Roping His Bride

  Roping His Bride

  Jagger Cole

  Contents

  A Special Present

  Synopsis

  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

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Jagger Cole

  About the Author

  Roping His Bride

  Jagger Cole © 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Plan 9 Book Design | Editing by MJ Edits

  This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.

  Created with Vellum

  A Special Present

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  Synopsis

  “Those Jones boys are nothing but trouble!”

  It’s literally the first thing anyone says to me the second I step foot in Saddle Creek.

  ...I should’ve listened.

  My job for a development company has me in the middle of nowhere Montana trying to secure a land deal. There’s just a few teeny problems.

  One: the ornery, foul-mouthed, cocky rancher who owns the place would rather eat horse turd than sell.

  The second? Tucker James is hotter than hell, tempting as sin, and all sorts of irresistible.

  And the third? A freak storm has me stranded at his ranch and out of cell service, with a tree-branch turning my car into a pancake. Now I’m up Tucker James creek without a paddle.

  I’m white wine and Louboutins. He’s whiskey and spurs. Plucky city girl meets rugged country boy? This is no movie “meet-cute”. This is a meet-disaster.

  Trying to buy his ranch might be a mistake. Sharing his bed most certainly is. But falling for the gorgeous rancher who wants nothing more than a wife and a family? Well that’d be the biggest mistake of all.

  Good thing there’s no way I’m falling for Tucker James.

  After all, those James boys are nothing but trouble…

  This over-the-top romance is packed with instalove. With no cliffhanger, and a perfect happy ever after.

  1

  Rose

  “You best watch out for them James boys, darlin’.”

  Forty miles later, and I can still hear the old woman’s words. Back in town, I’d stepped into her general store for help with directions out to the James Ranch. Her face instantly pinched, and she waved a stern finger at me.

  “They’re trouble, the lot of ‘em!”

  The memory makes me grin and roll my eyes. Whatever trouble these James’s are, I think I’ll be just fine. This is hardly my first rodeo at this, anyways. And even the most troublesome types tend to get much friendlier when I show them the check my employer is prepared to cut.

  Up ahead down the dusty road, the farmhouse and barn loom closer. Around me, the golden and green acres roll like waves to the horizon in every direction. I guess there’s a reason they call Montana “Big Sky” country. The blue of the sky just seems bigger. And I’ll admit, it’s gorgeous out here, even if it is in the middle of freaking nowhere.

  The city girl in me wrinkles her nose. Pretty country, definitely. But I can’t even imagine actually living out here. I mean this ranch is forty freaking miles from the closest podunk town.

  The road winds closer and closer to the farmhouse. I finally come to a stop out in front and shut off the engine. I wait for the dust to settle before I take a breath and step out of the brand-new Mercedes—a gift from corporate for the great work I’ve been doing.

  I look up at the big white farmhouse and smile. Oh yeah, this’ll be a breeze. I’ve done this song and dance a dozen and a half times already. Texas, Colorado, and now Montana. Ranches like this might be in the middle of nowhere. But that’s where their worth is.

  The company I work for, Windsor Properties, specializes in rural luxury development. High-end luxury lodge-style hotels, shopping centers, condos, golf courses. The works. Saddle Creek, Montana, is next on their list. And it’s my job to make it happen today.

  I straighten my skirt and jacket. But with another thought, I shrug the jacket off. I also undo the top button of my blouse. Hey, work with what you’ve got, right? And if this yokel ranch is anything like the rest I’ve dealt with, a little cleavage will go a long way.

  I walk over the dirt drive to the surprisingly pretty front porch. I’ve been to some real dumps, but this place looks like someone’s put some sweat into keeping it up. I know that’ll make negotiations a little harder—emotional attachments all that. But money always talks.

  “Ugh, what the fuck?”

  I make a sour face. I raise my foot from whatever I just stepped in and groan at my now-muddy Louboutins.

  “Fuck,” I hiss. “That’d better be mud and not shit,” I grumble. I drag the sole over the manicured grass to the side of the front walk to the porch.

  “Can I help you?”

  I gasp, surprised at the man’s voice. I turn, and I stutter when I lay eyes on him. Heat clouds my cheeks, but I quickly shake it away. The man is shirtless, sweaty, and dirty, with tousled dark hair. He’s also ridiculously hot and built like the cover of a romance book.

  “Um, what?”

  “Can I help you?” he grunts. His voice is almost over-the-top twangy and country. It’s like he’s from central casting for a western or something. Based on my time on farms and ranches over the last few months, he looks like a ranch hand. I’m flustered from being startled. Okay, and maybe from how gorgeous he is. But I hold my composure.

  “Yes, I—”

  “You looking for the owner?” he drawls.

  I smile at being right about him being a ranch hand. Damn, I’m getting good at this job. “I am, yes.”

  “What the hell for?”

  I frown at his rudeness. “Well, I think that’s best between me and Mr. James, thank you.”

  The man shrugs and says nothing.

  “Is he here? Mr. James, I mean?”

  “You don’t look like you’re from around here.” He stares at me and crosses his muscled arms over his Hollywood chest.

  I sigh. “Yes, very correct. I’m not.”

  “Where you from?”

  The ranch hand might be hotter than sin, but he’s starting to piss me off. All I want is to talk to Tucker James, haggle out the deal, and get this done. Then I get to go back to civilization.

  “New York, actually,” I say primly. “Look, is Mr. James here or not? I think he should be expecting me. I’ve written and left several messages on his answering machine.”

  “So this is business?”

  I sigh again, heavily. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, it is.”

  The ranch hand smirks at me. Damnit he’s good looking.

  “Business from New York only means one thing, Miss.”

  “Oh, does it?” I say dryly.

  “Yep.” He frowns. “You a developer?”

  “I represent…” I frown. “Look, is Mr. James here or not?”

  “How much you offering?”

  I finally snap. I’m dusty. My ass hurts from driving forty miles down a dirt road in a sports car. My patience is done. “Listen, you yokel,” I snap. “I’m very busy, I have a lot of things to do today, and I just stepped in what I think is horse shit in very expensive heels. So can you please for the love of God tell me—”

  “Yokel, huh?” he grunts.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose again. “Okay, look…”

  “Now what if I told you Mr. James was here, Miss?”

  I look up at him quickly. “Well, thank you. That would be wonderful…”

  “But that he doesn’t want shit to do with your bullshit offer to scalp the ranch that’s been in his family for six generations to build a fucking mall or condos or some shit.”

  I freeze. The ranch hand’s overly twangy country accent is gone. “Wait, hang on. Mr. James is… here?”

  “Yeah,” the man growls. He glares at me. “He’s here all right.” He snarls and marches towards me. I gasp and jump back a step. When suddenly he juts a hand out.

  “I’m Tucker James,” he mutters through a smirk. “Yokel redneck at your fucking service, princess.”

  I cringe. Well shit.

  2

  Tucker

  I glare at the pretty blonde—all dolled and gussied up like she’s going to a board meeting. My jaw grinds, but I can feel a smirk coming when I see the look on her face. She looks… well, she looks like she just swallowed a steaming pile of horse shit. Or humble pie, maybe.

  I grin. Good. She can lose that bitchy big city attitude she drove up here with. I know who she is. Well, not her personally, I guess. But I know who’s little lap dog she is: Windsor Properties. They’ve been emailing, snail-mailing, and calling like a stood-up date on prom night for months. And I
want fuck-all to do with them.

  It ain’t their offer that’s insulting. It’s that they won’t take “no, fuck off” for an answer. The offer is actually pretty damn good. But what ain’t for sale, ain’t for sale. The James Ranch just plain isn’t up for grabs, no matter the offer. Never has been, never will be. The place has been in my family since my great-great-great-great grandfather headed west with a wagon and a gun.

  I give her another glance-over. Shit, she’s pretty as hell, I’ll say that. She’s gorgeous, actually. Blonde, big green eyes, and a body a man could go a whole lot of crazy for. But it’s marred by who she is and who she represents. But damn is she pretty.

  She looks warily at my dirty outstretched hand. I smirk. “I’m not going to bite you.”

  “Your hand is…” she wrinkles her nose.

  “Dirty,” I growl. “I know.” I keep it right where it is, waiting for a handshake. When it doesn’t come, I sigh. “Around here, Miss, folks shake hands to say hello.”

  She looks pained, but she finally does it. I grip her hand tight to make a point. But hell, holding her hand feels damn amazing. Her skin is soft—so, so fucking soft. Yeah, she ain’t from around here, that’s for sure.

  “Rose McCarthy,” she says stiffly.

  “You’re with Windsor, yeah?”

  “I am, yes!” She smiles because I say it eagerly.

  “Well good for you.” My obvious sarcasm brings right her back down. She stops smiling. “So how many other properties have you stolen from folks this week? Has it been a good hunt?”

  “That’s…” she frowns. “That’s not what I do, Mr. James.”

  “Sure it is,” I mutter. “I know how Windsor works. You go after the low fruit first. The folks who are behind on their mortgage with the bank. You offer them a golden parachute, and all they need to do is walk away from the land they’ve bled for. All so your bosses can build another mall no one needs, or a resort no one wants.”

  She smiles another phony practiced smile. It’s a damn pretty smile, but I’m sure it’s all part of her act. Just like that top button of her blouse being undone is about as accidental as my right foot.

  “Actually, our analysis shows that a resort around here would be incredible for local commerce.”

  “Stop,” I snarl, before she can give me her whole song and dance.

  Rose smiles. “You know what? I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”

  I smirk and glance at her heels. Specifically, the one all mucked up looking. “Well, one of us did. It’s shit, by the way.” She groans, and I chuckle. “What the hell are you doing in heels on a ranch?”

  She glares at me and sighs. “Can we start over?”

  “Definitely. You get in your car, back it on up past the road there until I can’t see you.”

  She smiles. “And then I drive back like we’re meeting for the first time?”

  I smile back. “No, then you turn your ass around and drive until you hit New York. You can keep on going into the Atlantic when you get there if you care to.”

  I smirk at my own cleverness. But she knits her pretty brows. “I don’t think rudeness is necessary.”

  “Again, we disagree.”

  “Look, Mr. James. I’m here—”

  “Tucker. And I’m aware.” I’m flustering her, and I like that.

  “Can I just have five minutes of your time? Just five minutes, Mister… um, Tucker. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I grunt.

  “Look, I know who Windsor Properties are. But I promise you, that’s not what I want for Saddle Creek. I’m a country girl, actually. I know what it means to be from a place like this and work the land. I know how important it is; how precious. We’re not looking to pave over your ranch. They just want to bring some commerce to a gorgeous part of the country that more people should be able to enjoy. And the boost in local economy will be immeasurable.”

  I sigh. “Five minutes?”

  She beams. “Just five minutes! Should we go inside?”

  “Nope.”

  Instead, I turn and head up the stairs to the porch. I take a seat on one side of the swinging bench. Rose sits on the other side. She awkwardly tries to cross her legs while facing me. I smirk at the effort before she gives up and just sits normal.

  “I’d offer you something to drink,” I smile. “But I won’t.”

  She nods with a smile of her own. “Now, Mr. James…”

  “Tucker.”

  “Right. Okay, Tucker. I know you don’t like me, but just take a look at these numbers.”

  She pulls a file folder out of a bag and passes it to me. I open it up and glance them, but I shrug. I know they look good, but I also know it’s bullshit. I’ve done my homework with these assholes. I’ve called ranchers or former ranchers in Utah, Texas, Colorado… anywhere Windsor has been. And yeah, the offer always looks good at first. But then it turns to shit. Their lawyers cut it up and paste it back together. They wear you down, and pressure you like the damn mafia. And pretty soon, you’re out a family ranch and legacy for a few bucks.

  No fucking thank you.

  “So what do you think?” Rose asked genuinely.

  “I think you’re wasting your damn time with…”

  Thunder suddenly booms overhead. I startle and look at the horizon. The black clouds have come out of nowhere, and they’re billowing quickly.

  “Shit,” I grunt out loud. We weren’t supposed to get weather. And I’ve got horses still out grazing.

  “We’re done here,” I mutter. I toss her back the file folder and stand.

  “Wait!”

  “You see that?” I snap. I point to the clouds. “That’s rain. And it’s been dry as hell around here. You know what that means, country girl?”

  She stammers. “Um, good crops?”

  I roll my eyes. “That means flash flooding. And if the good Lord is feeling like a real prick, lightning that’ll start fires. Now, I’ve got horses to tend to.”

  “Mr. James,” she stumbles out. “Before you do, if I could just have two more minutes of your—”

  “You can’t,” I snap. “Now if I were you, I’d get before the rains come and wash away the only road out of here.”

  I fix my eyes on her for one last look. A piece of me deep inside wants to open up and stop being a dick to her. I mean hell, she’s gorgeous, and it’s been a long, long damn time. But, no. Not with her. Hell no.

  I pull my eyes from her and run towards the barn. The hens in the coop off to the side are going nuts. But I’ll deal with them later. Past the barn in the fenced yard, the dozen mares and five foals are getting real nervous and antsy. I thank my lucky stars that Waylon and Johnny, my two stallions, are already locked up. With thunder like that coming, I’d probably lose a leg trying to get those two inside.

  I start to coral the herd back inside when the rain starts to come hard. The horses are braying, and the chickens are turning themselves into a tizzy. The rain starts to hammer down, and now I’m worried. Shit, this is no normal storm. This is coming way too fast, especially after dry weather like this.

  I glance back at the house and see that Rose is still on my front porch. I shake my head. “Shoulda made a run for it,” I mutter from the barn. She’s looking out anxiously at the black sky and pounding rain. But then she finally makes a break for it. I watch her try and run through mud in heels back to her fancy sports car and shake my head. Shit, she’s pretty as hell, and the rain is doing pretty nice things to that white blouse right about now. But no way, no chance.

  She gets in and starts the engine. That’s the end of that, I think with just a hint of bitterness. I turn back to my animals and get the mares and foals into their stalls in the barn. I hear the whining of an engine and glance back again.