BLURB
Ranch owner, Trevor Wild, loves nothing more than spending his day in the saddle riding in the Texas sun. He’s passionate about being the latest generation of Wild man to breed quarter horses on Wildhorse Ranch. But in the aftermath of inheriting a bad business deal the Ranch is in serious financial trouble, and this serious cowboy needs to look outside the box to save his family’s pride and joy.
Glamping guru, Sabrina Hearthstone, is the best of the best at what she does, and she could very well be Trevor’s saving grace. The blonde beauty arrives at Wildhorse Ranch ready to get the job done. She’s all business when it comes to bringing a little luxury to the leather and dirt clad Ranch. But soon she’ll realize that to renovate the Ranch for Glamping she may have to renovate its cowboy too.
Sabrina is tempting on a whole lot of levels for Trevor—when he gives into both her touch, and the 1,000 thread count bed sheets, he finds that she soothes his soul. However, Sabrina’s world is a difficult thing for the hardened cowboy to accept. Trevor will have to learn to accept Sabrina and her changes to his world, not only to save Wildhorse Ranch, but to save a love he never expected to find.
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EXCERPT
"That her?" Trevor Wild asked his brother. The question rose from his lips like vapor, his warm breath chilled by contact with the early morning air.
He already knew the answer to his question, but he wanted to make sure he wasn't hallucinating the pretty blonde woman standing in front of the old bunkhouse with her arms crossed. She appeared to be in deep contemplation of the woodpile he had been gathering there all season, and the intensity of her concentration made her blind to everything else—including the two men watching her from behind the fence across the property.
"That's her," his brother confirmed. Trent hitched the front of his Wranglers up and blew casually on a steaming mug of coffee he had lifted out of the ranch kitchen. Trevor, sleep-deprived from his long drive home from the conference, felt a surge of jealousy at his twin's morning alertness. "Sabrina Hearthstone, Wildhorse Ranch's very own Glamping Adventure Coordinator. I'd say it has a certain ring to it, but I'm not sure half of those words were meant to exist in the English language."
Trevor cringed in private agreement, the shadow of his hat brim concealing his reaction to the distasteful word. “Glamping,” a portmanteau of glamorous camping, was not a concept he had ever imagined, let alone expected to put into place at Wildhorse. At thirty-two, he was sure life had more unpleasant revelations in store for him, but whether Sabrina Hearthstone might be the next unfortunate event in a glamping-related string of surprises remained to be seen.
"Looks like you're going to have your hands full with this one," Trent remarked as the distant female figure pulled her hair back into a ponytail and dropped to a squat. He said it in the tone of a horseman surveying a particularly unruly filly. Trevor wondered what his brother had gone through already with this woman; still, there was no mistaking the slight tone of admiration in Trent's voice.
"Looks like she's got her hands plenty full already," Trevor mentioned. He squinted across the lawn at Sabrina, who appeared to be dismantling and hauling much of the woodpile up onto the porch. "What the hell is she doing?"
That scrap was probably lousy with splinters—not to mention pill bugs and termites—yet she didn't shrink from grappling with it barehanded. She might as well have been holding the front door wide open and inviting the pests to brunch in the goddamn bunkhouse living room.
"No idea," Trent replied, before amending. "I thought she said something about wanting the scraps for planters or a coffee table or something. You know, like a project."
Trevor sighed and cuffed his brother on the shoulder. "Thanks for keeping an eye on the place while I was away." He tipped his hat in advance of another momentary farewell. "You want to stick around for a bit? Give me the rundown of what's been going on?"
"Sure. Not like I have a job or anything."
The grim line of Trevor's mouth flexed a little. "I'll catch up with you in a few, Sheriff."
"You know I'll be here. And get some coffee!" Trent hollered the suggestion after him. "Something tells me you're going to need it!"
Something tells me you're right. What he wouldn't do for a cup as black as Sabrina Hearthstone was fair. Despite feeling dead on his feet, Trevor loped the length of the yard to reach the new adventure coordinator. She glanced up when she heard his bootsteps; she opened her mouth to start talking almost before he was within earshot.
"Oh! I'm so glad you're here, Trent. Do you mind helping me with this monster?" Sabrina wiped her forehead and indicated the log giving her trouble. Trevor knew it all too well. Not only had he struggled for more hours than he would readily admit to unearth it and drag it this far, but his unwillingness to move it again was the entire reason the wood scrap on his property had started accumulating here in the first place.
Trevor doubted a pair of freckled, toothpick-thin arms would provide the help he needed to haul it, but he had never turned down a woman in distress before. "Sure." He pulled on his work gloves and stooped to wrestle the other end of the log into his arms. "But I'm not Trent."
"Huh?" Sabrina glanced up to take him in again, and dropped the side of the log she was holding. Trevor grimaced and set his end down, also. The way his mouth tended to frown naturally—and only deepen when he was annoyed or working—distinguished him from his more approachable twin brother.
"No…I mean, wow. You really aren't, are you?" Now that Sabrina had halted operations, Trevor straightened to regard her in turn. The way she looked him over, with eyes as wide and summer-blue as the Texas sky, made him acutely aware of just how closely they stood.
"No. I really am not," he agreed. He wondered how much Trent let her get away with while he was gone. Sabrina Hearthstone had a face as pretty as an angel's—pair that with her ridiculously tight, stone-washed designer jeans, and he doubted his brother had been willing to deny her much. She was the living, breathing lyric of a country song standing before him—the worshipped, vaunted city girl—and for the first time, Trevor contemplated how much trouble he might be in having her on his property.
At least they had managed to agree on one important detail so far: he wasn't his brother Trent. While the Sheriff of Lockhart Bend might be willing to let certain behaviors slide, Trevor expected a rigid adherence to his rules. If she already found him more serious, more commanding, than his twin brother, then it might make his job a hell of a lot easier.
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