I've broken wild horses that were easier to tame than Brooklyn Dyer.
The moment she conquered my mechanical bull in those tight jeans and that ridiculous tourist cowboy hat, I knew she was trouble.
The kind of trouble you spend all night praying never ends and a decade trying to forget.
But Monday morning brings a punch to the gut I never saw coming—she's sitting across from me at our family brewery's board meeting. Not just as some new hire, but as our social media director with plans to make me the damn poster boy for Slade Brewing.
I've spent 37 years mastering this ranch and my emotions—I don't need some city girl with marketing schemes and dangerous curves dismantling both.
Yet here I am, shirtless on my horse while she snaps photos, thinking about how badly I want to bend her over my saddle.
I told myself not to give in, but those full hips and that attitude of hers make me want to misbehave.
She's a defiant little thing that needs to learn a lesson about teasing a man like me.
She's one of those girls alright—Mysterious, driven, all kinds of sexy.
Just when I let my guard down, her ex appears with a ring, I discover she's carrying my child, and a bullet meant for someone else nearly ends it all.
They say a cowboy's greatest strength is knowing when to hold on tight and when to let go. But with Brooklyn, I'm beginning to think some feelings are worth fighting for—even if it might destroy us both.
