Chapter One

      Wyatt Sullivan stared at the beauty on the grass, glistening in the Montana sun. He knew each part of her intimately—he’d had his hands on every inch of her more times than he could count. With some pampering and TLC, he would get her purring beneath him again. After all, they didn’t make tractors like this nowadays.

      The sound of metal hitting metal clanged behind him, echoing like iron bars slamming shut at lights-out. The old fear roared back and his hands fisted, ready to defend. Chills sharp as barbed wire gripped his neck and galloped down his spine. He tilted his head up to the sky and blew out a calming breath, reminding himself he was safe, back home again.

      He’d been a headstrong seventeen-year-old when he’d left, chucked it all, headed out on his own. But after ten years he was back, trying to find his place on the ranch with his dad and four brothers. It had taken him a long time to figure out that this ranch was home. Despite the struggles to fit back in, this was where he belonged.

      Click click click echoed on the concrete path from the lodge. A woman crossed into his line of sight, her voice floating to him on a gust of wind. He’d always had a thing for blondes, and this one was real pretty. A pale pink jacket molded itself to her sleek body, and a matching skirt ended midthigh, revealing legs he could explore for days. Then her sharp words became clear.

      “I was a fool to have married you. I should have listened to my father from the beginning. But we’re divorced, and I’m stronger and smarter now. I won’t let you treat our son like he doesn’t matter.”

      The path curved, but she must have been distracted with her phone call, because she stepped off the concrete, still giving her ex a tongue-lashing. She was heading for the dirt of the soon-to-be vegetable garden. The one currently filled with mud from the heavy rain last night.

      He followed, trailing after not only her voice, but some type of spicy perfume. He kind of liked it, and he imagined what it would smell like up close on her skin. Like behind her ear, or at the curve of her breast.

      He had to grin as she tried to walk across the grass, her fancy pink heels sinking down with every step. Definitely more suited to a runway than a cattle ranch. She stumbled and lurched like a newborn foal trying to gain its legs.

      “Ma’am, you might want—”

      She flung a hand up at him and continued berating her ex on the phone.

      “Watch out!” he called.

      She turned around, glanced up at him and stepped back, mid-tirade. The icepick heel on her fancy pink shoe snapped. Teetering back, her arms wind-milled faster and faster and faster.

      He sprinted toward her, even though a little mud might take this princess down a notch.

      Or ten.

      He grabbed for her hand but missed, snatching nothing more than air.

      Gravity kept sucking her down, down, down, and she kept going, slow motion, as she lost the battle.

      “Dammit, dammit, dammit,” she screamed.