The Cowboy's Promise: Love Triangle Billionaire Romance (The Wentworth Cowboy Billionaire Series)

  THE COWBOY’S PROMISE

  ELIZABETH GREY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Elizabeth Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: contact@elizabethgreycreative.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  I forced myself to sip the scotch three times before throwing it back, carefully waiting for the other patrons at the bar to look elsewhere. There was nothing worse than having to stew in their judgment and resentment as I moved from one drink to the next. That was one quality I’d already missed about New York—being able to mind your own business.

  I savored the burn of the liquor, though the warmth didn’t radiate through me like it once had. Perched on the lopsided barstool, my legs were beginning to fall asleep. But besides that, I felt much the same as when I first arrived. By the time I managed a decent buzz, it would be closing time. That, or Stan would cut me off with a tongue-lashing lecture.

  I could hear the seating areas filling up around the room as the waitstaff scurried about with bottles of ketchup and plates of steaming appetizers. The sight of muddy work boots in my peripheral vision reminded me that I wasn’t a stone’s throw from Brooklyn Bridge anymore.

  My phone buzzed, the noise was barely audible over the dull droning of conversation and the stereo speakers in the corner. I flipped it over, the tanned leather case catching the light for a moment to reveal the embossed initials of my former law firm stamped into the back. A pang of nerves shot through me at the sight of them: MLRC. Unbidden, my mind replayed what it had been like to resign, hastily hand over my cases, and scoop the random debris out of the bottom of my desk drawers—tubes of Chapstick, Pens with chewed caps, a spare key to an apartment I wouldn’t miss.

  The two weeks after giving notice had been a blur of dodging awkward questions and listening to everyone gossip about me when they didn’t realize I could hear them. Did you hear that Skyler Wentworth quit? The speculation was the worst part, though. Who quits Strategic Investments with that kind of salary? Maybe she’s pregnant or something.

  I couldn’t believe a week had passed since my last day. I pressed my thumb to the screen to pull up a text message from Hailey. My brother’s grinning face stared back at me from a picture, his arm thrown around Hailey with their three kids lined up in front. Their youngest, Jackson, was wearing a mischievous grin that suggested he’d keep their family vacation eventful in a bad way. My eyes drifted to the caption. The kids are loving Big Bear. We all miss you! Call us if you need anything.

  I swirled the half-melted ice cubes in the bottom of my glass, contemplating a fourth scotch. A lot of things had changed in ten years. Hailey had created this beautiful family with Zane, and I’d gone the opposite way. I became an attorney, built myself a name at the country’s most prestigious law firm, coordinated takeovers that had left my opponents quaking.

  But for what? Instead of texting Hailey pictures of my kids, I’d had to clear out the empty two-hundred-dollar bottles of wine from the background of my solo selfies in my apartment. I never painted anymore, too worried that the occasional guest from work would see it as a sign of frivolousness. Had I been happy? Had it mattered?

  I held up two fingers to flag down a bartender and ordered another drink. While I waited, my gaze drifted around the room, prompting a few people to sit up straighter and stare back. I reminded myself for the fiftieth time that I was a Wentworth, a title that was both the anchor dragging me down and the fuel propelling me forward. I wasn’t afraid of home.

  I could still hear my father’s words, his voice softer since the stroke that had left him suddenly paralyzed from the waist down. Sky? It’s your father. We hadn’t bothered with small talk. I remember standing in my office, frozen, my fingers strangling my cell phone. He never called like that. We should talk about the business. I think it’s time for you to step up. How fast can you get back to Texas?

  Not Zane, not Daniel. Me. Finally, me. I suspected that he’d called my brothers first and been refused, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. If there was one thing I’d learned about being in this family, it was that I shouldn’t ask questions if I didn’t want to know the ugly, horrible answer.

  But I didn’t have to wait long to find out the truth. Before hanging up, Dad had made sure to mention that Zane and Daniel had turned him down, busy with their empires to rule his. A ranch is a man’s job, Dad had said in that preachy, nasal tone he’d once used to ridicule Mom. But if it’s a choice between a Wentworth, even a female Wentworth, and some strange man, I suppose it’s no contest.

  Still, at least I knew I outranked my stepmother Beth, a fact I was sure she would try to make me regret it once she was finished punishing me for existing at all. It wasn’t my fault that Dad thought blood trumped all.

  Stan delivered my scotch himself, clucking his tongue. “Man, that city sure taught you how to drink, girl.”

  I scoffed as I pried the glass free of his fingers. “Like I didn’t already know how to do that before I left.”

  He laughed. “Well, guess you’re gonna keep me in business tonight. Single-handedly.”

  “Don’t judge me.” My tone was sharp, but there was no true bite to it. I was happy to see Stan; he was the whole reason I’d chosen this bar and not some competitor two towns over where I could blend in just like anyone else. I dunked a five-dollar bill into the oversized jar on the counter. “You don’t get tips that way.”

  “At least I get tipped at all these days. Been cleaning these floors since I was two feet tall, y’know?”

  He had a point. Stan’s father, Gayle, had built this place with his own hands, some questionable permits, and a lot of cursing. I admired that, especially since the same people who always thought I’d fail also had no qualms about telling Gayle that a Black businessman could never succeed. Now, he had something to pass on to Stan. A family legacy.

  The scotch soured in my stomach as I thought of it— how Dad hadn’t relinquished one dribble of power until his health began to decline. He didn’t care that I was practically begging at his feet for it. If it had been up to him, he would have died in his boardroom and left me the scraps.

  “So,” Stan ventured, leaning onto his elbows, “I hear that you’re hanging around for good. Any truth to that?” He jerked his head at the various tables. “Gotta ask. Can’t trust
a bunch of gossips like these folks.”

  “I don’t really know,” I admitted. I waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the largest ranch in the state, my begrudgingly given birthright. “There’s still a lot up in the air.” Even if I did know, it wasn’t like I’d tell him. There were just some things that weren’t for public ears yet, friends or not.

  Plus, I wouldn’t trust one single thing out of my father’s mouth until I saw it in writing and plastered on the nightly news. He’d kept Mom from touching anything of importance, forcing her to maneuver behind his back to fix his business disasters. He was just like my grandfather, who once blew millions looking for oil that didn’t exist. They might have named the ranch Black Gold Creek in earnest rather than sarcasm, but there hadn’t been one black gold drop in the whole nine hundred thousand acres.

  “What have people been saying?” I asked, surveying those around us.

  Stan scratched at a scar carved into the top of the bar with his fingernail. He wouldn’t look at me. “Eh, the usual. Wouldn’t let it get to ya too much. Honest. It isn’t worth your time.” With an apologetic nod t, he returned to the other end of the bar to wait on a tipsy customer.

  Heat flushed my cheeks as I registered the dirty looks of two middle-aged men in jeans and long-sleeve shirts in different shades of plaid. My smile was closer to a smirk. It just killed some of them to know that a woman could be signing their paychecks from now on.

  My own father believed I was lesser than my brothers. These ranch hands would need to scorn me a lot harder to get through this hide. Whenever the indignation of it was getting too much to bear, I’d just imagine what Mom would say. I’d once made her a promise that the ranch would be mine. I was so close to keeping it.

  Not a moment after I turned back to my scotch, I heard a smooth voice sound from just over my right shoulder. A familiar voice. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Six syllables and my heart was already pounding hard enough that I could feel the blood pulsing in my ears. Part of me wanted to leap over the bar and run for the emergency door in the back, setting off the alarm. The other part of me wanted to… I wasn’t exactly sure.

  I turned in what I hoped was a nonchalant way, my breath hitching in my throat at the sight of the man before me. Will Blythe. My God. If I closed my eyes, I could have imagined us as just foolish kids again, sneaking out to junior prom and hiding from our parents. The more our families hated us together, the more we loved it.

  “Well,” I said, stalling, “I might have to think about that for a second.”

  As if I hadn’t thought about this exact situation on the flight home, a growing collection of emptied miniature Jack Daniel bottles stuffed in my purse. My memory hadn’t done him justice. He’d grown his dirty blond hair out even longer, the ends an inch above his shoulders. He held a dark leather cowboy hat against his chest, grinning. “For once, the rumors are true. You are back in town.”

  I tried to come up with something clever to say, but I ended up just patting the stool beside me. “What can I say? They don’t have good fried catfish in the Big Apple.”

  “I bet.”

  Will took a seat as I mustered the courage to meet his gaze. His eyes were an impossible blue, like the sky above the lake on a bygone summer day with our friends as kids. I could still remember sitting on the dock, brushing his hair with my fingers as it dried in the sun.

  I took a deep breath, hoping no one had told him that I’d been drinking away half the evening. If there was ever a time for the alcohol to kick in, now would be great. “I see you’ve decided to abandon your scruffy look for a more polished appearance.”

  Will laughed, low and long. “Hardly.”

  Judging by his old habit of barely talking when he was nervous, I guessed that Will wasn’t as calm as he looked. I signaled Stan again for another drink, praying he wouldn’t embarrass me by cutting me off with Will sitting right here. “One more?” I pushed my empty glass over the polished wood, the smell of scotch mixing with the earthy scent of horses clinging to Will.

  “Make that two, Stan,” Will interjected. “And please put it on my tab.”

  If I thought more booze would make this easier, I was wrong. Between Will’s clipped answers and having nothing else to focus on, I ended up holding my scotch with both hands and staring at the ripples on the surface. Anything to escape those eyes. “Do you come here a lot?” I hated that I didn’t know the first thing about his life anymore. “I’ve always liked it here.”

  “I’d much rather drink on my own porch,” Will admitted. “But when Stan called and said Skyler Wentworth was in Bellfield, I just had to come see it for myself.”

  “Thought I might be a mirage?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  Will was busy removing a credit card for his tab, so I stuck my tongue out at Stan as he delivered our drinks. You called him? I mouthed, leaning my head in Will’s direction.

  Stan shrugged and leaned in until his mouth was barely an inch from my ear. “Hon, I’m shameless. Thought you’d been knowin’ that by now.”

  I groaned internally at yet another example of everyone in this town meddling in my business. Stan at least meant well, though his head would spin if he even knew a fraction of the politics involved in our families. Montague and Capulet? Forget it. We could make Romeo and Juliet look like old preschool pals.

  Will sipped at his scotch, his hat balanced on the tip of his right knee. “Are you having a nice visit?”

  “Better now,” I blurted, unable to keep words from spilling out. If he noticed the blood rushing to my cheeks, his eyes didn’t linger. No matter how many corporate leadership classes and public speaking exercises I’d endured in New York, seeing Will again turned me back into a blubbering teenager.

  His smile was little more than a pull at the corner of his lips. “Is that right?” His voice was soft, an unwelcome reminder of what I had left behind. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I couldn’t keep the frustration from welling within me.

  If I’d been a man, my father would have let me have anyone I wanted. Anyone. Dating the daughter of his biggest rival would have been a cute joke that he could tell at parties or his buddies at the country club. But no, I was a girl. Lesser. “What have you been up to lately?” I asked, both out of genuine curiosity and a pressing need to change the subject to something more mundane.

  I expected him to do what everyone else on the planet did—ramble about himself, slipping in his latest accomplishments or stories of mutual friends. But instead, Will just stared into his drink, mirroring my earlier pose. I replayed the question in my mind. There wasn’t anything too pushy about it, at least to my soggy brain.

  Before I could amend it to something less fraught, like a corny comment about the weather, a stunning young woman stepped up to the bar on the other side of Will. “Hey,” she said, patting his arm. “Sorry, I’ve been talking Stan’s ear off.”

  Will blinked before leaning back to give us a better look at each other. “This is Jessie. I work at her ranch. Jessie, this is Sky.”

  I checked how much of his drink was left to see if he’d misspoken. “Where you work? You don’t… you don’t work at Wild Brook?” That, and the idea that maybe Jessie was his girlfriend, sent my mind reeling. I knew Will well enough to know that I wouldn’t be able to push for the answers, but that didn’t stop me from wondering.

  “I left not too long after we graduated,” he admitted. “It was time for a change.”

  A change from the ranch or a change from me? With that timeline, Will had left Wild Brook as soon as I’d departed for school in Boston without him. I belatedly realized that I hadn’t even acknowledged Jessie. I gave her a short wave. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you, by the way.”

  “You too!” she chirped, sounding as though she meant it.

  “Did you go to school with us?” I knocked a fist against the side of my head, smiling. “My memory is terrible.”

  She shook her head. “Nah, I went to school out on th
e reservation when I was a kid. We’re Alabama-Coushatta, but my parents wanted to move to the city. I went to high school in Houston.”

  “You weren’t missing much in Bellfield,” Will mumbled.

  Stan snorted from across the counter as he eavesdropped and picked at a bowl of corn nuts. “You’re sayin’ that you didn’t enjoy getting called a daddy’s boy every day, there, Blythe?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You want somethin’, Jessie?” Stan pointed to the tap handles. “Hard cider?”

  “That’s okay. I’m driving.”

  “What brought you out to Bellfield?” I asked Jessie, trying to keep any sharpness from my voice. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was forcing the conversation, but I just needed to know. It was a fair question in its own right, though. Most of the people who were born here didn’t leave. Even fewer wanted to move in unless they were ranchers hoping to get their foot in the door.

  “My uncle left me his ranch,” she explained. “I’d spent summers there and loved it. Guess he thought I could handle it.”

  “You can,” Will reassured her.

  “I couldn’t do it without you.” She grabbed his hat and put it low on her head, cocked at an angle. To me, she added, “Will even bought me my first official cowboy hat.” She tossed it back at him, pretending to gag. “You need to wash yours. This thing reeks.”

  He nodded, the portrait of seriousness. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  I squeezed my glass until I could feel it sweating against my palm. Jessie was beautiful, with shoulder-length black hair and an open, heart-shaped face. Her laugh was effortless. The way she’d touched Will had been so natural as if that boundary didn’t exist between them anymore.

  We’d been that way once. It was that thought that made me literally slip, my scotch tumbling off the bar and onto my shirt. Will lurched to his feet as Stan passed a bar towel over the counter, his gaze knowing.

  “Oof.” Jessie winced as I shook a piece of ice onto the floor. “I’ve got a spare shirt in the car if you think it’ll fit.” She gestured at her slender form. I’d have better luck fitting into a tube of toothpaste.