Gambling on a Secret
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When Charli bets everything on a secret, will she find the deck stacked against her?
Former runaway-turned heiress Charli Monroe is hiding her sordid past and planning a future in Colton, Texas. Attending the local college for a degree in social work, she intends to raise cattle on her newly purchased ranch, which she plans to open as a home for troubled teens. Only a few glitches—the Victorian mansion is crumbling, the barn needs a roof, and her oilman neighbor wants more than friendship. When she meets Dylan Quinn, Charli is willing to take a chance on the town drunk to help her rebuild the rundown ranch.
Dylan has his demons, too. The former Special Forces commander can’t get past his ex-wife’s betrayal and the botched mission that left him with much more than a bad limp. Certain the greedy oilman next door to Charli wants much more than just her heart, Dylan’s even willing to stop drinking in order to protect her.
When things get dangerous and secrets of the past are revealed, is he only looking out for his new employer, or is she the new start he so desperately needs?
CONTENT WARNING: Details abuse of a minor, drug abuse, alcoholism, swearing, spicy sex, murder.
Highlight
Dylan moved over to her, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around before he realized what he was doing. Charli stood close enough for him to smell the sweet scent of peaches and see the flecks of blue in her wide green eyes. “I warned you more than once about Ferguson. I won’t let you give him this ranch. I’ll buy it from you first.”
She laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ll buy the ranch? Hell.”
She bent into the open refrigerator. It wasn’t a secret he was broke, but her easy dismissal pinched his heart in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable way.
Over her shoulder, Charli burned him with the fire of her cat-like eyes. “I don’t really give a flyin’ fu–I don’t care what your deal is with Leon. He’s done nothing to me. He’s a gentleman and only wants to be my friend.” She turned back toward him with a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “So, if you can’t accept that, I think you know what you can do. Goes for my rule about your drinking, too. Take it or leave it. The door’s open.”
Gambling On a Secret
By Sara Walter Ellwood
Dedication
In Memory of Grandma,
One of the greatest storytellers I’ve ever known....
Acknowledgements
D’Ann, thank you so much for what you have taught me about the West and ranching. Without your patient guidance, this story wouldn’t be what it is.
Martha, thank you for all of your help. You are an awesome critique partner.
Lorraine, thank you so much for your editorial help. Without your suggestions, that “white elephant” would still be in the story.
Finally, thank you to all the service men and women who protect our freedoms that make it possible for me to write and publish such a story. God bless every single one of you.
Author’s Foreword
Dear Readers,
Thank you for reading
Gambling on a Secret
. This is the first book of
The Colton Gamblers
and will take you to Colton, Texas, a little town about 7o miles south of Dallas. Here the gossip chain is known as the Colton Grapevine and the mayor’s wife is the queen at collecting the
grapes
that grow on it. And there are plenty of backdoor dealings and secrets to go around–and maybe even an occasional murder, too.
But don’t worry, Colton is full of good, solid folks and enough tough, sexy cowboys and women strong enough to love them to make sure good has a fair chance at always winning...
Love,
Sara
The Colton Gamblers
In 1865, three disillusioned first cousins return from the battlefields of the defeated South to find their home in East Texas a shambles. Determined to make a new start, they head west. In the cowboy town of Dallas, Texas, they decide to pool the few silver dollars they have between them and enter into a poker game. With their gamble, they win over 100,000 acres of good grassland in Central Texas. Over the next century and a half, their descendents build a fortune in cattle and oil, but as time goes by, greed erodes their family bond.
These are the stories of the eighth generation gambling on love and bringing back the bond of family…
Chapter 1
“You’re twenty minutes late, Mr. Quinn. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little punctuality if you wanted a job.” Charli Monroe stopped at the gate in the broken picket fence of her newly purchased, broken-down ranch.
The man behind the wheel of the beat up pickup truck peered out the open window. A brown cowboy hat shadowed a face hard enough to be chiseled out of stone. “This old place needs a lot of work. It’s been empty for five years.”
He spoke with a deep velvet timbre that settled somewhere in her chest and reverberated.
She swallowed and fought the urge to hug herself. He didn’t seem too concerned about being late. Was he going to get out of the truck? When he made no move to do so, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He obviously didn’t want the job that badly. “Do you know why the place was in probate for so long?”
Dylan Quinn slid the cowboy hat back over his dark hair. A corner of his lips twitched upward. It couldn’t be called a smile, but it momentarily softened his mouth. The warmth of the phantom grin never reached his cloudy-day eyes. “Jock Blackwell died without a will, and his sons hate each other and despised their father and this ranch.”
That was pretty much what the landlady of the student boarding house where she currently lived had told her. Jock Blackwell had gotten three of his girlfriends pregnant and refused to marry them in a time such behavior was socially unacceptable. Each of his three sons blamed his misfortunes in life on their label of illegitimacy. She knew all about being a bastard. Her dear old dad hadn’t stuck around either.
“It was a shame to watch this place go to hell.” He looked beyond her at the ramshackle Victorian house. “There was a time when it was one of the best cattle ranches in all of Central Texas.”
“You’re from around here?” He didn’t exactly sound like a born and bred Texan. His accent suggested he was from the Mid-Atlantic area.
He nodded and rubbed over the dark stubble along his angular jaw. “You could say that. My mother grew up on Oak Springs Ranch–your neighbor to the east. I lived there as a teenager. So, are you still looking for a manager, or not?”
Not.
But the way he looked at her made the lie stick in her throat. She took a few steps toward the side of the truck.
As she wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver tickled down her spine. She had to be cold, despite the warm early-March sun beating down on her. What else could it be? She wasn’t afraid, but something about him put her senses on edge. Was it his rugged handsomeness or the slate gray of his tortured eyes?
“Yes, I am. I’m Charlotte Monroe. I go by Charli. I have to get the place ready for the cattle coming in a few weeks. I’m also buying four horses from Sheriff Zack Cartwright.”
Another half-smile tugged on his lips. “You’ve been busy. Can’t get better horses from anywhere else. How many cattle?”
“A hundred Salers calves.”
“The French breed?”
Most people had no clue what they were. If her grandfather hadn’t been something of a cattle collector, she wouldn’t have known them either. “Yes. Do you know about them?”
“I’ve heard they’re good for beef and easy calving.” Dylan looked across the gravel driveway. “The barn needs a new roof and the right side looks like it’s about ready to collapse. Are all the other buildings in as bad shape?”
Why didn’t he want to look for himself? “Unfortunately, yes. The barbed wire fencing also needs fixing. The bunkhouse is worse than the barn.” She pointed behind her at the native limestone and clapboard house. “The house needs work, as you can see. At least, the extra stables and storage barn next to it aren’t quite as broken down.”
“Probably because they’re not as old.” He looked around again as if confirming her appraisal. “Sounds like you need a carpenter, not a ranch manager.”
“I need both. I said as much in the newspaper ad. I’m looking for someone who will help me oversee repairs, hire on hands as needed and make this place a working ranch again.”
He regarded her for a long moment and cocked a brow. Damn, was he making fun of her? He looked her up and down. “Wouldn’t a woman like you be more comfortable getting manicures and massages in a Dallas spa, not worrying about cattle breeds and barn roofs? It’s no secret around town you’re the heiress to the Monroe Farm Equipment fortune, and you sold a huge ranch in Oklahoma your grandfather left you. Why on Earth did you buy a dump like this?”
Now he’d pissed her off. She might have more money than she’d ever dreamed of having. She might like to dress in designer clothes, but it was none of this jerk’s business which ranch she bought. Or why she wanted it. She had a business plan and a vision for the ranch; what else mattered? “I happen to like this place. It suits me better than the ranch I sold.”
“Is that so? Did you bring any equipment with you? A tractor, a planter, hay mower, baler, anything?”
He would bring up one of the stupidest things she’d done. Sighing, she admitted, “I sold the equipment with the ranch when I decided to leave Oklahoma. One more reason I need a manager.” Her cheeks burned. “When I sold the ranch after inheriting it, I didn’t intend to buy another.”
“Why did you buy another ranch?” He slid his gaze back to hers and peered at her as if he could read her every thought–but what had her swallowing hard was the spark of something hot in his eyes.
She tightened her arms in the hug she gave herself–a self-protecting, insecure gesture she’d acquired while she lived with her abusive lover in Las Vegas as a teenage runaway.
“Buying a ranch the size of this one isn’t something most folks just wake up and decide to do, Miss Monroe. A ten-thousand-acre spread takes commitment and dedication and is damned hard work.”
Yeah, she knew that.
He looked down at her multicolored Manolo Blahnik five-inch heeled slides. The ghost of a smile touched his lips again, but this time little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, which held a spark of interest she didn’t want.
Damn, he was good-looking. She squelched that notion like the roach she’d killed earlier in the house. Hadn’t her life with Ricardo taught her a handsome face meant nothing but trouble?
“I can’t imagine you stuffing those pampered and polished feet into rubber boots to muck around in the barn.”
Me, either.
But she would if she had to.
She drew in a breath and dropped her arms to her sides. “I think we should get back to asking questions about you. When your sister called about my newspaper ad, she said you were exactly what I’m looking for.”
He shrugged again in a not-a-care-in-the-world way again. What was this guy’s problem? If she weren’t running out of time, she would tell him to leave. She couldn’t waste this year, which meant she had to get someone hired. And her prospects were limited.
“Can you do the job?”