Wild Dream (Wildhorse Ranch Brothers Book 3), page 1
WILDHORSE RANCH BROTHERS
Wild Ride
Wild Heart
Wild Dream
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, AUGUST 2023
Copyright © 2023 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
Cover design by Cover Art by Mayhem Cover Creations.
www.relaypub.com
BLURB
Sometimes love brews where it's least expected…
Between keeping his brothers in line and looking after Lockhart Bend, Sheriff Trevor Wild has enough on his plate. But he can't pass up the chance to get close to the town's newest resident, Marianne Stanton. She's as delicious as the beer she brews… But as stubborn as a hangover.
She won't sway from her plans to revitalize the town's beloved honky tonk. But the more time he spends with her, the more he begins to come around to her way of thinking. Maybe Lockhart Bend is ready for a new honky tonk, and maybe its sheriff is finally ready for love…
Marianne barely escaped Denver with her dignity intact. Lockhart Bend is her chance to start fresh, away from the ex-husband. She's striking out on her own, and she won't accept help from anyone. Especially the town's pushy, opinionated sheriff. The only problem: that sheriff is drop-dead gorgeous. She can't help but let him into her heart. But when a blast from her past puts her dreams on the line, both her love and her ambitions are in jeopardy.
Will Marianne find a way to have both the boyfriend and the brewpub of her dreams? Or is she headed for yet another heartbreak?
MAILING LIST
Thank you for reading “Wild Dream”
(Wildhorse Ranch Brothers Book 3)
Read FIVE full-length romances by USA Today best-selling author Leslie North for FREE! Over 600+ pages of best-selling romance with hundreds of FIVE STAR REVIEWS!
Sign-up to her mailing list and get your FREE books: www.leslienorthbooks.com/sign-up-for-free-books
CONTENTS
1. Marianne
2. Trent
3. Marianne
4. Trent
5. Marianne
6. Trent
7. Marianne
8. Trent
9. Marianne
10. Marianne
11. Trent
12. Marianne
13. Trent
14. Marianne
15. Trent
Marianne
End of Wild Dream
Free book offer
Thank you!
Make an Author’s Day
About Leslie
Sneak Peek: Snowed In With The Rancher
Sneak Peek: Cowboy’s Unexpected Family
1
MARIANNE
Marianne Stanton absolutely hated dirt, and Lockhart Bend was lousy with it.
You can do this, she coached herself as she squatted down in her garden plot. Don’t forget you’re a Colorado girl. You love nature, and you definitely don’t shy away from manual labor.
Still, she wasn’t used to being so personally…entrenched in it. It wasn’t like she could maintain a manicure anyway, working as hard as she did, but today her nails were crusted with soil and positively wrecked. Like mole paws, she thought, one with the grime. What was the point of gardening gloves if all the dirt still got in? Hell, what was the point of gardening, when you got right down to it?
“Window dressing,” she muttered, and reached for her trowel. If she wanted to bring the crowds back to the Honky-Tonk, she needed the old place looking its best. A whole new façade might just break the bank, especially once she got through bringing the place up to code, but a few potted roses, well, she could rise to that. And what kind of Texan didn’t love a yellow rose?
She smiled at the thought of the garden in bloom, bright yellow blossoms bobbing in the breeze. This place had been a hot spot in Aunt Celia’s day, country tunes bumping from noon to midnight. Shouts and laughter spilling out into the street. Marianne had been too young to join in the fun, but she’d caught glimpses through the old-fashioned saloon doors. To her five-year-old self, the Honky-Tonk had seemed magic: folks went in sour and dour and came out red-faced and happy, dizzy from dancing and too much cheap beer.
She’d bring those days back if it was the last thing she did. Rebuild the Honky-Tonk along with her life.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Aunt Celia had asked her, right before she handed over the keys to the bar. Marianne still remembered how heavy they had felt in the crease of her palm, full of the weight of a thousand expectations. “It needs a whole lot of work just to get up to code. That’s why I sold it to you for the price I did—that, and we’re family.” Celia had winked at her. “But this town is close-knit, Mari, and they don’t know you like I do. And you’ll have competition I never did. Since I’ve been shut down, there’s this new joint opened up—”
“Don’t worry about me, Aunt Celia.” Marianne had shot her aunt the brightest grin she could muster, full to the brim with radiant Colorado confidence. “You just promise to enjoy newlywed life in sunny Florida. I can look after myself here just fine.”
“I know you can, honey.” Aunt Celia’s face, already looking ten years younger with the excited expectation of the new chapter ahead of her, had collapsed on itself in a moment of unguarded grief. “Oh, Mari.”
Her aunt had pulled her into a tight embrace then, and Marianne had accepted it, unresisting. She had been anticipating that moment for a while.
“I can’t help but think how awful it is that my marriage is starting just as yours is ending. It isn’t right!”
“It’s all right, Aunt Celia, really.” Marianne had rubbed her aunt’s back awkwardly as she assumed the role of momentary comforter. “It’s been more than a year now. My divorce is long finalized. Please don’t trouble yourself. I sure as hell don’t.” Marianne had drawn herself back and beamed to let her aunt know she meant it. “I’m thrilled for you. Now go on—get out of here. And call me as soon as your flight lands.”
“Will do, honey. I love you.” Aunt Celia had smoothed Marianne’s hair back from her forehead, like she was still the cherished, innocent child that had grown up in Lockhart Bend, and not a divorcée on the cusp of thirty.
And now here she was, on her knees in the dirt. Talk about rebuilding from the ground up! Two women around her own age skirted around her, and Marianne straightened up to watch them go. Much as she hated to admit it, Aunt Celia had raised a good point. It had been a long time since she’d called this place home. She didn’t know anyone, and no one knew her. No one stopped to greet her when they passed on the street, or dropped by her little house on the edge of town. She’d yet to even meet her new next-door neighbor. She’d heard their front door slam at the crack of dawn, and their car in the driveway late at night, but she’d yet to see hide or hair of them, much less shake their hand.
Workaholic, she thought, and laughed aloud at the irony. She’d hardly been home herself since she started her renovations. And she wasn’t the only one. Lockhart Bend may have seemed small and sleepy, but it was full of hardworking folk, ranchers and laborers and small business owners. And then there was the hospital, and the staff who worked there.
Everyone worked hard in Lockhart Bend. And Marianne was determined to be no exception.
“Fresh start,” she muttered, and blew the hair out of her face. “This is your fresh start. Don’t screw it up.” But it was hard to feel fresh when she was sweating all over, her ratty old gardening clothes clinging to her body. Her cheap cotton dress shirt stuck to her aching back, and her straw sunhat was making her scalp itch. Marianne removed it and wiped the back of one filthy wrist across her forehead to dash the sweat away. Just five more bushes, and phase one was done. Then she just had to grab the rocks from her truck, the big box of fancy ones to edge off her garden. A literal box of rocks—what had she been thinking?
A peal of shared laughter drew her attention. The Saturday morning farmers’ market appeared to be wrapping up. Aunt Celia had always welcomed shoppers to park in the Honky-Tonk’s spaces during the bar’s off-hours, and Marianne meant to keep that tradition alive, a gesture of goodwill to endear her to the locals. But the giggling couple didn’t seem to notice her at all, strolling back to their car with more produce than either of them could comfortably carry. Still, they were obviously enjoying their day, and each other’s company. A black lab wearing a bandana bounded at their heels, tongue lolling as if he was a third party to their joke. Maybe he was.
Marianne felt a sharp pang of longing, so strong the shock of it nearly knocked her on her ass. The feeling startled her, and she blinked, stupidly watching as the happy couple assisted one another in loading up the back of their pickup.
It couldn’t be that she actually missed Simon, could it? No way in hell. The mere thought of her ex-husband was enough to make her ill, and that was absolutely a good sign. No, what she missed was the collaboration, the camaraderie, that came with working toward a mutual goal alongside someone you absolutely gelled with…and that wasn’t something she had ever had with Simon. It had taken getting away from him to realize it, but their relationship had been largely one-sided. Even so, in the early days, it had been exciting, scouting locations, haggling for their equipment. Launching the dream she’d thought they’d shared—their own brewpub.
Opening night had been her first clue it wasn’t right, or at least, the first clue she’d let herself acknowledge. Simon had left early, and it had hurt. He’d claimed he was tired, but in truth, he’d looked bored, like to him, their big dream was just an investment—or worse, a side project—to keep Marianne happy. He’d never gone all in, not like she had.
Marianne wiped her face again, pushing her disappointment away. Could a person really miss something they’d never had in the first place? Maybe I should just get a dog, she thought, as she hefted her box of rocks. A dog is a surefire way to avoid cat lady status, right? And with a dog, you never have to—
The box’s bottom fell out, spilling rocks everywhere. A big one came down on Marianne’s foot.
“Shit!” she yelled, drawing attention from the couple, their dog, and the hot hunk of man just rounding the corner. Marianne’s cheeks blazed to match the fire in her toe, and she ducked down quickly to gather her rocks.
As first impressions went, frankly, this sucked.
2
TRENT
It was another sun-drenched, slow-and-easy Saturday morning in Lockhart Bend, and Trent Wild liked it that way. He strolled down the long line of vendors’ stalls at the farmers’ market, fielding happy greetings and politely declining offers of free produce thrown his way. He was well-liked as far as town sheriffs went—which sure as hell made his job easier—but it never got any less awkward turning down gifts. People wanted to reward him for wearing a uniform, but that same uniform meant he couldn’t accept their generosity. Any man in a position of authority had to avoid even the appearance of taking bribes, and Trent lived by that edict as much as he lived by the badge.
“Morning, Trent. Looking for anything particular?” One of the Bend’s beekeepers waved a friendly hello. The old man was a staple, more than twice Trent’s age and still slinging honey. He insisted it was all the stings that kept him young, but Trent suspected it was the bevy of grandkids helping at his stall.
Trent returned the man’s wave. “Howdy, Orson. Told Celia I’d check in on her niece, and I’m afraid I’m a bit late on an introduction. You see anybody around the Honky-Tonk this morning?”
“Yep. She pulled up early, just as the rest of us were setting up.” Orson nodded toward the bar and chuckled. “You watch yourself, Sheriff.”
Trent raised an eyebrow but didn’t inquire further. He would find out soon enough what Orson meant. He gave the beekeeper a parting tip of his hat and strolled toward the old bar.
The Honky-Tonk, like Orson, was a fixture of Lockhart Bend. The bar was old and rustic on the outside and in violation of more than a few building codes, but Celia had assured him her niece had the problems in hand, and Trent had taken her at her word. His purpose today was just to drop by, see how the girl was doing and welcome her to the Bend. He owed Celia that much—he’d never accepted the free beers she’d offered, but he’d taken advantage of her sympathetic ear on more than one occasion. She’d been good to talk to, a sort of mother figure to half of Lockhart Bend, and Trent had been missing that since his own mom had passed.
Now, Trent found himself in a position to repay his debt, and he was determined not to let Celia down. Time to introduce himself and extend some warm Lockhart hospitality to her niece.
He circled the bar at a leisurely pace, only to stop dead at the sound of a crash swiftly followed by a bellowed curse.
“Shit!” A dark-haired woman danced back from a cascade of rocks, a flimsy cardboard box slipping from her grasp. Her sun hat slid off, revealing round, rosy cheeks, the kind that would dimple with the first hint of a smile. But she wasn’t smiling. She was cursing up a storm, dancing around like she had hot feet.
“Hey…”
The woman dropped down, hair hanging in her face. She snatched up her box and folded the bottom back together, and started tossing rocks in it two and three at a time.
“It’s only going to bust again if you use the same box,” said Trent, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She turned to grab another rock and he caught a glimpse of her ass, all plump and cute, clad in tight denim. Trent tried not to stare, but she had a great figure—round ass, thick thighs, trim little waist.
Trent cleared his throat. “Uh…”
“Fucking dirt! Fucking rocks! Fucking thorns on those roses.” Her growling and grumbling were almost bestial. If it wasn’t for her tantalizing figure, Trent might have mistaken her for one of the rougher cowboys he had to deal with sometimes down at the Tin Horseshoe. He listened a few seconds longer, his smile hitching itself up one side of his face, before he cleared his throat louder to let her know he was there.
The woman shot up like a startled cat and dropped the rock she was holding. She turned slowly to face him, her expression one of dismay. Trent’s smile died instantly, but not due to anything the woman had done wrong.
He hadn’t expected her to look so…angelic. With her furious scowl faded, she had a round, youthful face, with wide-set sky-blue eyes and a pensive pink mouth. Her skin was porcelain white where it wasn’t smeared with dirt, a complexion he hadn’t seen on anyone around these parts for a very long time. Her chocolate-brown hair had mostly slipped out of its loose ponytail, and hung in thick curls about her shoulders. She was a vivacious mix of color contrasts, none of them local, and Trent took a second to catch his breath before speaking.
“Marianne Mantel?” She looked too young to be Celia’s adult niece.
“Stanton. Marianne Stanton.” She removed one filthy gardening glove to shake his hand. Her hand was just as grubby, but he took it anyway. They shook, quick and firm, and for the first time, she smiled. “You’re Sheriff Wild, aren’t you? I mean…I guessed as much from the uniform.”
Trent relaxed his posture and hooked his thumbs through his belt. “My reputation precedes me.”
“My aunt used to talk about you a lot.” Even as she spoke, Marianne’s eyes wandered to the rocks scattered across the sidewalk. A few of the smaller ones had landed in the gutter. “Not sure I can live up to her legend, but I’ll be sure to try my best.”
Trent frowned thoughtfully. “She was one of a kind.”
“That she was.” Marianne seemed to relax, if only a little. “I know she meant a lot to this town. I’m not trying to replace her. But if I can carry on what she started, if I can do that—” She laughed and gesticulated toward the little garden plot. “Well, I’m having some growing pains, but I’m mostly on track. Got my building inspection scheduled next week, and after that, I’ll be good to open.”
Trent smiled. He liked her laugh. It was clear and breathless and genuine, a pretty rebuke to all outward evidence of stress. “Listen,” he started, but she cut him off.
“I’d love to buy you a drink.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Trent said.
“Did I say ‘buy you a drink’?” Marianne’s laugh came again, more forced this time, and she looked embarrassed. “I meant offer. Offer you a drink.”
And don’t I wish I could take you up on that offer? Trent thought. “Anything I can do to help?” he said instead.
