Dust Storm: A Single Dad Cowboy Romance, page 1
Copyright © 2024 Maggie C. Gates. All Rights Reserved
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ISBN: 9798877442320
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To my brothers-in-law, for talking about stitching up a cow’s prolapsed uterus over dinner as if that’s completely normal. (It’s not.)
CONTENTS
Content Warnings
Prologue
1. Christian
2. Cassandra
3. Christian
4. Cassandra
5. Christian
6. Cassandra
7. Christian
8. Cassandra
9. Christian
10. Christian
11. Cassandra
12. Christian
13. Cassandra
14. Christian
15. Cassandra
16. Christian
17. Cassandra
18. Christian
19. Cassandra
20. Christian
21. Cassandra
22. Christian
23. Cassandra
24. Christian
25. Cassandra
26. Christian
27. Cassandra
28. Christian
29. Cassandra
30. Christian
31. Cassandra
32. Christian
Epilogue
Not ready to say goodbye to Christian and Cassandra?
Want More Griffith Brothers?
Author’s Note To The Reader
Acknowledgments
Also by Maggie Gates
About the Author
CONTENT WARNINGS
While my books are generally upbeat and uplifting, each story can delve into heavy topics. This book is intended for mature audiences and contains explicit language and sexual content. I encourage you to read the content warnings made available at www.maggiegates.com/content-warnings
Treat yourself with care.
With Love,
Maggie Gates
PROLOGUE
CASSANDRA
Camera flashes blinded me as I stumbled behind the red-carpet backdrop.
Shouts rose from the press line. “Miss Parker, do you have a comment on the allegations made by Lillian Monroe?”
The spike of my stiletto snagged a duct-taped cord, and I jolted forward.
Someone jumped the barricade and shoved a camera in my face. “Is it true that you paid off a judge?”
I gripped my clutch like the last life preserver on a sinking ship.
“Miss Parker! Look right here!”
Another flash.
And another.
And another.
A catering van parked in an alleyway caught my attention. I hurried toward it, but kept my pace under a run.
Paparazzi had a prey drive. If I ran, they would chase me down and eat me alive.
I slipped behind the van and fumbled through my clutch for my phone. Servers and cooks gave me odd looks as they shuffled through crates of prep work.
Just ignore the blonde in a designer dress, hiding behind cases of champagne.
I thumbed through my messages, looking for one from Tripp.
Nothing.
I peeked around the edge of the open van door as I tapped the call button and waited for it to connect.
You’ve reached Tripp Meyers. Please leave a message at the beep.
I swore under my breath and stuffed my phone back in my clutch. My chest pulled tight like a rubber band about to snap.
The car was there, but it was Lillian’s. There was no way I’d be able to take it.
Tripp was, presumably, doing damage control.
Which meant I was on my own.
With a breath, I tied the sash of my long coat tight to hide my dress.
The Carrington Group headquarters were ten blocks from here, which meant I had to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself.
That would be difficult, considering my face had been plastered on every screen nationwide as a backstabbing actress looked me in the eye while she flushed my career down the toilet.
Ten blocks in sky-high stilettos that were already shredding my feet. Fantastic. If I kept my head down, I would be able to hide the tears I wasn’t supposed to cry.
I’d get in the building, hunker down away from prying eyes, and make a plan.
I just needed a minute to think.
The pit of vipers turned to a mob, fueled by the click of camera shutters. I peered in the side mirror of the catering van, watching as my fiancé escorted my former client and new enemy out of the historic theater.
For a split second, the vultures were distracted.
And I ran.
1
CHRISTIAN
“Come on squirrels—get a move on!” I hollered up the stairs.
“Dad!” one squirrel said with a giggle. “We’re girls, not squirrels!”
The hand-held radio sitting by the coffee pot crackled as my youngest brother, CJ, gave a report on the herd movement.
The nine thousand head of cattle that sprawled across the Griffith Brothers Ranch kept us on our toes, but what kept me busiest were the two tornadoes who were supposed to be getting ready for school.
When I didn’t hear them moving upstairs, I set the spatula down and craned around the corner. “Bree! Gracie! Finish getting dressed, brush your hair, and brush your teeth!”
“I want braids!” Bree called as she thundered down the stairs with the stomp force of a linebacker.
“Me too!” Gracie echoed from their bathroom.
“No! I called braids. Do something else,” Bree snapped.
“Hey! No fighting this early in the morning,” I bellowed loud enough for them to hear me around the corner.
“But I called braids first!” Bree huffed as she stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a pancake off of the pile I was busy making.
I rinsed my hands off and did a quick towel dry. “You can both have braids.”
“But she’s copying me.”
At thirteen, all Bree wanted was for eleven-year-old Gracie to stop following her around like a wide-eyed puppy.
It made me chuckle at the years Gretchen and I thought having two toddlers was bad. Now, I had two middle schoolers all on my own.
“Then I’ll give you different braids,” I said as I turned back to the stove and finished cooking the batch of pancakes. “Get the box.”
Bree heaved the giant tackle box I used to organize all their hair accessories on top of the kitchen table and plopped down in a chair. I slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her to go with the pilfered pancake she’d stolen from the counter. She chowed down while I pawed through the little compartments full of elastics, hair clips, combs, brushes, and a million other things the girls insisted on.
“What kind of braids today?” I asked in a yawn as I ran a brush through her dirty blonde hair, catching the few tangles she had missed.
“Fishtails,” she said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Tight or loose?”
“Loose. The puffy kind. With clips.”
Life wasn’t easy. There was running the ranch. There was fatherhood. There was finding time for myself, which usually fell by the wayside.
Doing it on my own sucked, but I never wanted my girls to feel like they were a burden. I wasn’t great at everything. The way I’d stammered through the period talk with Bree a few months ago was proof of that.
But I tried.
Dammit, I tried hard.
Bree sat stock-still as I sectioned her hair and started weaving flat strands, one on top of the other.
Braids were easy. It was that fucking curling iron that was the death of me.
The burns on my fingers were proof of that.
By the time she finished her plate, I was tugging the neat fishtail braids so they were loose and puffy.
Apparently, tight braids weren’t cool anymore.
“My turn!” Gracie said as she elbowed her way to the tackle box. “I want—”
“Not fishtail braids,” Bree clipped.
I stifled an eye roll.
All I wanted was one morn
I should have already been at work.
“I want a halo braid.”
That seemed to appease Bree.
Gracie made a taco out of her pancake, filling it with eggs and a crumble of bacon before meeting me on the couch. She laid on her side and rested her head on my leg while I braided her hair into a crown.
As I was pinning the tail under the braid with a bobby pin, Bree called out, “Grandma’s here!”
Gracie shot off the couch like a rocket.
“Lunches are in the fridge,” I said as I cleared the couch of hair paraphernalia.
They shouldered their backpacks and stomped their shoes on. The fridge door slammed as they grabbed their respective lunchboxes.
No matter how much they begged to buy lunch at school, a homemade lunch meant I cared. It meant I put in the time and effort. Right?
Maybe I should just let them get lunch at school.
I ran a hand down the side of my beard as I watched them load up like pack mules.
My mom sat in her idling minivan as the girls bolted into the back and buckled up.
“Thanks,” I said to Mom as I craned through the passenger window.
I tried to be all things for all people. Especially my people. And my daughters were my people.
After Gretchen passed, I grieved. I took a minimal amount of time to be selfish. And then I picked myself up and had to be dad and mom for my girls.
Unfortunately, there weren’t enough hours in the day. So, I finally broke down and accepted help for things like school drop off and pick up.
“Anytime,” she said over a sip of coffee from her thermos. “Don’t forget about that consultant coming in today.”
I scoffed over the symphony of buckling seatbelts. “Pretty sure I said that was a you problem. I’m not the one who hired her.”
Mom snickered. “I’m not either. Becks is the one who recommended her, and you know better than to act ugly to your sister-in-law.”
I chuckled, thinking about the sharp-tongued war correspondent my older brother fell in love with while he was deployed.
Yeah, I knew better than to mess with Becks.
“Your dad thinks it’s a good idea. I think it’s a good idea. Be on your best behavior and I’ll leave you be until dinner.”
I shuffled down to the open side door, leaning in to drop kisses on Bree and Gracie’s foreheads. “Have a good day. Love you.”
“Love you, Daddy,” they said in chorus.
I rolled the door closed and watched as the van lumbered down the dirt path toward the service road that would take them into town.
I glanced at my watch. Not even 7:15 yet.
I jogged back up the porch steps and headed inside, snagging a pancake for myself on the way. I trapped it between my teeth as I stole Gracie’s purple hairbrush and used it to untangle my hair. I worked the knots out of the ends that hung past my shoulders before tying it into a bun.
“Boss, you there?”
I picked up the radio. “Go ahead.”
CJ’s voice crackled on the line. “Fence is down on the west border.”
“You need me out there?”
“Nah,” he said. “Just letting you know.”
“I’ll be in the office most of the day taking care of vax records. Holler if you need something.”
“10-4.”
Sadie came wandering in, her brindled tail thumping with excitement as she looked up at me.
“Sorry, girl. No cows for you today. Gotta do paperwork.”
She huffed, loping to the door as I slid on my boots and clipped the radio to my belt.
I emptied the coffee pot into a travel mug and jogged down the steps, not bothering to lock up.
There was a benefit to living on the ranch that had been in my family for generations. I could leave the door unlocked for the girls when they got home from school. I could leave my keys in my truck. And, while there was a limit to how far I’d let them go on their own, Bree and Gracie had plenty of space to run free.
My brother, Nate, had found peace in a warzone. But me?
I stepped out and surveyed the land as the February sun peeked over the horizon.
This was my kingdom.
My kingdom could go to hell.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off a migraine, and wondered which Griffith was to blame for saddling me with a legacy of cattle ranching.
Fuckin’ animals trying to kill themselves.
The AC window unit sputtered as a steady drip thwopped into the bucket beneath it. At least it kept the condensation from pooling on the floor.
I’d gone through the vaccine records with a fine-toothed comb to make sure nothing was out of place. Bills had been paid. A sticky note with a hydraulic oil pressure switch I needed to get was in the trash after the order had been placed. I was waiting on a call from the livestock vet we kept on retainer, but waiting for that call was like watching paint dry. She was a busy woman.
Honestly, I missed doing what CJ did every day. I missed the camaraderie of working the land with the rest of the crew. I missed saddling up before daybreak and not returning to the stables until after sunset.
From the looks of things, Sadie missed it too.
But taking over for my dad on the management side gave him a chance to retire, and gave me a more stable schedule so I could prioritize the girls. CJ had stepped up to fill my old role and thrived in it.
It was great for everyone else.
I glanced at the clock. The girls were at dance class, and if the vet hadn’t called by now …
I pushed out of the rolling desk chair that was decades past its prime, and whistled for Sadie as I grabbed my hat and dropped it on my head.
“C’mon, girl.”
She trotted along obediently toward the barn.
Libby, the thoroughbred American quarter horse I had been riding since I was in my twenties, let out a blustering huff as I tacked her up.
Sadie looked antsy, prancing around the barn as I mounted Libby and gripped the reins, guiding her out of the barn.
Libby let loose when we rounded the corner and headed away from the barn and outbuildings. She grunted, hooves thundering into the dirt.
When the conglomerate of structures turned to a speck in the distance, the stress began to loosen and melt away. Clean air and sunshine surrounded me. Sadie, the ranch’s retired cattle dog, bolted like a bullet from a gun.
Maybe we were all a little stir crazy.
I used the spur-of-the-moment ride to survey the near side of the property to make sure nothing was out of place.
After a few miles, Sadie looked like she was tuckered out. I tugged on the reins and slowed Libby to a canter as we rounded the corner to Nate’s house.
No one was home.
Huh. That was weird. Nate and Becks had a pipe burst yesterday and were in the process of fixing the sopping mess. Becks was on maternity leave from her job as an international news correspondent. She should have been there.
Apart from my momma, I hadn’t seen any vehicles leaving the property today through the cameras.
Shit.
Libby must’ve sensed my urgency as I nudged her into a gallop again. The dog peeled off and trotted down the path to my place, but I headed for the front gate.
Becks sat on the porch of my parents’ house, her hands over her baby bump as she watched dust plume from the tires of a sedan as it peeled down the drive.
Her red hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head, and a glass of tea was in hand. As far as sisters-in-law went, I’d take her. She was a far cry from Nate’s first wife, Vanessa.
As much as I hated seeing him torn up about it in the moment, none of us were surprised when they divorced. What surprised the hell out of us was seeing him on TV, rescuing a reporter out of rubble while he was deployed.
But it worked out well for them. Now, Bree and Gracie were over the moon to be getting a cousin.
I slowed Libby a safe distance from the house, giving myself a chance to watch as the sedan stopped. The doors opened and a man hopped out from the driver’s side.
The guy wrinkled his nose, sneering at the scenery.
Great.
Becks hooked us up with some uptight city slicker. This was gonna go over like a fart in church.
