Colt

  Colt

  Wilder Brothers Rodeo Book 1

  Kali Hart

  Colt is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kali Hart

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  1

  SONYA

  “I’m not trying to get arrested,” I warn my bestie, Jillian. I’ve had the worst day, but that doesn’t mean I’m trying to top any of the events by going to jail.

  “We’re not going to get arrested, Sonya.” With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she tugs my arm, refusing to give up until my feet shuffle forward toward the tear in the fence. “Kicked out maybe.”

  “This is such a terrible idea.”

  “It’s a great idea!”

  “We don’t have tickets, and we’re not romance writers,” I point out, certain my logic will win the ridiculous debate.

  “Hence the hole in the fence.”

  Jillian really is the best, even when she’s being a tad…rash. She’s always had my back, and I know that’s what she’s trying to do now.

  I got a flat tire on the way to work, spilled coffee on my new dress, and was laid off—all in the course of the first two hours of my day. But sneaking into a private pre-rodeo event isn’t going to make anything better. Especially if we get caught.

  “Why can’t we be normal people and get pedicures and binge-eat rocky road ice cream on bad days? Breaking and entering—”

  “The fence is already broken.”

  “We’re not even dressed for this.” It’s my last argument, and Jillian seems to know it.

  She winks at me. “You don’t need a cowgirl hat or boots to be a romance writer going to a rodeo event.” Before I can object—not that I have anything left in my arsenal of objections—Jillian yanks me through the gap in the fence. It’s a wonder no one has fixed that, because any number of people might sneak in later tonight during the main event.

  “You have to act like you belong here, Sonya. Otherwise they’ll know.”

  “No pressure,” I mutter.

  We head for the covered stands, blending in with the mob of women—and a couple of guys—headed to a restricted area. I’m not a rule breaker, and this makes me feel incredibly guilty. Like I need to stop right now and crank out a romance novel so I actually belong here.

  “What’s my name?” I ask Jillian.

  “What?”

  “My author name. Don’t we need those if someone asks?” The last thing I want anyone here to know is my real name, so my bestie better hurry up and create some new identities for us or I’m running for that fence.

  Jillian squints her eyes at me, like she’s trying to see me in a different light. “Pamela Love.”

  “That sounds like a porn name.”

  “Fine. Jane Harper. That sounds romancy enough, right?”

  “It’s better,” I admit, still completely against this scheme. I just know they’re going to figure out we don’t belong here. We’re the only ones without lanyards or cowboy hats.

  “I’ll be Mandi Flowers.” She tugs me along in line, because my feet have apparently stopped working. But I’m not done with my questions. I tend to overthink things—to a fault—and it’s happening right now. “What kind of romance do we write?”

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s all kinds—contemporary, historical, paranormal, erotica, not to mention the heat levels—”

  “You, my dear, are a contemporary western romance author. The steamier the better.”

  “And you?”

  I can tell Jillian is annoyed, but she marches on. True friend right there. “I write vampire shifter romance. There, happy?”

  I almost tell her how I don’t think her name goes with the genre, but then I see him. Any words I had rolling on the tip of my tongue evaporate. Because the man in the cowboy hat, leaning casually against the fence in front of the stands, is gorgeous. Like movie star meets Greek god gorgeous.

  Suddenly, I’m not so nervous about this little scheme.

  Jillian nudges me. “You might want to pick your jaw off the ground.”

  “Can we have everyone take a seat in the stands, please?” One of the crowd controllers—designated by a blue vest—announces. My common sense is operating on a much lower level than it was minutes ago. I can’t peel my eyes away from those Wranglers. The way they hug his hips has me quite hot and bothered.

  He’s talking to an older gentleman next to him, completely uninterested in the crowd forming in the stands. I quickly scan the dozens of people around me. I can’t believe how many writers turned out for this convention.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Jillian quietly squeals into my ear. I follow her eye trail to another cowboy off to the side. He’s handsome too, but not in the same way as my cowboy. “I call that one.”

  “He’s all yours.” Because as crazy as this whole let’s-make-Sonya-feel-better scheme is, I’m suddenly a big rodeo fan. I try to be discreet and keep myself from staring, but I can’t seem to help myself. If I really wrote western romance novels, this rodeo cowboy would be the leading man.

  Maybe this day is redeemable after all.

  COLT

  I’m still not sure how I got roped into this.

  Well, I do. I made a bet with my brother when I knew better.

  This whole entertain-the-romance-writers is more Hudson’s thing than mine. He loves the attention from the crowd—and the ladies. But me? I just want to focus on my job. I’m here to ride bulls and take home the winnings. Not to entertain a bunch of swoony romance writers in some private behind-the scenes look at the rodeo. Yet, here I am.

  “A bet’s a bet,” says my Uncle Raine, nudging me with his elbow. He cackles at Hudson’s wave toward us. It’s a good thing that Hudson is a bronc rider. Because I would make it my personal mission to beat him tonight, just to prove a point. I’m still planning to rack up more points.

  “Please, writers. Take your seats. Our cowboys are on a tight schedule.” The woman in the blue vest introduced herself earlier, but I can’t for the life of me remember her name. I’m horrible with that sort of thing, but to be fair, I meet a lot of people. When you’re one of the best—which I’ve worked really hard to be—tons of people want to meet you.

  I scan the crowd, not surprised to see at least thirty women. Some are taking pictures. Others are scribbling notes. Most are talking and giggling. I’ve never read one of those sappy romance novels, but judging from their giddy expressions, they’re all convinced this is the perfect setting.

  “Remind me why I took that bet again,” I say to Uncle Raine. Hudson always beats me at calf roping. I’m better on a bull—not one of my brothers would argue that—but Hudson’s always been better on a horse. And with a rope. But he had me riled up the other night, and well, here I am.

  “Ladies,” says the woman in the blue vest, “and gentlemen.” She nods to the two men sitting off to the side. I wonder if they
might write westerns instead of actual romance. But who am I to judge? It amazes me that anyone could write an entire book, much less make a career out of it. I admire their abilities. I just don’t particularly appreciate being their spectacle. “Let’s go ahead and get started.”

  I adjust my stance, forcing myself to push off the fence and flash a smile at the crowd as she introduces me.

  “This is Colt Wilder. He’s currently ranked third—in the entire world!” The small crowd erupts, but their cheering fades to a dull roar when I see her. She’s tucked into the crowd, about halfway up. I try my best to wave to the crowd, pretend I’m not affected by the beautiful brunette, but I my eyes keep traveling back to her. Oh man. Those green eyes of hers are just…dazzling.

  “Welcome, everyone.” I give the spiel I’ve memorized for previous events. Even an anti-social guy like me can’t avoid the occasional interview, and I’m thankful for that right now. Because I’m not just nervous, I’m incredibly distracted. Her eyes are locked on me, taking in every word. I swallow hard, eyes suddenly dry cause I can’t seem to blink. Why isn’t she taking notes like everyone else? At least then she’d have to look at the notepad.

  “I’m the oldest Wilder brother—the only bull rider,” I continue. “That’s my brother Hudson over there, trying to hide.”

  The crowd laughs, the brunette flashes a dazzling smile, and I finally relax. With that beautiful woman hanging on my every word, I launch into all things rodeo life. I may not be excited about this assignment, but I don’t half ass anything.

  Besides, the longer I talk, the longer I get to keep the sexy brunette in my sightline. Her smile could brighten the stormiest day. I crave her presence like a man craves a drop of water in a desert, and I’ve got a plan to spend a little alone time with her soon.

  2

  SONYA

  “Ask him for a picture.” Jillian shoves me forward and I nearly stumble right into the cowboy’s arms. From the stands I could tell he was tall. But standing inches away from him, my nose almost colliding with his bulging chest muscles, I feel tiny.

  “Careful there.” He reaches out a hand, steadying me by the elbow. His touch sends a surge of heat through my entire body.

  “Can she get a picture?” I hear Jillian call above the crowd. Her little stunt has pushed me to the front of the line now that the behind the scenes session is officially over, and I know there are several narrowed glares piercing my back. I don’t dare look.

  “Of course.” Colt—damn that’s such a sexy name for a cowboy—lifts his arm and cradles me against his side. It feels…perfect.

  “You’re a romance writer?” he asks me.

  Meeting those cobalt blue eyes has me tingly in naughty places. My heart races at the penetrating gaze that I swear can see clear into my soul.

  “She sure is,” I hear Jillian chime in because words of any kind obviously failed me. “That’s Jane Harper you’re hugging. Western romance author, the steamier the better.”

  “Jane Harper.” The made-up pen name sounds so delicious escaping those lips that it’s easy to imagine I really am her. Jane didn’t get laid off from her job or splashed by a mud puddle when she tried to assess her flat tire. Jane can be anyone she wants.

  “Smile for the camera now.” Jillian gives us a little wave and proceeds to snap dozens of pictures, if the scowls of the surrounding women are any indication.

  “Thank you,” I say to Colt, relieved that the words found their way out of my mouth without tripping. Then again, I’m Jane Harper right now. Jane isn’t intimidated by a sexy cowboy. Jane would—

  Colt leans down and says in a low voice against my ear, “Can you stick around?”

  “Uh—” Sonya Williams would be running before she got popped for breaking into a private event under false pretenses. But Jane Harper is much bolder. “Yes. Yes I can.”

  “Good. Let me finish up the pictures.” His hand lingers on my shoulder, sliding slowly away as another eager writer tries to wedge her way in for a picture. A fiery trail blazes my skin where his fingers grazed. With an intense look that has my heart pounding, he adds, “Hope your day is free.”

  Heat rushes up my neck and fills my cheeks as I turn away. Jillian yanks me by the arm, away from the mob of fangirling writers—and fanboying. Let’s be fair.

  “What was that about?”

  “I—I don’t know.” My gaze keeps slipping back to Colt, a tinge of jealousy shooting through me as he puts his arms around two women. It’s completely irrational. He’s basically a celebrity in the rodeo world—a fact I can confirm after everything he told us. Celebrities have fans.

  “Well, whatever it is, he’s into you.”

  My eyes lock with Colt’s, forcing me to swallow hard. “He wants me to stick around.”

  Jillian lets out a squeal that turns a dozen heads. I elbow her in the side. “Not so loud.”

  “We’re staying, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “That is Jane Harper.”

  Jillian squeezes my arm in her uncontrollable excitement. “And you wanted to binge eat ice cream instead.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” It’s the woman in the blue vest, and her eyes are bouncing all over the two of us. “Where are your lanyards?” Her voice is more nasally with her two feet away from us. “The rules state to wear them the whole weekend.”

  My heart skyrockets in my chest, and I’m certain I’m about to turn fifty-nine different shades of red and blow our cover. The non-rule breaker in me is on the brink of a full-on panic attack.

  “We left them at the hotel by mistake,” says Jillian, cool as a damn cucumber. I’m not even entirely sure what that phrase means, but she certainly seems to be pulling it off. “We’ll make sure we keep them on from here on out, won’t we Jane?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t remember any Jane on our—”

  “Ladies.” Colt’s deep, sexy voice interrupts the conversation. Had I not been so panicked about being caught, maybe I would’ve sensed his approach. I certainly feel his presence now, wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Or maybe it’s my overactive imagination.

  “Colt,” says the woman in the blue vest, “thank you so much for your time today.” She rambles on for a few more minutes, and I send him an apologetic shrug. Like her inability to shut the hell up is somehow my fault. He winks at me, and Jillian squeezes the back of my arm hard enough to cause pain.

  “Ladies, it’s time to leave,” says the woman in the blue vest—Darla her name tag dangling from her lanyard says. “We can’t bother this rodeo star any longer. He has a job to prepare for you. Come along now.”

  “Actually,” says Colt, “they’re my guests for the remainder of the afternoon.”

  COLT

  Darla lifts her clipboard and starts flipping pages. “I wasn’t aware—”

  “It’s a special arrangement.” I’ve been waiting too impatiently to get some alone time with Jane Harper. I have a suspicion that’s not her real name, but I’m okay with that. Most of these women here have a fake name.

  I put my arm around the blue-vested woman who is quickly becoming flustered. From my brief interaction with her earlier, I figured out she doesn’t care to be far away from her schedule and lists. I try to usher Darla away, but she fights me and pushes against my arm until she’s free to spin around on Jane and her friend.

  “What did you say your names were again?” Darla asks.

  Something fizzles in the air at that question. Some warning bell or some such thing. Darla is much too organized to have missed anyone on her tidy list.

  “Jane Harper and Mandi Flowers,” the friend answers.

  Darla flips through her clipboard. Maybe I should wait and see what she finds—or doesn’t find. But I’m about out of patience. I need Jane all to myself. After I get Darla on her way, I still have to figure out what could occupy her friend.

  “Darla, I don’t have much time. I appreciate everything you
did today. But these ladies are coming with me now.”

  “But—”

  I use a little more force with the arm that ushers her away toward the mob of writers waiting for her at the main gate. “Thank you, Darla. This behind the scenes event went off without a hitch.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “I’ll see you all tonight.” I click the gate to the stands closed, effectively locking it from the inside. This gives Darla no choice but to stand there and yell or go back to the group of waiting writers.

  My heart thrums in my chest with each step closer to Jane Harper I get. Something is off, if the blush that colors her cheeks and that beautiful neck is any indication. But I can’t find it in myself to care. My eyes are too busy feasting on the curvy beauty in jeans and a soft blue sleeveless blouse. Add a pair of cowgirl boots, and I’d be a goner.

  “Sorry about her,” the friend says about Darla. “She’s been a bit frazzled ever since we arrived.”

  My gaze lingers on Jane, my eyes dropping to her chest. I swear it was to spot the missing lanyard. But that doesn’t stop my imagination from running wild. Her tits are voluptuous. What I wouldn’t give to get her in a pair of cowgirl boots—and nothing else.

  “It’s no bother,” I finally say so both women don’t think I’m a complete creep for staring too long. But the devious twinkle dancing in both of their eyes tells me I shouldn’t be concerned about that.

  “You wanted me to stick around?” Jane asks as she bites her bottom lip.

  My gaze flickers to her friend, wishing I had a good reason to get Jane all alone. But I get it. I’m a complete stranger. I’ll have to earn trust from both of them. “You said you write western romance,” I say to Jane, because it sounds like a good excuse for what I’m about to offer.