The Most Eligible Cowboy
highlight_author
Melissa Senate
highlight_reads
16,1K
highlight_chapters
16
Chapter One
All Brandon Taylor wanted was to finish his small plate of delicious shrimp pot stickers, grab a bottle of champagne and sneak out of his brother’s wedding reception for a little while. Half hour tops.
He stood in the parklike backyard of the Taylor family ranch on this warm, breezy early September evening, behind a pillar wrapped in twinkling white lights and festooned with tiny red roses, eyeing the best route to escape. The wedding had started at six and though it was now only seven thirty, it felt like two in the morning. The ceremony had been a lot. Or maybe just a lot for him. The look on his brother’s face when his bride had started down the aisle had slammed Brandon in his chest. Had he ever seen Jordan look like that? Not just happy, not just proud, but as if he finally understood the meaning of life.
Then there were the vows. Goose bumps had unexpectedly trailed up Brandon’s arms when Jordan repeated his vows and then said some of his own, the reverence in his brother’s voice holding Brandon completely still.
“Dang,” their brother Dirk had whispered from where they’d stood to the side of their oldest brother. “Double dang,” Dirk’s twin, Dustin, had agreed, wonder in his voice. Their sister, Daphne, was on the other side, in the bridesmaid lineup, tears misting her eyes, but Daphne had always been a softie. Plus, she had an engagement ring on her finger and would be next to get married so, of course, she was a little emotional at a wedding. What Brandon’s excuse was for choking up, he had no idea.
Likely he was just happy for his big brother, a guy who’d always been a hero to Brandon. That was all.
Given the Taylor track record at marriage, Brandon hadn’t thought any of his four siblings would make lifetime commitments. But there had stood Jordan, vowing to love, honor and cherish Camilla Sanchez till death did them part. There had stood Daphne, whose problems with their thrice-married, controlling father were legendary in Bronco, also believing in forever with that diamond ring twinkling on her finger.
Brandon was truly happy for both siblings, but he knew one thing about love: it didn’t last. It just didn’t have a chance.
So, add all that to the hundredth time a wedding guest had said, “I bet you’re next, Brandon,” and he was ready for a breather. A cousin had even added, “Good golly, Brandon, aren’t you thirty-four? And still single? It’s high time you settled down.”
Brandon had politely smiled through it all until he just couldn’t take it and had snapped at another cousin, a know-it-all lawyer from Butte with a gold wedding band on his hand, “Statistics speak for themselves. No thanks.”
He’d gotten the stink eye from the cousin and a shaking tsk-tsk of the head from an aunt, and he’d been about to apologize for being the cynical smart-ass he could sometimes be when someone clanked a spoon against a champagne glass and everyone started chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Jordan and Camilla stood in the center of the dance area, and his brother laid one on his new bride that even had Brandon kind of blushing. Cheers, wolf whistles and clapping followed.
Brandon glanced toward a stand of Rocky Mountain maple trees, his favorite grouping in the yard, the leaves already shimmering their yellow in the white lights hung around the perimeter of the reception area. Surely no one would miss him for a half hour. He’d already dutifully made small talk with at least a hundred of the countless guests. He’d complimented his dad’s wife—number three—on the great job she’d done turning the yard of their family ranch into an outdoor ballroom, complete with all the strung lights and huge pink-and-red flower displays, penguin-suited waitstaff mingling with trays of appetizers and cocktails. He had managed to get into an argument with his father about his sister—something he’d promised himself to avoid—but any time Cornelius Taylor, who had a king complex, complained about Daphne, Brandon was going to defend her.
Their dad, whose beef cattle operation made him one of the wealthiest men in Bronco Heights, Montana, had a “my way or the highway” mentality, and when Daphne had chosen the highway, Cornelius had blown his stack. She’d moved out to start her own ranch, and a very different one, at that.
Daphne, a vegetarian of all things in a family of cattle ranchers, owned the Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary, and Cornelius was always muttering that all the place was missing was shuffleboard for the old bulls and recuperating horses, plus the many dogs, cats and small furry creatures available for adoption. Between Daphne getting engaged and Jordan marrying Camilla tonight, poor Cornelius was out two of his five offspring to boss around, and that was his favorite pastime. Brandon loved his dad, but the man was a control freak.
And Brandon Taylor would never let anyone tell him what to do, when, or how. He was his own man and always had been.
He glanced around. Lots of smooching. Dancing cheek to cheek. Brandon had arrived solo at the wedding, but he’d been paired with a very attractive single bridesmaid in the wedding party. When she’d asked how many kids he wanted someday and he said he hadn’t even thought ahead to whether he wanted beef or chicken for his dinner, she’d rolled her eyes at him and walked off. Now, as he spied a determined-looking middle-aged woman coming toward him with what looked like a calling card in her hand, he gave a fast smile and hightailed it from his hiding spot. He had at least twenty-five cards and slips of papers with the cell phone numbers and social media handles of single daughters, nieces, granddaughters, neighbors he’d be “a sure match with.”
Doubtful. Love and Brandon had never mixed. Love and Taylors had never mixed, either, not that Brandon didn’t wish his two siblings well. Daphne seemed to have found the real thing with Evan Cruise, and his brother Jordan looked so sickeningly happy right now, staring into his new wife’s eyes while slow dancing to Frank Sinatra, that Brandon really did have to hand it to him. The guy formerly known as He Who Would Not Be Tamed among the single women of Bronco had found his Ms. Right.
Brandon had spent the last few years making crystal clear to the women he dated that he would not commit. With his family history and not a single relationship working out for himself, Brandon put zero stock in romance and happily-ever-after, even when it was all around him—like at this wedding, a celebration of all things love and forever. Life had a way of not working out.
Cynical, sure. But true.
He popped the final pot sticker in his mouth, reminding himself to compliment his new sister-in-law on the catering her restaurant did for the wedding, then set the empty plate on a table. About to make off for the trees, he almost collided with a tiny elderly lady in her nineties.
Uh-oh.
There was no getting away from Winona Cobbs. No fast-talk, no evading. She had him pinned with her sharp gaze. Rumored to be mystic, Winona had a psychic shop at her great-grandson Evan’s ghost tour business in town. Now that Evan was engaged to Brandon’s sister, Winona was pretty much family. A psychic in the family sounded kind of scary. Not that he put much stock in mysticism, either, but with her long white hair, pale skin and mark-my-words look in her eyes, Winona Cobbs wasn’t to be dismissed too easily. Plus, she deserved his respect. The lady had quite a family history of her own and had been through it all and then some.
“Brandon Taylor, you clean up well,” Winona said, nodding as she looked him up and down through the rhinestone-dotted veil of her small purple cowboy hat. “Like a groom yourself in that spiffy tuxedo.” She smiled wide and gave one end of her silver boa a toss over her shoulder.
He smiled back, shook his head and held up a palm. “No, ma’am. Not me. I’m more a lone wolf type.”
“Oh please!” she scoffed. “I’ll tell you what your problem is.”
She sounded like his dad, he thought, his bow tie feeling tighter around his neck.
She leaned close. “Brandon Taylor, you don’t know how to love. But I’ll tell you something else. The universe has something in store for you. Oh yes sirree, it does.”
Luckily for him, at the exact moment when he’d be expected to say something in response, two teenage girls approached Winona and asked if she’d do a reading for one of them. Apparently, the redhead had a crush on a boy who hadn’t looked her way once during the entire reception.
“Oh, there are my twin brothers,” Brandon said fast, eyeing Dirk and Dustin by the bar. “Nice to see you again, Miss Winona.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but turned her attention to the girls, and he fled for the stand of maples, grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. He loosened his bow tie and slipped through the trees, the strains of Ella Fitzgerald’s “At Last”—the band’s version—following him. He glanced beyond at the side yard. Empty. Two trees to the left and one up ahead, he’d be hidden from view and could then take the short path to the stables. Horses always had a calming effect on him. A twenty-minute breather and he’d head back to the wedding.
Brandon entered the stables and walked down to the far end, where he knew he’d find an overstuffed chair with a little table beside it and a view of one of his favorite Appaloosas, Starlight, with her brown-and-white spotted back and flanks. But as he approached, he was surprised to see two long shapely legs crossed at the ankles, the feet bare, a pair of sexy silver high heels beside the chair. Who the gorgeous legs belonged to was a mystery, since the rest of the woman was hidden by a post.
Whoever she was, she clearly heard him coming because he heard a female voice mutter, “Not a moment to myself. Figures, right, pretty horsie?” and the legs pulled out of view.
Oh.
He knew that voice. Cassidy Ware.
She hated his guts. Had for over fifteen years. And he avoided her at all costs, which meant never going into Bronco Java and Juice, the shop she owned in town. A shame since everyone said she had both the best coffee in Bronco and the best strawberry-banana smoothies, a favorite of his. In all these years of avoiding the shop, he still hadn’t gotten better at making a decent mug of coffee or getting the ratios right for his smoothies. Made him add to his list of grievances against Cassidy.
As he approached in the dim lighting, he passed Starlight’s stall and there Cassidy was, sitting straight, arms crossed, staring daggers at him.
“Oh, it’s you,” she practically spat.
“Ditto,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
Damn, she was pretty. Long, swirly blond hair past her shoulders, huge hazel eyes and delicate features. He’d always thought she looked like an angel. But she had a mind and mouth like the devil.
“Look, Taylor, I know your family owns the place, but I came out here to be alone, so...”
“I came out here to be alone,” he countered. “And like you said, my family owns the place, so...”
She scowled. “You’re as insufferable as ever. God, even on my birthday I can’t catch a break.”
He tilted his head. “It’s your birthday?” He must have known that at one point, but it had been a long time since he knew anything about Cassidy Ware.
She let a sigh pass over her glossy pink-red lips. “Happy thirtieth birthday to me,” she sang.
“Happy birthday, dear Cassidy,” he sang-added in his terrible baritone. “Happy birthday to you.”
She laughed. “Well, thanks. But you can go now.” She eyed the champagne. “Leave that, though, will you?”
Interesting. She’d also escaped the wedding to come out here, hiding from who knew what. He’d spotted her earlier in the kitchen, placing bite-size confections on a giant tray. His brother had mentioned that Camilla had hired Bronco Java and Juice to cater the nonalcoholic refreshments and desserts, including the wedding cake. Cassidy had probably been paid a small fortune. But she certainly didn’t look happy. Then again, did she ever? Of course, it was possible that he associated her with a grimace because every time he ran into Cassidy around town, she crossed the street to avoid him. For all he knew, she could be the happiest woman on earth.
Except for her expression and slumped shoulders. Some birthday.
Oh, hell. He noticed a folding chair in the corner, grabbed it and then set it up beside her. “Tell you what. Because it’s your birthday, you can have a slug. The rest is mine.”
“You always were so thoughtful,” she muttered, holding out her hand for the bottle.
He couldn’t help but notice the lack of rings on her long, slender fingers. Not a surprise—first of all, Bronco was a very small town and he would have heard if she’d gotten married.
And second of all, she’s completely intolerable, he thought, popping the champagne and handing her the bottle.
Some breather this would be.
Cassidy glanced over at Brandon, all six-feet-three of him stretched out in a well-fitting tux, bow tie askew, in a folding chair. His close-cropped dark hair made every angle of his gorgeous face visible, his strong nose and jaw, the intense dark eyes. Back when she’d had a mad crush on him as a freshman and had actually dated him for a few months, he’d been the cutest guy at Bronco High, and now he was so hot she could barely drag her eyes off him. His effortless hold over her had always been so unfair.
She took the bottle and lifted it in a silent cheers, then took a long sip. Then another. Ah, that was good.
Could her thirtieth birthday get any harder? The day had started out well enough. She’d been excited about tonight, taking part in the catering of such a fancy wedding at the Taylor Ranch. She’d been sure she wouldn’t run into Brandon, nemesis for life, since the property was so big and there were three hundred and seventy-six guests. Everything had gone off without a hitch; she’d gotten so many compliments on her miniature pastries and tiny cookies and juice concoctions, which were available at the bar. But then word of her birthday had spread at the reception and the thirty-and-single nonsense had started.
Engaged and married former classmates had said, “Cassidy, be sure to line up for the bouquet toss so you can be next.” Fake smile, giggle. Mariel Jones, a married accountant with two adorable twin toddlers, had said, “Oh, how sweet that you’re catering the desserts. A big wedding like this probably pays months of your bills over at that little shop of yours.”
Why were people so rude? And, dagnabbit, yes, this gig would help cover the slide into the cooler fall months and winter when business tended to slow down. April through early November, everyone wanted their mango-berry smoothies and ice mocha lattes and, of course, one of her decadent treats to go with them. Now, with the still beautiful early September weather, she had brisk business. But come December, folks wouldn’t be venturing out as much in single-digit Montana temperatures. The fee for catering the Sanchez-Taylor wedding would be a nice boost, but she’d need more where that had come from.
And despite the great gig, she couldn’t help but look around at all the accomplished, wealthy guests and wonder why she hadn’t been able to make her goals come to fruition. Yes, she had her own business, and it was popular in Bronco Heights. But back when she’d been twenty-five, full of grit and determination, she’d made a business plan that had impressed Bronco Bank and Trust enough for the small loan she’d taken out to open the shop. She’d intended to have a chain of Java and Juices across Montana to start, including in city hotels like down in Billings. But, nope, five years later, at age thirty, everything was exactly the same. Cassidy was grateful for what she did have, but she’d really thought she’d be able to expand by now.
“Remember the bets we made?” Brandon asked, taking the bottle of champagne for a long slug and then handing it back to her.
She gaped at him, shocked he actually remembered. They’d been boyfriend-girlfriend for a few months when she’d been a freshman and he a big-man-on-campus senior. Between her mom giving her a hard time about dating a boy “who is too old for you and very likely used to getting anything he wants, given his family name” and the girls throwing themselves at him, she and Brandon hadn’t really had a chance back then. She was constantly jealous of the older girls flirting with him and his friendliness back.
Once, toward the end, she’d accused him of standing her up for a date and catching him with another girl in the library, and then realized she’d made the mistake—the wrong day and the girl was Brandon’s lab partner and already engaged to her own high school sweetheart. It had all just been bad timing back then and she’d been too young for Brandon Taylor in every way. She’d been in over her head and had broken up with him. But then he’d told everyone he’d broken up with her and, for some immature reason, that had rankled. She’d made a fuss, he’d shrugged, and they’d been antagonistic toward each other since, throwing little barbs that didn’t really sting.
She’d tried to avoid him since, impossible in a town like Bronco, so the times they did run into each other, they’d just pretend they didn’t see each other.
She thought back to that final day of their romance, the back-and-forth arguing in a back stairwell at Bronco High, Cassidy saying there was no way they’d make it as a couple to the end of the day, let alone the week. Brandon had agreed. That was when they’d flung their insult bets at each other.
“You’d bet that I’d be on my sixth child at age thirty,” she said. “Well, I’m not even on number one. Hell, I don’t even have a man in my life.”
He stared at her and seemed about to say something, but didn’t, just accepted the champagne bottle back from her and took another swig before handing it back. “And you’d bet that I’d be on my third marriage.” He laughed, but his big grin soon faded.
“Instead, we’re both single, no kids, hiding out in the stables during your brother’s wedding. Whodathunk?” she asked.
“Gimme back that bottle,” he said with a smile.
But she could see he was lost in thought and she wondered about what. An ex-girlfriend who’d gotten away? His own unfulfilled goals?
What were his goals, though? He was from the richest family in town, worked at Taylor Ranch in some cowboy-meets-executive capacity, and had everything he’d ever wanted. If Brandon Taylor wanted to be married, he would be.
“Why are you here?” she asked, surprised that she really wanted to know what had driven him from the wedding.
“The usual in-your-face questions from relatives I haven’t seen in months or years,” he said, his dark eyes on her. Then he looked toward the pretty horse in the stall across from them. “And my dad, as usual. One conversation with him and I need to decompress.”
“Yeah?” she asked, her own father coming to mind. He’d left her mother—and her—when she was just shy of her first birthday. I’m really sorry, but I’m just not cut out for marriage or fatherhood, the cowboy had written in a note. He’d sent her mom money and a birthday card every year for Cassidy until she was eight, when he’d either completely forgotten she existed or had been just done with all that. Right or wrong, Cassidy had kept her distance from good-looking cowboys.
Brandon Taylor might not have to get his hands dirty, but he was a cowboy through and through. Mega rich made it worse. The entitlement and arrogance.
“He makes life on the ranch almost unbearable,” he said, staring down at the floor. “You’d think trying to boss his three brothers—all equal partners in Taylor Beef—would keep him satisfied. But no, he has to try to control his five adult children.” He shook his head and took another drink of the champagne, then passed it back. “Lately I’ve been thinking about what I really want out of life.”
She stared at him, surprised he’d opened up. She didn’t have experience with a controlling dad, of course. Her late mom had always been so busy trying to make ends meet that she’d given Cassidy a lot of responsibility to make the right choices. Cassidy always had. “Yeah, me, too. I mean, I know what I want. I just can’t seem to make it happen.”
“Those six kids?” he asked. “A husband?”
She narrowed her gaze. “I was referring to my goals for Bronco Java and Juice. I thought I’d have expanded by now. But it’s just the one small place.” She shrugged, taking another drink of champagne, then handing it over to him. She truly wasn’t caught up in being thirty and single. Marriage wasn’t on her mind. Maybe because she’d never found the right guy. She’d had relationships, but one of them always left. Sometimes she thought her heart just wasn’t in the idea of marriage. She’d been too young to witness her mother’s heartache at being abandoned by her child’s father, but she’d grown up with her mom’s dictums. Never depend on a man... Make your own way... Be independent... Don’t expect anyone to rescue you. If you get in trouble, rescue yourself.
So here Cassidy was, Miss Independence. With not as much to show for it as she’d planned.
“I really did like you back in high school,” he said suddenly, sliding his gaze to hers. “Sorry I acted like an idiot. You did dump me and I wanted to save face.”
Cassidy smiled. She wasn’t about to tell him how much she’d liked him then, that he was her first love and that she’d never really gotten over him. Yes, Brandon Taylor had been a golden boy. But a smart one who’d worked hard for good grades, who’d tutored classmates for free in math, his best subject, who’d been friendly to everyone instead of a stuck-up jerk like a few of his teammates on the football and baseball teams. He’d defended the picked-on from bullies. And the way he’d talk about horses, his admiration of them and knowledge and intention to make them his life’s work at the Taylor Ranch, had held her rapt. She used to ask him about his family and it had taken her a while to realize he only talked about his three brothers and sister, never his parents, who were clearly a source of agita. Those times she’d seen Brandon in town over the years? The words unfinished business always echoed in her head along with the red alert to avoid him.
“Well,” she said, feeling a little Brandon-size crack in her heart widen, “an apology fifteen years in the making. I’ll take it.”
He laughed and passed her the bottle, which she raised to him and then drank from before passing it back. There wasn’t much left.
“So about our bets,” she said. “You’re supposed to be on wife number three. Did you just never meet the right woman?”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes moving to the Appaloosa, then back to Cassidy. “Don’t much believe in it, I guess. Marriage hasn’t exactly worked out too well for my parents—my dad’s the one who’s been married three times, though he and Jessica do seem happy. For now. And my mom? Haven’t seen her since she left when I was five.”
She almost gasped. She hadn’t known any of that. Brandon rarely talked about his parents back when they were dating. “I never knew my dad. And my mom never got married, which had once been a dream of hers. She fell in love with a ranch hand who sweet-talked her, and he left before I turned a year old. She kept asking where her ring was, and he kept saying he was saving up to afford a diamond worthy of her, with the next purse he won. He left instead. So, to be honest, I’m not much interested in marriage myself. Maybe I don’t believe in it, either. I don’t know anymore.”
“Well, aren’t we a pair,” he said, tilting the bottle back. He handed it to her. “I saved you the last few sips.”
She smiled. “Huh. I’d sarcastically called you thoughtful earlier, but you do seem to be just that.”
“Not the bad guy you thought I was the last fifteen years.”
“No,” she said, finding herself leaning toward him just a bit, her gaze on his mouth. She’d kissed those lips many times ages ago. She remembered exactly how every nerve ending in her body had lit up when he’d held her close. That was Brandon the teenager. Brandon the man? Whew. She let her eyes travel down his long, muscular body in that black tux. Maybe too much man for her. Too much cowboy. He might be a good guy in general, but she’d seen him with a lot of different women over the years, one prettier than the next. Just last week she’d spied him through the window in Bronco Brick Oven Pizza with a gorgeous redhead. “When it comes to women, I’m sure you haven’t changed a bit, Brandon Taylor.”
He smiled that dazzling smile of this, the one that had always made her forget where she was—and all rational thought. “All I know for sure about you is that you’re as beautiful as ever, Cassidy Ware.”
Maybe she’d needed a compliment tonight on her thirtieth birthday. Because she was suddenly warming to Brandon. A little too much. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips.
“What did we bet?” he asked. “I mean, what was the winner and loser supposed to get? That I actually can’t remember.”
She grinned. After they’d made their bets, she’d realized they were really just proclamations without anything to win or lose, and she’d demanded he eat his words if what he said about her didn’t come true. “You said, and I quote, ‘Fifteen years from now, whoever wins their bet gets bragging rights. Whoever loses has to wallow in being wrong. And if we both end up wrong, we’ll have to kiss and make up and then go our separate ways forever.’”
“Well, we were both wrong,” he said, holding her gaze, which dropped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. For a moment, she caught him slide a glance along her silky pale-pink cocktail dress.
Kiss and make up. Kiss and make up...
Before she could even blink, the bottle was on the floor, empty, and they were kissing, Brandon’s hands in her hair, her hands splayed against his chest, moving up to his neck and to his chiseled face.
He pulled back slightly. “Tell me to go back to wedding. Or we might do something you’ll probably regret. I haven’t changed a bit. And we’ve had way too much to drink, Cass.”
She liked how he used to sometimes call her Cass.
“We have,” she agreed, the intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloping her. “But I don’t think I’ll regret anything.”
Yes, she was tipsy. But it was her birthday and she’d been feeling sorry for herself not an hour ago. A secret birthday rendezvous with the man she’d never forgotten? The one who’d gotten away? Finished business after all these years?
“Me, either,” he whispered. “But that might be the moment talking for both of us. You sure about this?”
He looked at her, his dark eyes probing and sincere instead of flirtatious and glib, and she knew he was giving her another moment to come to her senses.
She grabbed the lapels of his tux and kissed him hot and heavy on the lips. She would not regret this. After all, tomorrow, all kissed and made up, they’d go their separate ways—forever.
But tonight? She needed this.
