiled a little crookedly. “I’ll be sure to give him the grand tour.”

“His daddy passed away. It’ll be three years this fall.” She wasn’t sure why she felt inclined to tell Matt that, especially with how weirdly attracted to him she was. Then again, he’d been married to a widow, so maybe he would understand more than most people would?

By now, he was frowning, hard and deep. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. His name was Becker.” Kirby Talbot had been his idol, too. She’d met Becker at one of Kirby’s concerts. “He got sick. But it happened really quickly. A bacterial infection that...” She let her words drift. Becker wouldn’t want her talking about the way he died. He was a vibrant person, filled with hope and joy. “But this isn’t what I intended to discuss with you.” She managed a smile, knowing Becker would be encouraging her to move forward, especially with her career. Then, suddenly, she hesitated, fully aware that Matt wasn’t going to be pleased with her news. Finally, she slapped the smile back on her face and went for it. “I’m doing a book about your father. He hired me to write his biography, and—”

“Kirby sent you here?” Matt flinched, his amber eyes flashing beneath the brim of his straw Stetson.

She nodded. “He asked me to come. He wants to reveal your parentage in the book and wants to give you the opportunity to tell your side of the story.”

Anger edged his voice. “So you’re here to interview me?”

She nodded again, maintaining a professional air. Libby wasn’t going to let Matt’s frustration affect her. She had a job to do, a biography to write, possibly even bringing him and his father together. “I’d like the chance to get to know you, to spend as much time with you as I can. Kirby told me—”

“He told you what?” Those eyes flashed again. “That his bastard son wants nothing to do with him?”

“He didn’t word it like that, but yes, he said that you were estranged from him. But he also admitted how he’d done you wrong. How he was never really there for you when you were growing up. He wants to atone for his mistakes.”

A cynical smile thinned Matt’s lips. “So it’ll make him look good in the book you’re writing? So his fans can worship him more than they already do?” Tall and handsome and lethal, he took a step closer to her. “You can tell my arrogant, womanizing daddy to go straight to hell. That I’m not impressed with him or his half-assed biography.”

Half-assed? Libby set her chin. “I’m going to write a true account of his life, his loves, his mistakes, his music. His children,” she added. Kirby had two other sons, legitimate heirs with his former wife, the woman to whom he’d been married when Matt’s mother had tumbled into an affair with him. “From my understanding, you’ve never even met your brothers.”

“My half brothers,” he reminded her. “And I’m not any more interested in them than I am in Kirby.”

“They’re interested in you.”

He shifted his booted feet. “They told you that?”

“Yes, they did.” They were willing participants in the book. “I haven’t interviewed them yet, not extensively, but we’ve had a couple of nice talks where they expressed their desire to meet you.” He was the lone-wolf brother they couldn’t help but wonder about. “Brandon is an entertainment lawyer who represents the family, and Tommy...” She paused. “Well, he’s a lot like Kirby.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’t know that? I’m familiar with Tommy Talbot’s music. I know how he followed in our old man’s footsteps.”

Yes, she thought. Tommy was as wild as their father. Or wilder, if that was possible. Whereas Kirby had been dubbed the bad boy of country, Tommy was now known as the baddest boy of country, surpassing his father.

She said, “If you agree to do this, I promise that I’ll quote you accurately, that I’ll present you in a deep and honest light. Your words matter. Your thoughts, your feelings. I’m hoping to interview your mother, as well.” Libby knew that his mom lived on the ranch. “She just got married, didn’t she? To a man who works for you?”

“Yes, but they’re out of town right now.” He moved even closer to her, so close their boot tips were almost touching. “So you can’t go chasing after her for an interview.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.” He towered over her and Libby lifted her head to get a better look at him. This close, he was even more appealing, his features etched in masculine lines and candid emotion. He smelled good, too, his cologne a tantalizing blend of woods and musk.

“Has he hit on you yet?”

She started. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Kirby. Has he tried to get you into bed?”

“Oh, my goodness, no.” Discomfort blasted through her blood. It was the son who stirred her, not the father. “He’s been nothing but respectful to me.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice going a tad too soft. In it, she heard a gentle concern, a protective tone.

“I’m positive.” She knew that Kirby wasn’t interested in her. If anything, he’d been paternal toward her. But she decided not to mention that to Matt, given how easily Kirby had once walked away from him.

He went silent, and his gaze locked onto hers. Then, as if suddenly realizing how close he was standing to her, he stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize. I rather liked it.” She tried for a goofy smile. “This noble side of you.”

He remained serious. “If my dad got a hold of you, he would destroy your soul. You and your naive ways.”

And what would Matt do if he got a hold of her? “There’s nothing going on with your father and me. I don’t feel that way about him.” She closed the gap between them, wanting to be near him again. “And I’m not as naive as I look.”

“Oh, yeah. So what are you going to do, little girl? Seduce me for the sake of your book?”

Mercy, she thought. Were they actually having this conversation? Was it really going in this direction? Struggling to breathe, to keep the air in her lungs from rushing out, she said, “If I seduced you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of the book.” She quickly clarified, “But I’m not here to seduce anyone. And for the record, I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-nine.”

His gaze didn’t falter, not one whiskey inch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He would keep what in mind? Her self-proclaimed maturity? Or her unwillingness to seduce anyone? Either way, she was still feeling a bit too breathless. “Are you going to grant me an interview? Are you going to agree to spend some time with me? Or am I going to have to keep trying to convince you to be part of my project?”

“You’ll have to keep trying. For all the good it will do you.”

“It’ll do me plenty of good.” This was her first book, and she intended to do it right.

“Then I guess I’ll see you around.” He sent her a pulse-jarring look, right before he walked away, leaving her staring after him.

Like a fresh-faced schoolgirl with a crush.

* * *

Matt cursed the situation he was in. Of all the beautiful blondes who could have shown up at his ranch, did it have to be someone who was working for his dad? Someone who was prying into the past? Who was writing a book that was going to unmask the chaos in his life? The last thing Matt wanted was to be publically identified as Kirby Talbot’s son. Damn his dad all to hell.

And damn Libby, too.

Yesterday when she arrived, Matt had gotten a hot, sexy, zipper-tightening reaction to her. So much so, he’d given her the cabin next to his. Normally he didn’t work the front desk or place his guests. But he’d just happened to be there when she’d come in, so he’d handled the transaction.

Honestly, though, he didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish by putting her next to him. For all he knew, she could have been in a relationship. Sure, she seemed single from the way she’d been checking him out, but he knew better than to lust after one of his guests.

Cripes, he thought. Besides being his father’s biographer, she was widowed with a kid. This was the nightmare of nightmares. He’d gotten his heart broken by the last widow, the last blonde, who caught his eye. He missed Sandy. He missed her children, too. Two adorable little twins girls.

Matt had wanted so desperately to be a father—a good, kind, caring dad to Sandy’s girls. He wanted to give them what his old man had never given him.

Love. Affection. Attention.

But after the divorce, she’d taken the twins and moved out of the area. She didn’t think it would be healthy for her or the girls to keep seeing him. Sandy had only married him to soothe the loss of the man she really loved. The guy she’d buried.

How was he supposed to compete with that? Sandy’s memories of her other husband had always been there, floating like a ghost between them. Matt’s mixed-up marriage, which lasted all of six months, had been a crushing failure. He thought that he could help Sandy through her grief, that he would become her hero and the new husband she couldn’t live without.

A year had passed since the divorce, and just as he was starting to lick to his wounds and move on, in walked another young widow, except she was working for his dad.

Oh, yeah. This was a nightmare, all right. Was he supposed to avoid Libby while she was here, to walk away from her at every turn? Considering how long she would be hanging around, that wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

He could ask her to leave. This was his ranch, after all—he’d started the business from a trust account Kirby had set up for him. Of course, it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as that. After Matt got the ranch established, making it a tremendous success, he returned the money to the trust, making sure his dad knew that he no longer needed or wanted it. By now, Matt was wealthy in his own right.

Initially, he’d acquired a lump sum on his twenty-first birthday, based on a deal that had been negotiated when he was a baby, as part of a child-support settlement. His mom had agreed to the terms, which required her to keep Matt’s paternity a secret.

Disturbing as it was, the contract had never restricted Kirby from speaking out. Only Matt’s mother had been silenced, and she’d taught Matt to stay silent, as well, to never tell anyone who his father was. And now, all these years later, Kirby wanted to blow all that out of the water.

Matt headed to his private barn, preparing to saddle one of his horses and ride into the hills, taking a trail that was unavailable to his guests. He often carved out time for himself, and today in particular he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, not with what Libby had sprung on him.

Unfortunately, when his mom returned from her trip, she would probably support this damned book. She’d already been encouraging Matt to make peace with his father, to accept the olive branches Kirby had been offering.

He kept walking, and just as he entered his barn, he turned and saw Libby strolling up behind him.

Holy hell.

Half annoyed, half intrigued and a whole lot confused, he let his gaze roam over her. She’d actually followed him out here, and without him even knowing it. “When I said that I would see you around, I didn’t mean this soon.”

“Really, you didn’t? Oh, silly me.” She grinned, two perfect dimples lighting up her face.

He wanted to grab her by that fringy top of hers and shake her till those dimples rattled. But he wanted to kiss her, too, as roughly as he could, curious to know if she tasted as feisty as she looked.

“Yeah, silly you,” he shot back.

She was still grinning, still being cute and clever. “I’m prone to getting the last word, and you left me standing there like a dolt.”

He had no idea what that meant. “A dolt?”

“A stupid person.”

Matt was the stupid one, wishing he could kiss her. “Working for Kirby doesn’t exactly make you the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”

“Funny, I’m wearing chandelier earrings, and they’re pretty bright.” She tapped the crystal jewels at her ears. “I made them myself.”

Way to change the subject, he thought, enticed by how sparkly she was. “Okay, so you got the last word. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Nope.” She spun around in a pretty little pirouette, making her fringe fly. “I think you should dance with me.”

He blinked at her. “You want me to two-step with you? Here? Now?”

“No. Tomorrow night.” She glanced down at her feet. Her silver glitter boots were as flashy as her earrings. “At the hoedown.”

Right. The weekly barn dance at the ranch. “I don’t always go to those.” Sometimes he preferred to stay home, letting his guests kick up their heels without him. “And dancing with you sounds like a dolt of a thing to do.”