Gambling On A Secret. Sara Walter Ellwood
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GAMBLING ON A SECRET
Colton Gamblers, Book One
By SARA WALTER ELLWOOD
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
LYRICAL PRESS
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.
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.